I sailed on the cold air currents above the rooftops of Paris. I could see the river, the Louvre Museum, the gardens and palaces. And a mouse-yum. Hang on, Carter, I thought. not hunting mice.

Wonderful, Annabeth thought. Her own mother, the most levelheaded Olympian, was reduced to a raving, vicious scatterbrain in a subway station. And, of all the gods who might help them, the only ones not affected by the Greek-Roman schism seemed to be Aphrodite, Nemesis and Dionysus. Love, revenge, wine. Very helpful.

A guy in Greek armor drew his sword and charged, but slipped in a puddle of pina colada.

The afterlife looks different to every soul," he said, "depending on whatthey believe. For that guy, Egypt must've made a strong impression when he was young , maybe." "And if someone doesn't believe in any afterlife?" i asked. Walt gave me a sad look. "Then that's what they experience.

It was beautiful in a harsh I'm-going-to-gut-you-like-a-fish kind of way.

You set us up!” “No! I swear—” Her face fell. “Mel. Mel must’ve told him.” “Right,” I grumbled. “Blame Mel.

But who are you?" Percy—" I started to say. Then the skeletons turned around. "Gotta go!" What kind of name is Percy Gotta-go?