My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

The Feast of Fortuna had nothing to do with tuna, which was fine with Percy.

Blowfish, did you say?" "Ah, no. Blofis, actually." "Oh, I see," Poseidon said. "A shame. I quite like blowfish.

What exactly did you find in Atlanta?” Frank unzipped his backpack and started bringing out souvenirs. “Some peach preserves. A couple of T-shirts. A snow globe. And, um, these not-really-Chinese handcuffs.” Annabeth forced herself to stay calm. “How about you start from the top—of the story, not the backpack.

Hazel squinted. "How far?" "Just over the river and through the woods." Percy raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? To Grandmother's house we go?" Frank cleared his throat. "Yeah, anyway.

Why does it have to be so hard? Why can't it be a happily-ever-after ride-into-the-sunset feeling all the time?

Well, I hope you like it here, Leo. It used to be .......really nice.