Tower Of Nero Quotes

No story ever ends, does it? It just leads into others.

At last, as the sun went down, Meg seemed to understand it was time for me to leave. “You’ll come back?” she asked. “Always,” I promised. “The sun always comes back.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.

Call on me. I will be there for you.

[Nero] jumped off his couch and marched straight toward me, his whole body starting to glow, because Will Solace couldn't have his own thing. Oh, no, Nero had to glow, too.

So, dear reader, we have come to the end of my trials. You have followed me through five volumes of adventures and six months of pain and suffering. By my reckoning, you have read two hundred and ten of my haiku. Like Meg, you surely deserve a reward. What would you accept? I am fresh out of unicorns. However, anytime you take aim and prepare to fire your best shot, anytime you seek to put your emotions into a song or poem, know that I am smiling on you. We are friends now. Call on me. I will be there for you.

Bow and quiver coming up," Nico said. "And ukelele," Will added. Nico winced. "Do we really hate Python that much?" Will raised an eyebrow.

Nico laughed, which I didn’t know he was capable of.

FARE THEE WELL, FRIEND, said the arrow. APOLLO WILL FALL, BUT APOLLO MUST RISE AGAIN.

Making music was its own sort of divinity.

Dude!” Percy stuffed a cookie in his mouth. His eyes rolled up in ecstasy. “Apollo, you’re the best. I take back almost everything I’ve said about you.” “It’s quite all right,” I assured him. “Wait…what do you mean almost?

William Andrew Solace,” Nico said, “do you have something to confess?

Rachel pulled out a blue plastic hairbrush and threw it at the nearest barbarian, beaning him in the eye and making him howl. Sorry I underestimated you, Rachel, I thought distantly. You’re actually kind of a hairbrush ninja.

Anytime you take aim and prepare to fire your best shot, anytime you seek to put your emotions into a song, know that I am smiling on you.

Faith that you will find a way to make wine out of your sour grapes.

WHEN TRAVELING THROUGH WASHINGTON, DC, one expects to see a few snakes in human clothing.

People liked to be seen, even if it's by the cold, cruel eyes of fate.

With his sanity intact,” I agreed. Then I looked again at Dionysus, god of madness, who seemed to be giving Nico advice. “Oh…

CONGRATULATIONS, PERCY THE GRADUTE! I did not ask why graduate was misspelled, dyslexia being so common in demigod families.

(Hey, if the cow could jump over the moon, I didn’t see why the sun couldn’t jump over two cows.)

To be human is to move forward, to adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something

He had been born in Mussolini’s Italy. He had survived decades in the time-warp reality of the Lotus Casino. He’d emerged in modern times disoriented and culture-shocked, arrived at Camp Half-Blood, and promptly lost his sister Bianca to a dangerous quest. He had wandered the Labyrinth in self-imposed exile, being tortured and brainwashed by a malevolent ghost. He’d overcome everyone’s distrust and emerged from the Battle of Manhattan as a hero. He’d been captured by giants during the rise of Gaea. He’d wandered Tartarus alone and somehow managed to come out alive. And through it all, he’d struggled with his upbringing as a conservative Catholic Italian male from the 1930s and finally learned to accept himself as a young gay man. Anyone who could survive all that had more resilience than Stygian iron.

Let's assume Lu is right,' Nico said. 'You get captured and put in this cell. She lets you out. You kill the guardian, destroy the fasces, weaken Nero, hooray. Even then, and I'm sorry to be a Debbie Downer —' 'I am calling you Debbie Downer from now on,' Will said gleefully. 'Shut up, Solace.

My son Asclepius, god of medicine, used to chide me about helping those with disabilities. You can help them if they ask. But wait for them to ask. It's their choice to make, not yours.

One trog whispered, “Who is that?” His companion whispered back, “Don’t know, but he can’t be important. He’s wearing a Mets hat.

Tyrants are not easy to oppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything.

No one hits my boyfriend,” Will thundered. “And no one kills my dad!

I wanted to go back to a time before all the sacrifices had been made. Before I had experienced so much pain. But making things right could not mean rewinding the clock. Even Kronos hadn't had that much power over time. I suspected that wasn't what Jason Grace would want, either. When he'd told me to remember being human, he'd meant building on pain and tragedy, overcoming it, learning from it. That was something gods never did. We just complained. To be human is to move forward, to adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something.

We should free them," Meg said. "That would be a very bad idea," Nico said. Meg frowned. "Do you hate cows?" "I don't hate—" Nico paused. "Well, okay, I'm not super fond of cows.

Has anyone ever told you,” Python rasped, “that you are annoying?” I HATH, the Arrow of Dodona said in a melancholy tone. A THOUSAND TIMES.

If you love category-five rapids on a river that can drown you, dissolve your skin, and corrode your sense of self all at the same time, I highly recommend a giant serpent cruise on the Styx.

Rachel stared at him. “What?” Nico sighed. “I’m guessing that was a Star Wars reference. My boyfriend is a Star Wars geek of the worst kind.” “Okay, Signor Myth-o-magic. If you would just watch the original trilogy…” Will looked at the rest of us for support and found nothing but blank expressions. “Nobody? Oh, my gods. You people are hopeless.

Conventions of gender were strange. But I decided that was a mystery for another time.

Nico's smile was a bit of a winter sun breaking between snow flurries.

There's an old saying: the definition of insanity is shooting an invulnerable cow in the face over and over and expecting a different result.

I didn’t like the idea of sudden thunderstorms so close to the Empire State Building – entrance to Mount Olympus, home of Zeus, aka Big Daddy Lightning Bolt.

How about this?” I drew the Arrow of Dodona from my quiver. “We’ll ask my prophetic friend. Surely it has a better idea—perhaps access to last-minute hotel deals!” I lifted the projectile in my trembling fingers. “O great Arrow of Dodona—” “Is he talking to that arrow?” Lu asked Meg. “He talks to inanimate objects,” Meg told her. “Humor him.

Grr-Fred—?" I started to ask. "It's Grr-Fred," he corrected. "GRR-Fred?" "Grr-Fred." "gRR-Fred?" "Grr-Fred!

People like to be seen—even if it’s by the cold, cruel eyes of fate.

Dude,” I muttered. “I am so sorry.

It was a silly thing to say, but some stubborn part of me insisted that Percy Jackson must be here somewhere, waiting to do dangerous tasks for me. That was his job!

So now you believe the trogs exist?' Nico asked. 'I am learning to believe in all sorts of things that can kill me!

Two hundred and ten Is a lot of haiku, but I can do more if — (*insert the sound of a god being strangled here*)

Ladies,” I said, using the term loosely, “I may not look like Apollo, but I assure you it’s me, trapped in this mortal body. Otherwise, how could I know so much about you?” “Like what?” demanded Tempest. “Your favorite nectar flavor is caramel crème,” I said. “Your favorite Beatle is Ringo. For centuries, all three of you had a massive crush on Ganymede, but now you like—” “He’s Apollo!” Wasp yelped. “Definitely Apollo!” Tempest wailed. “Annoying! Knows things!” “Let me in,” I said, “and I’ll shut up.

Everybody grab a Yoo-hoo and a beanbag, and let’s chat about our least-favorite emperor.

To be human is to move forward, to adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something.

I half expected him to say yee-haw in the most unenthusiastic voice ever.

No, you can't just eat a new camper. They get two warnings first!

You did too.” I DIDST NOT! WE MUST NEEDS FORMULATE A NEW PLAN. I SHALL GO RIGHT. THOU SHALT GO LEFT. “Okay,” I agreed. “Wait. That won’t work. You don’t have legs.

All my years as a god of archery had not prepared me for playing therapist to an arrow.

If a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero? —Jason Grace, The Tower of Nero

Lu must have picked up on my sadness. She gestured back to the rocking chair. “Well, I’ll let you two get on with the tour. Assembling this IKEA furniture is the toughest quest I’ve had in years.

You have heard of imposter syndrome? Everything in me screamed I am a fake! I do not belong here! Even after four thousand years of godhood, six months of mortal life had convinced me that I wasn’t a true deity.

Now, let's eat, and you can tell us who or what is trying to kill you this time.

Jason.” My voice was a ruined sob. “You’re here.

Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance.

His boyfriend, Nico di Angelo,

NAY. "Maybe if I brought you back to the Grove of Dodona?" NAY! It spoke so forcefully, it almost rattled out of my grasp. I stared at the arrow, waiting for more, but I got the feeling its outburst had surprised even it. "So ... are you just making horse sounds now?

I’m Apollo,” I continued. “And this is Meg. I believe we’re expected? As in…hard deadline at sunset or the city burns?” The guard took a deep breath, as if it pained him to move. Keeping one finger in his novel, he picked up a pen and slapped it on the counter next to the sign-in book. “Names. IDs.” “You need our IDs to take us prisoner?” I asked.

The sun always comes back.

Can't fight in person? We can videoconference I'll kill you online

Dennis, try not to kill enemy demigods or mortals! Okay, well, from now on then!

Big Daddy Lightning Bolt.

No one seemed awed or incredulous—just confused. Someone whispered to a friend, "What's a sun?" Another asked, "What's a Lester?

To be honest though, I could no longer consider my time on Earth to have been a punishment. Terrible, tragic, nearly impossible . . . yes. But calling it a punishment gave Zeus too much credit. It had been a journey — an important one I made myself, with the help of my friends. I hoped . . . I believed that the grief and pain had shaped me into a better person. I had forged a more perfect Lester from the dregs of Apollo. I would not trade those experiences for anything.

I considered that perhaps courage was a self-perpetuating cycle, like abuse. Nero had hoped to create miniature, tortured versions of himself because that made him feel stronger. Meg had found the strength to oppose him because she saw how much her foster siblings needed her to succeed, to show them another way... All any of us could do was try, and hope that, in the end, the virtuous cycle would break the vicious one.

Want directions to the troglodyte caverns? No problem! First you go down. Then you go down some more. Then you take the next three downward turns. You’ll see a path going slightly up. Ignore that. Keep going down until your eardrums implode. Then go down even more.

Will took a deep breath. When he exhaled . . . I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. We'd been in near-total darkness so long, I wasn't sure why Will's outline suddenly seemed clearer. I could see the texture of his jeans, the individual tufts of his hair, the blue of his eyes. His skin was glowing with a soft, warm golden light as if he'd ingested sunshine. 'Whoa,' Meg said. Rachel's eyebrows floated towards her hairline. Nico smirked. 'Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.' 'Could you not make a big deal about it?' Will asked. I was speechless. How could anyone not make a big deal about this? As far as demigod powers went, glowing in the dark was perhaps not as showy as skeleton-summoning or tomato-vine mastery, but it was still impressive. And, like WIll's skill at healing, it was gentle, useful and exactly what we needed in a pinch. 'I'm so proud,' I said. Will's face turned the colour of sunlight shining through a glass of cranberry juice. 'Dad, I'm just glowing. I'm not graduating at the top of my class.' 'I'll be proud when you do that, too,' I assured him.

I was tempted to promise we'd do this more often if we survived, but I'd learned that promises are previous. If you're not absolutely sure you can keep them, you should never make them, much like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh, gods, I thought. Nero was so good at being evil, and so evil at being good, he made the words lose their meaning. He could tell you the floor was the ceiling with such conviction you might start believing it, especially since any disagreement would unleash the Beast. I marveled how such a man could rise to be emperor of Rome. Then I marveled how such a man could ever lose control of Rome. It was easy to see how he’d gotten the mobs on his side.

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus Requests the pleasure of your company At the burning of The Greater New York Metropolitan Area Forty-eight hours after receipt of this Invitation UNLESS The former god Apollo, now known as Lester Papadopoulos, Surrenders himself before that time to imperial justice At the Tower of Nero IN WHICH CASE We will just have cake GIFTS: Only expensive ones, please R.S.V.P. Don’t bother. If you don’t show up, we’ll know. I

I've always thought you can judge the quality of a villain by his elevator music. Smooth jazz? Devious villainy with an inferiority complex. Pop hits? Ageing villainy trying desperately to be hip. Nero had chosen soft classical, as in the lobby. Oh, well played. this was self-assured villainy. Villainy that said I already own everything and have all the power. Relax. You're going to die in a minute, so you might as well enjoy this soothing string quartet.

Gods aren't great with deadlines. The concept of having a limited time to do something just doesn't make much sense to an immortal. Since turning into Lester Papadopoulos, I'd got used to the idea: go here by this date or the world ends. Get this item by next week or everyone you know will die.

Death to my enemies!

I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.

You can help them if they ask. But wait for them for them to ask. It's their choice to make, not yours.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU ONLY HAD one day at Camp Half-Blood? Perhaps you’d partake in a game of capture-the-flag, or ride a pegasus over the beach, or laze in the meadow enjoying the sunshine and the sweet fragrance of ripening strawberries. All good choices. I did none of them. I spent my day running around in a panic, trying to prepare myself for imminent death.

(Dionysus:) "Well, I think you did a marvelous job," he offered. "I think, in your honor, any god who is currently being punished with a stint on Earth ought to be pardoned immediately—" "No," Zeus snapped. Dionysus slumped back with a dejected sigh.

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. 'The last time you were here, you were so lost. So . . . well, if you don't mind me saying —' 'Pathetic,' I blurted out. 'Whiny, entitled, selfish. I felt terribly sorry for myself.' Meg nodded along with my words as if listening to her favourite song. 'You still feel sorry for yourself.' 'But now,' Sally said, sitting back again, 'you're more . . . human, I suppose.' There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would have considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace's admonition: Remember what it's like to be human. He hadn't meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He'd meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed in. These were not the kind of feelings that gods had . . . well, ever.

Mortals and gods had one thing in common: we were notoriously nostalgic for 'the good old days'. We were always looking back to some magical golden time before everything went bad. I remembered sitting with Socrates, back around 425 BCE, and us griping to each other about how the younger generations were ruining civilization. As an immortal, of course, I should have known that there never were any 'good old days'. The problems humans face never really change, because mortals bring their own baggage with them. the same is true of gods.

We could’ve even made the thrones six inches tall. Personally, I would have loved to see that. A demigod hero straggles into our presence after some horrible quest, takes a knee before an assembly of miniature gods, and Zeus squeaks in a Mickey Mouse voice, Welcome to Olympus!

Before I realized what I was doing, I had risen to my feet. “Stop! Hear me, troglodytes!” The crowd grew dangerously still. Hundreds of large brown eyes fixed on me. One trog whispered, “Who is that?” His companion whispered back, “Don’t know, but he can’t be important. He’s wearing a Mets hat.

Only two weeks had passed, but the newbie campers who had seemed so young and awkward when I first arrived now carried themselves like demigod veterans. Going through a major battle (sorry, “field trip”) will do that to you.

Outside, the illuminated billboards of New Jersey zipped by: ads for auto dealerships where you could buy an impractical race car; injury lawyers you could employ to blame the other drivers once you crashed that race car; casinos where you could gamble away the money you won from the injury lawsuits. The great circle of life.

I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!” He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.

Meg belched. “It’s right there in the prophecy. The son-of-Hades thing.” Nico’s face clouded over. “What son-of-Hades thing?” Will developed a sudden interest in his bran muffin’s wrapper. Nico seemed to realize, at the same time I did, that Will hadn’t shared all the lines of the prophecy with him. “William Andrew Solace,” Nico said, “do you have something to confess?

What was it about kindness? In my time as Lester Papadopoulos, I had learned to stand up under horrendous verbal abuse and constant life-threatening violence, but the smallest act of generosity could ninja-kick me right in the heart and break me into a blubbering mess of emotions.

THE SWORD-WIELDER LOOKED DELIGHTED. “Chop off head?” His name, GUNTHER, was printed on an Amtrak name tag he wore over his armor—his only concession to being in disguise. “Not yet.” Luguselwa kept her eyes on us. “As you can see, Gunther loves decapitating people, so let’s play nice. Come along—

Yes, fine, sit.” Dionysus gestured listlessly at the card table. “I was attempting to teach Will and Nico the rules of pinochle, but they’re hopeless.” “Ooh, pinochle,” Meg said. “I like pinochle!” Dionysus narrowed his eyes as if Meg were a small dog who had suddenly begun to spout Emily Dickinson. “Is that so? Wonders never cease.

The black can be sooty, soily, glazed, cindery, blackboard black, kohl black, coal black, noir, schwarz, nero. I don’t know how many words and phrases there are to describe black—slate black, cast-iron black, jet black, flat-screen-TV black, ink black, burnt black, liturgical black, hell black—but the raven’s black is as various and as a dense as there are meanings and values attached to the very idea of black, black representing death, mourning, negation, sin, solemnity, the vacancy of space, and all the horrors of human terror and the exercise of power.

The girl has taste!” Wasp cried. “We are the best way around the New York area! Don’t trust those ride-sharing services! Most of them are run by unlicensed harpies.” “Harpies!” Tempest howled. “Stealing our business!” Anger agreed. I had a momentary vision of our friend Ella behind the wheel of a car. It made me almost glad to be in this taxi. Almost.

Dionysus probably could have enlightened me, but he'd already checked us off his to-do list. 'I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!' He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.

Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let's be honest: some fathers don't deserve that. Some aren't capable of it. I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished. But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us. You cannot change a tyrant by trying to out-ugly him. Meg could never have changed Nero, any more than I could change Zeus. I could only try to be different from him. Better. More . . . human. And to limit the time I spent around him to as little as possible.

I, um…Yes.” I gazed around the room. “Is there a closet, or—?” Her laughter finally escaped. “A closet. That’s adorable. You can just wish yourself into clothes, Little Brother.” “I…ah…” I knew she was right, but I felt so flustered I even ignored her little brother comment. It had been too long since I’d relied on my divine power. I feared I might try and fail. I might accidentally turn myself into a camel. “Oh, fine,” Artemis said. “Allow me.” A wave of her hand, and suddenly I was wearing a knee-length silver dress—the kind my sister’s followers wore—complete with thigh-laced sandals. I suspected I was also wearing a tiara. “Um. Perhaps something less Huntery?” “I think you look lovely.” Her mouth twitched at the corner. “But very well.” A flash of silver light, and I was dressed in a man’s white chiton. Come to think of it, that piece of clothing was pretty much identical to a Hunter’s gown. The sandals were the same. I seemed to be wearing a crown of laurels instead of a tiara, but those weren’t very different, either. Conventions of gender were strange. But I decided that was a mystery for another time.

I need to pee,” Meg announced. I stared at her, dumbfounded. Was she really going to follow Lu’s strange instructions? The Gaul had captured us and killed an innocent two-headed snake. Why would Meg trust her? Meg pressed her heel hard on the top of my foot. “Yes,” I squeaked. “I also need to pee.” For me, at least, this was painfully true. “Hold it,” Gunther grumbled. “I really need to pee.” Meg bounced up and down. Lu heaved a sigh. Her exasperation did not sound faked. “Fine.

I nocked another arrow. 'Slither away, snake. While you still can.' Python's eyes gleamed with amusement. 'Amazing. You still haven't learned humility? I wonder how you will taste. Like rat? Like god? They are similar enough, I suppose.' He was so wrong. Not about gods tasting like rats . . . I wouldn't know. But I had learned plenty of humility. So much humility that now, facing my old nemesis, I was racked with self-doubt. I could not do this. What had I been thinking? And yet, along with humility, I'd learned something else: getting humiliated is only the beginning, not the end. Sometimes you need a second shot, and a third, and a fourth.

There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would have considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace’s admonition: Remember what it’s like to be human. He hadn’t meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He’d meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed in. These were not the kind of feelings that gods had…well, ever. Sally Jackson meant the term in the same way Jason had—as something worth aspiring to.

We’ve upgraded our service, too!” Tempest boasted. I forced myself to focus on her eye sockets. “How?” “You can use our app!” she said. “You don’t have to summon us with gold coins anymore!” She pointed to a sign on the Plexiglas partition. Apparently, I could now link my favorite magic weapon to their cab and pay via virtual drachma using something called GRAY RYYD. I shuddered to think what the Arrow of Dodona might do if I allowed it to make online purchases. If I ever got back to Olympus, I’d find my accounts frozen and my palace in foreclosure because the arrow had bought every known copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio. “Cash is fine,” I said. Wasp grumbled to Anger, “You and your predictions. I told you the app was a stupid idea.” “Stopping for Apollo was stupider,” she muttered back. “That was your prediction.” “You’re both stupid!” snapped Tempest. “That’s my prediction!

Help you?” he said without looking up. I glanced at Meg, silently double-checking that we were in the right building. She nodded. “We’re here to surrender,” I told the guard. Surely this would make him look up. But no. He could not have acted less interested in us. I was reminded of the guest entrance to Mount Olympus, through the lobby of the Empire State Building. Normally, I never went that way, but I knew Zeus hired the most unimpressible, disinterested beings he could find to guard the desk as a way to discourage visitors. I wondered if Nero had intentionally done the same thing here. “I’m Apollo,” I continued. “And this is Meg. I believe we’re expected? As in…hard deadline at sunset or the city burns?” The guard took a deep breath, as if it pained him to move. Keeping one finger in his novel, he picked up a pen and slapped it on the counter next to the sign-in book. “Names. IDs.” “You need our IDs to take us prisoner?” I asked. The guard turned the page in his book and kept reading. With a sigh, I pulled out my New York State junior driver’s license. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that I’d have to show it one last time, just to complete my humiliation. I slid it across the counter. Then I signed the logbook for both of us. Name(s): Lester (Apollo) and Meg. Here to see: Nero. Business: Surrender. Time in: 7:16 p.m. Time out: Probably never. Since Meg was a minor, I didn’t expect her to have an ID, but she removed her gold scimitar rings and placed them next to my license. I stifled the urge to shout, Are you insane? But Meg gave them up as if she’d done this a million times before. The guard took the rings and examined them without comment. He held up my license and compared it to my face. His eyes were the color of decade-old ice cubes. He seemed to decide that, tragically, I looked as bad in real life as I did in my license photo. He handed it back, along with Meg’s rings. “Elevator nine to your right,” he announced. I almost thanked him. Then I thought better of it.

He’s threatening us!” Tempest flailed. She slammed Wasp on the back so hard the communal eyeball popped right out of her socket. Wasp snatched it—and with a terrible show of fumbling, intentionally chucked it over her shoulder, right into my lap. I screamed. The sisters screamed, too. Anger, now bereft of guidance, swerved all over the road, sending my stomach into my esophagus. “He’s stolen our eye!” cried Tempest. “We can’t see!” “I have not!” I yelped. “It’s disgusting!” Meg whooped with pleasure. “THIS. IS. SO. COOL!” “Get it off!” I squirmed and tilted my hips, hoping the eye would roll away, but it stayed stubbornly in my lap, staring up at me with the accusatory glare of a dead catfish. Meg did not help. Clearly, she didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with the coolness of us dying in a faster-than-light car crash. “He will crush our eye,” Anger cried, “if we don’t recite our verses!” “I will not!” “We will all die!” Wasp said. “He is crazy!” “I AM NOT!” “Fine, you win!” Tempest howled. She drew herself up and recited as if performing for the people in Connecticut ten miles away: “A dare reveals the path that was unknown!” Anger chimed in: “And bears destruction; lion, snake-entwined!” Wasp concluded: “Or else the princeps never be o’erthrown!” Meg clapped. I stared at the Gray Sisters in disbelief. “That wasn’t doggerel. That was terza rima! You just gave us the next stanza of our actual prophecy!” “Well, that’s all we’ve got for you!” Anger said. “Now give me the eye, quick. We’re almost at camp!” Panic overcame my shock. If Anger couldn’t stop at our destination, we’d accelerate past the point of no return and vaporize in a colorful streak of plasma across Long Island. And yet that still sounded better than touching the eyeball in my lap. “Meg! Kleenex?” She snorted. “Wimp.” She scooped up the eye with her bare hand and tossed it to Anger. Anger shoved the eye in her socket. She blinked at the road, yelled “YIKES!” and slammed on the brakes so hard my chin hit my sternum.