Wrath Of The Triple Goddess Quotes

Annabeth and I were more than just two people. We were a pair, and when we stood at the crossroads, we did it together.

Annabeth often told me I would make a great dad, because I already had the right jokes—stupid, corny, and stupid.

I’d missed my entire junior year thanks to some business we won’t get into (Hera) on account of some meddling gods (Hera) for reasons of a cosmic apocalypse (Hera).

Grover and I exchanged a look of relief. Whenever Annabeth joined the chat, the odds of us doing something idiotic went way down. The odds were never zero, mind you, because I was still in the mix.

Hey, Wise Girl,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, “be wise. I don’t know much, but I do know we’re stronger together. Always.

My fatal flaw got in the way again. If I’d lost you because of my own pride …” I took her hand. Her fingers were cold. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. We’ve all got our fatal flaws, right? If yours is hummus …” She laughed weakly. “Hubris.

Hi,” I said. I have a way with words.

Books might not have much power over me, but I’m a sucker for small shiny objects.

Mr. D’s idea of fun would have been to turn us all into Amazon river dolphins. I didn’t want to test him.

He sniffed all the pee messages from the other dogs, then lifted his leg and hit reply.

We had some trouble on Third Avenue when Hecuba decided to attack a Lil Zeus Greek food cart, [...] I couldn't be too mad at Hecuba. For one thing, the food smelled good. For another, anything labeled Zeus sent me into attack mode, too.

She can’t do all your homework for you, dude,” Hana said. “Yeah, she has to do our homework,” Dave said.

...life is short. You have to take time to stop and smell the trash cans.

c) I can’t help wondering if she’s writing a character based on me. Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid.

fart.

I was glad I hadn’t had to learn animal-speak for my school’s foreign-language requirement. I’d barely been able to master numbers and colors in Spanish, even with my friend Leo Valdez as a tutor.

Hecate showed us a few other highlights of the polecat cave: the cardboard box where Gale liked to sleep, next to the expensive polecat habitat that had come in the box but Gale wouldn’t even look at.

On my keychain, I kept a dog whistle that Leo Valdez had given me. It wasn’t made of Stygian ice like my first one—that had shattered. This one was Celestial bronze and engraved with LEO+PERCY 4EVER ♥, because Leo is a doofus.

I got out my whistle. I blew it. I couldn’t hear anything because of the high-pitched sound waves or whatever, but the whistle’s inscription lit up in rainbow colors—LEO+PERCY 4EVER ♥. As I may have mentioned, Leo is a doofus.

Have a good day at school, dear,” I told Annabeth. “Thanks, Mom!” She gave me a big wet kiss. “You guys and your public displays of affection,” Grover grumbled. On cue, Annabeth and I got on either side of him, wrapped him in a hug, and kissed him on either cheek with a big Mmm-whah! “Much better,” he muttered, blushing hard.

Back in August, my stepdad Paul had tried to help me organize my schoolwork when he saw that it was way too much for me to keep straight on my own. He suggested I think of homework as triage. “Look at your assignments like they’re wounded patients,” he’d said, “and handle them in order of severity. ‘Okay, you need immediate attention, or you’ll die. You can wait a bit. You aren’t that bad—go home, take some aspirin, and call me tomorrow.’” I gave my homework a lot of aspirin.

The Philippines, I believe,” Eudora said. “They have a tradition called Pangangaluluwa—appeasing souls with food and festivity.

Occasionally, somebody would ask me if I'd ever dated anybody besides Annabeth, or if I'd ever thought about dating someone else. Honestly? The answer was no.

Rats!” Papou howled at us in English, maybe looking for sympathy. ‘I can’t have rats in my bakery!” He had a point. The undead come and go, but the New York City Department of Health is forever.

forcing Grover into a brisk jog. I started to bolt after them. Then the door knockers yelled, “Lock the door! No, leave the door open! CRÊPES SUZETTE!” I raced back inside, grabbed the keys, then locked up and ran after my friends, who were now disappearing up Lexington Avenue. The only things that saved Annabeth from being dragged to death were her own fast feet and the fact that Hecuba was a sprinter, not a marathoner. The oversize Labrador would race a block, stop to smell a trash can, race another block, look back to see if Annabeth had been killed in traffic, sniff another trash can, and so on. Because life is short. You have to take time to stop and smell the trash cans.

Hecate

Hecate frowned at me. “The best part of a meal is playing with your food, Percy Jackson. Surely you know this.

as they do. I wondered if I should call him CE for short. Did that mean before he became a Cloven Elder he was Grover BCE?

(Side effects can include panic attacks, mass hysteria, and psychological misdiagnoses. Ask your doctor if Iris-messages are right for you.)

Hecate frowned at me. “The best part of a meal is playing with your food, Percy Jackson. Surely you know this.” I thought about when I used to make castles with mashed potatoes and peas when I was a little dude. Then I thought about all the monsters who had toyed with me before trying to eat me for dinner.

Good to go?” I asked once Grover had disentangled himself. “Good to go,” Annabeth agreed. We were definitely not good to go. As soon as I opened the front door, Hecuba tore down the sidewalk, dragging Annabeth behind her. Gale did her best to keep up, forcing Grover into a brisk jog. I started to bolt after them. Then the door knockers yelled, “Lock the door! No, leave the door open! CRÊPES SUZETTE!” I raced back inside, grabbed the keys, then locked up and ran after my friends, who were now disappearing up Lexington Avenue. The only things that saved Annabeth from being dragged to death were her own fast feet and the fact that Hecuba was a sprinter, not a marathoner. The oversize Labrador would race a block, stop to smell a trash can, race another block, look back to see if Annabeth had been killed in traffic, sniff another trash can, and so on. Because life is short. You have to take time to stop and smell the trash cans.

October. Best month ever. The air was crisp. The leaves were changing colors in Central Park. And my favorite food cart on 86th Street was serving pumpkin-spice burritos.

I thought about Grover’s comment—that things had to get easier. The problem was, in Percy World, things never got easier, only weirder.

Grover, what about you?” Annabeth asked. “That means you’re doing all the walking.” “Oh, I don’t mind. Fresh air!” You don’t see fresh air on a lot of Tripadvisor reviews for Manhattan, but I appreciated Grover’s enthusiasm.

As we locked up, the door knockers told us: 1) to have a great day, 2) we would die in agony, and 3) PORK BELLIES! Honestly, I’d had stranger multiple-choice tests.

Hecuba decided to attack a Lil Zeus Greek food cart, but I managed to pull her off before she killed the cook or devoured his meat supply. Dude wasn’t too happy. He yelled something in Greek at me—maybe Please control your rhinoceros—but I couldn’t be too mad at Hecuba. For one thing, the food smelled good. For another, anything labeled Zeus sent me into attack mode, too.

I reached down to move some fruit crates. From somewhere inside the pile, a small voice yelped, “NOPE!” I stumbled backward into a crate of rotten bananas. Mrs. O’Leary didn’t look worried, though. Whatever she was smelling, she was curious about it, and excited. The thing in the pile yapped again—“NOPE!”—and I realized how small it sounded, how afraid.… My heart twisted in a knot. I had a sudden overpowering urge to help the nope-yapper. I started clearing away boxes and bags. Mrs. O’Leary guided me, nosing through the trash until we unearthed the source of the yapping. It was a puppy. A hellhound puppy.

they’re reluctant to give you straight answers. It’s never Hi, I’m Zeus. It’s always I am the Thunder-Maker, the Paranoid Patriarch, Heavenly Adulterer, Lightning Britches, King of Luxurious Beard Products.

I took out Riptide. With the tip of the blade, I etched a message on the sidewalk: Went to Gramercy. That was another trick I’d only learned in the last month. One day when I was bored, sitting on a sidewalk while my mom shopped for clothes for her first author signing, I discovered that Riptide could sketch glowing lines on asphalt that no regular mortals could see. The markings lasted about three hours before fading away—less if it rained. It made me wonder why I’d never seen Celestial bronze graffiti around from other demigods. Maybe they’d never gotten bored enough to try it. Or maybe their weapons didn’t have a side hustle as writing utensils.

she started to sniff me, inhaling every scent I had accumulated since we’d last seen each other. She didn’t seem pleased with my life choices. She backed up, shook her head indignantly, and barked, “WOOF!” Probable translation: Have you been seeing other hellhounds? “It’s Hecuba,” I explained. “Hecate’s dog. We’re just dog-sitting, and she got away.” I opened my backpack and pulled out Hecuba’s leash. Mrs. O’Leary recoiled as soon as the scent hit her nose. She gave me a wounded stare. “I know,” I said. “She’s not nearly as wonderful as you. But I really need your help finding her.” Mrs. O’Leary growled. “Why would I want to find her?” I interpreted. “Well…if I don’t, Hecate will kill me. And Grover. And Annabeth.” Mrs. O’Leary snorted. I read this as You are a marvel of foolishness, Percy. But fine, I’ll help you.

Greek Myth Land is full of triple goddesses: The Fates. The Gray Sisters. The Furies. Destiny’s Child.

I am the Maiden,” said Hecate in a chorus of three voices. “I am the Mother. I am the Crone. I am all phases of a woman’s life—all her power—and I will suffer no man to cross me.

Not that I’d ever been in a medieval church, but I saw Spamalot once, so I felt like an expert.

Hecate arched her eyebrows. “I don’t limit access to books, Percy Jackson. I’m not a monster.

Want some company?” I asked. She patted the empty space next to her. We sat in silence. It was nice to be able to do that with Annabeth. We never felt the need to be witty or cool with each other. We could just be ourselves. That was enough.

...It balances out my flaw of being too modest about my incredible dance moves.” “Um, nice try.” “Besides, I gotta believe we’re a good team because we make each other’s fatal flaws into slightly less fatal flaws. Like, maybe even fatal strengths.” She squeezed my hand. “That doesn’t even make sense, Seaweed Brain. But I appreciate the thought. So you’re saying I shouldn’t feel guilty?” “None of us should. Grover’s fatal flaw is apparently strawberry milkshakes, right? But sometimes life gives you strawberry milkshakes. Then you gotta count on your friends to look out for you. We’re a team. How many times have you propped me up?” “I’ve lost count.” “Exactly.

In the first bathroom we visited, the shower worked normally, but the toilet was on the ceiling, the water staying in the bowl in defiance of gravity. “What happens if you flush it?” I wondered. Annabeth laughed. “Percy, I’ve seen what happens when you mess with plumbing. If you want to try that, wait until I’m out of the room.

You want to get back to the party?” “Nah.” She kissed me. “I’m good.” We sat for a while together, and I had to agree. We were pretty good.

The townhouse itself was a five-story patchwork of weathered granite slabs—literal tombstones, some with the names and dates of the deceased still visible. Crouching gargoyles leered down at us from either side of the gabled roof. Black cast-iron filigree framed the windows, ran across the railing of the second-floor balcony, and spilled down either side of the main entrance like a mourning shawl made

Even the flaming purple kind,

look back to see if Annabeth had been killed in traffic,

So…both Grover and Annabeth were weirdly excited about the Hecate challenge. There were cobwebs, a weasel, and Mexican food in my immediate future. Even by my standards, this was going to be a strange week.

No hate to the folks who hang out at Starbucks writing their screenplays or whatever. But if you really want inspiration, find a local, one-of-a-kind place like the Cracked Teapot.

You want to take her?” I asked Annabeth. “No, you’re doing great!” She’d taken her shoes off a few blocks before. Normally this wasn’t recommended when walking in Manhattan, but she’d developed some nasty-looking blisters on her feet, so I decided not to complain as Hecuba towed me back down Lexington.

I felt like I’d been holding the weight of the sky on my shoulders. I don’t mean that figuratively—I’ve done it. So has Annabeth. It’s the worst. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my hair got a gray streak again, like it did when I took on Atlas’s job. I wondered if that often happened to Greek demigods, and if they had to dye their hair back afterward. Maybe that’s why there’s a hair dye called Grecian Formula.… I might have been getting delirious from oxygen deprivation.…

Plus, watching cats ride Roombas or frat dudes failing at backflips is cool, but not worth getting eaten by monsters. Every year or so, I borrowed a mortal’s cell phone to see if the magic had worn off or gotten weaker—if maybe I could use a phone now without causing a Great Monster Migration and a Kill Percy Rodeo. Every year, the experiment failed. Once I touched a phone screen, the average time until a monster showed up was thirty-six seconds.