Wrath of the Triple Goddess

by Rick Riordan

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.

Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever had this experience—when you see someone you know from a distance, and for a split second you don’t recognize them. Your brain just registers, Oh, that person looks amazing. Then you realize it’s someone you’ve known for years—your girlfriend, in fact—and that sends a tingle of happiness through your whole body.

Wow, the power she had over the way I thought…kinda scary. As a son of Poseidon, all I can do is make watercoolers explode and talk to walruses.

“Now my arachnophobic girlfriend is talking about buying cobwebs. Who are you?”

I’d barely been able to master numbers and colors in Spanish, even with my friend Leo Valdez as a tutor.

(I’ve found that the more something could potentially hurt, the more likely it is to happen, and no, I’m not going to dwell on how depressing that is.)

“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.”

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

“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!

For another, anything labeled Zeus sent me into attack mode, too.

This one was Celestial bronze and engraved with LEO+PERCY 4EVER ♥, because Leo is a doofus.

My sword was better at slashy-slashy than stabby-stabby, and I did not want to slashy-slashy Annabeth. That would make her mad.

showed the Trojans the sharp edge of my ballpoint pen…and wow, I really need to come up with some better heroic expressions.

Sorry, how do you know me? I can tell I offended you at some point, and I apologize for that, but I offend so many people—”

There was the satyr hero I knew and loved—cowing our enemies with demands of gift wrapping.

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.

When do you get to chill on the beach and stop working? And don’t tell me sixty-seven unless you want to see a demigod cry.

The dogs snarled in their respective sizes: extra large and child’s medium.

Oh, wait…carrying a torch for someone. Wasn’t that an old-fashioned way to say you loved somebody? That was kind of sweet.

My job was ocean,