The Hammer of Thor (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, #2)

by Rick Riordan

“I’m incognito. Call me…Otis.” “I’m not sure that’s how incognito works, but okay.” Otis, aka Otis, climbed into the chair

Each night, Thor killed and ate them for dinner. Each morning, Thor resurrected them. This is why you should go to college, kids—so when you grow up you do not have to take a job as a magical goat.

When I need his help, he turns into a sword and kills things. Sometimes he does this while I wield him. Other times he does this while flying around on his own and singing annoying pop songs. He is magical that way.

My Friends Protect Me by Telling Me Absolutely Nothing. Thanks, Friends

Since moving to Valhalla, I’d learned an impressive number of Old Norse cusswords. Meinfretr translated as something like stinkfart, which was, naturally, the worst kind of fart.

According to Annabeth, our family, the Chases, had some sort of special appeal to the ancient gods. Maybe it was our winning personalities. Maybe it was our brand of shampoo. Annabeth’s mom, the Greek goddess Athena, had fallen in love with her dad, Frederick. My dad, Frey, had fallen in love with my mother, Natalie. If somebody came up to me tomorrow and told me—surprise!—the Aztec gods were alive and well in Houston and my second cousin was the granddaughter of Quetzalcoatl, I would totally believe them. Then I would run screaming off a cliff into Ginnungagap.