The Battle of the Labyrinth (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #4)

by Rick Riordan

A marching band played an out-of-tune fight song that sounded like somebody hitting a bag of cats with a metal baseball bat.

Clarisse from the Ares cabin was one of my least favorite people. She was a mean, ungrateful bully. Her dad, the war god, wanted to kill me. She tried to beat me to a pulp on a regular basis. Other than that, she was just great.

Mrs. O’Leary ate her lunch, which consisted of a hundred pounds of ground beef and several dog biscuits the size of trash-can lids. I wondered where Quintus got dog biscuits that size. I didn’t figure you could just walk into Pet Zone and put those in your shopping cart.

He turned it upside down and shook the fries and hamburger into the grave. “In my day, we used animal blood,” the ghost mumbled.

Nico had summoned the dead with Coke and cheeseburgers.

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many people will pay for a flesh-eating horse. They make great garbage disposals. Wonderful way to terrify your enemies. Great at birthday parties! We rent them out all the time.”

Geryon shrugged, which was very weird since he had three sets of shoulders. It looked like he was doing the wave all by himself.

Annabeth glared at me like she was going to punch me. And then she did something that surprised me even more. She kissed me. “Be careful, Seaweed Brain.”

“You talk in your sleep.” I blushed. “Yeah. I’ve been…uh, told that before.” “Yes. Who is Annabeth?”

Annabeth turned to face the audience. She looked terrible. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but she managed to say, “He was probably the bravest friend I’ve ever had. He…” Then she saw me. Her face went blood red. “He’s right there!”

I left him in his wheelchair, staring sadly into the fireplace. I wondered how many times he’d sat here, waiting for heroes that never came back.

Nico had always been a little different, but since Bianca’s death, he’d gotten almost…scary. He had his father’s eyes—that intense, manic fire that made you suspect he was either a genius or a madman. And the way he’d banished Minos, and called himself the king of ghosts—it was kind of impressive, but it made me uncomfortable, too.

The body in the coffin was Luke’s.

“You hit the Lord of the Titans in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush.”

Tyson told Rachel she was pretty, which made Annabeth’s nostrils flare like she was going to blow fire. “Anyway,” I said.

“Percy Jackson,” the god said. “I know what you have seen today. I know your doubts. But I give you this news: when the time comes, you will not be ruled by fear.”

“Daughter of Athena, your time is coming. You will play a great role, though it may not be the role you imagined.”

“Master Cyclops, do not despair. Heroes rarely live up to our expectations. But you, Tyson—your name shall live among the Cyclopes fo...

“Why are you telling me this?” The wine god sighed. “Oh, Hades if I know. But remember, boy, that a kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword. As a mortal, I was never a great fighter or athlete or poet. I only made wine. The people in my village laughed at me. They said I would never amount to anything. Look at me now. Sometimes small things can become very large indeed.”

She looked just the way she had when she’d faced the Sphinx—like she wasn’t going to accept an easy answer, even if it got her in serious trouble. I realized that was one of the things I liked best about Annabeth.