The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #5)

by Rick Riordan

Then he threw me another essential tool of demigod heroes—duct tape.

I left him alive— partly because his lunch box was cool,

“A half-blood of the eldest dogs…” “Er, Percy?” Annabeth interrupted. “That’s gods. Not dogs.”

I mean, sure, she’d always been cute, but she was starting to be seriously beautiful.

I’d never get used to the fact that this twelve-year-old kid spent more time talking with the dead than the living.

“Practice. A few times running into walls. A few accidental trips to China.”

Hestia shook her head. “I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that’s left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian. You must remember me when you face your final decision.”

“Like Theseus,” Paul suggested. “He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to Athens.” “Except he forgot,” Nico muttered. “And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other than that, it was a great idea.”

“We need music,” Nico said. “How’s your singing?” “Um, no. Can’t you just, like, tell it to open?

I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.

“With great power…comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later.”

I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth Avenue with a giant hellhound loping along behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny.

“Last thing.” Hermes looked at me. “She said to tell Percy: ‘Remember the rivers.’ And, um, something about staying away from her daughter.”

“Hello, William.” “Bill,” I suggested. “Bill…Oh, shut up,” Annabeth told me.

“Don’t I get a kiss for luck? It’s kind of a tradition, right?” I figured she would punch me. Instead, she drew her knife and stared at the army marching toward us. “Come back alive, Seaweed Brain. Then we’ll see.”

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” she muttered. “Your eyebrows get all scrunched together.”

“Well…sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look. It’s our floor.”

“Don’t touch her,”

“We need a shroud,” I announced, my voice cracking. “A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

Hermes unwrapped Luke’s face and kissed his forehead. He murmured some words in Ancient Greek—a final blessing. “Farewell,” he whispered.

“All hail, Perseus Jackson,” Tyson said. “Hero of Olympus…and my big brother!”

Nobody steals my pegasus.

“Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire, the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.”

“You’d probably kick my butt.” “You know I’d kick your butt.”

And it was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.