The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo, #5)

by Rick Riordan

WHEN TRAVELING THROUGH WASHINGTON, DC, one expects to see a few snakes in human clothing. Still, I was concerned when a two-headed boa constrictor boarded our train at Union Station.

I considered throwing myself out one of these exits and hoping for the best, but I feared “the best” would mean dying on impact with the ground.

Barbarians! Who else would eat breakfast pastries at night?

Outside, the illuminated billboards of New Jersey zipped by: ads for auto dealerships where you could buy an impractical race car; injury lawyers you could employ to blame the other drivers once you crashed that race car; casinos where you could gamble away the money you won from the injury lawsuits. The great circle of life.

Being a captive had dampened my desire for small talk.

Shockingly, there was no clearly labeled switch that would allow a passenger to decouple the train. What was wrong with Amtrak?

Turning around so I could shoot my bow would be madness. Yes, I thought hysterically. Let’s do that.

Annabeth leaned into Percy, her arms wrapped around his neck like she was about to kiss him or possibly choke him.

She pointed to another picture of Percy and Sally, beaming as they held up a baby-blue cake with darker blue icing that read CONGRATULATIONS, PERCY THE GRADUTE! I did not ask why graduate was misspelled, dyslexia being so common in demigod families.

some stubborn part of me insisted that Percy Jackson must be here somewhere, waiting to do dangerous tasks for me. That was his job!

A “good cop” was still a cop…

I’D HEARD WORSE PLANS. But while the idea of pushing Lu off a building had a certain appeal, I was skeptical that she really meant it,

Also, I respected the fact that Sally needed to work. As the god of poetry, I understood revisions. Facing monsters and imperial mercenaries was much easier.

Lol tell us how you really feel Rick

“Doggerel,” I explained for Meg’s sake, “means a few irregular lines of poetry. With these three, that’s redundant, since everything they do is irregular.”

We would only tell you if you threatened us with terrible things!” “I will not resort to threatening you—” “He’s threatening us!” Tempest flailed.

“That,” I said, “is the god Dionysus.” Meg frowned. “Why?” She might have meant Why is he a god? Why is he standing up there? or Why is this our life? All three questions were equally valid.

I can’t wait to show you off to the demigods. You look horrible!”

I needed lunch, rest, antibiotics, and a new identity, not necessarily in that order.

“No, you can’t just eat a new camper. They get two warnings first!”

Breakfast is a meal With pancakes and burnt yogurt And insanity.

“Oh, Apollo, bless your tiny, inadequate brain.

Huevos rancheros Do not go with prophecies, Much like happiness.

BROOKLYN. Normally, the greatest dangers there are congested traffic, expensive poke bowls, and not enough tables at the local coffee shops for all the aspiring screenwriters.

And, hey, di Angelo”—she pushed him playfully away from the canvas he’d been ogling—“don’t brush against the art! I don’t care about the paintings, but if you get any color on you, you’ll ruin that whole black-and-white aesthetic you’ve got going.”

Nico sighed. “I’m guessing that was a Star Wars reference. My boyfriend is a Star Wars geek of the worst kind.” “Okay, Signor Myth-o-magic. If you would just watch the original trilogy…” Will looked at the rest of us for support and found nothing but blank expressions. “Nobody? Oh, my gods. You people are hopeless.”

IN NO CONTEXT CAN THE COWS ARE ATTACKING be considered good news.

The fact that Nero—a man who had killed his own mother—was talking about defending traditional Roman values…that was just about the most Roman thing I could imagine. And the idea that he wanted to play Daddy to the entire world made my guts churn.

My son Asclepius, god of medicine, used to chide me about helping those with disabilities. You can help them if they ask. But wait for them to ask. It’s their choice to make, not yours.

The third was split between Fox News and MSNBC, which side by side should have been enough to cause an antimatter explosion.

“No one hits my boyfriend,” Will thundered. “And no one kills my dad!”

Rachel pulled out a blue plastic hairbrush and threw it at the nearest barbarian, beaning him in the eye and making him howl. Sorry I underestimated you, Rachel, I thought distantly. You’re actually kind of a hairbrush ninja.

I considered that perhaps courage was a self-perpetuating cycle, like abuse.

You cannot change a tyrant by trying to out-ugly him.

I frowned. I still didn’t like the idea of my sunshiny son skipping off into the land of monster nightmares.

No story ever ends, does it? It just leads into others.”