Percy Jackson. Book 1. The Lightning Thief

but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel

“Food!” Grover moaned, a little louder.

I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you’re my best friend and I don’t want you to die!

“Whoa. You said ‘you.’”

Finally, brave Percy Jackson (I was beginning to like this kid) had stolen a gun from his captor in Los Angeles and battled him shotgun-to-rifle on the beach.

Ares’s face was purple with rage. “Watch it, kid. I could turn you into-“

“A cockroach,” I said. “Or a tapeworm. Yeah, I’m sure. That’d save you from getting your godly hide whipped, wouldn’t it?”

What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades’s underwear?

“Why can’t you place a blessing like that on us?” I asked.

“It only works on wild animals.”

“So it would only affect Percy,” Annabeth reasoned.

We’d just released a zebra in Las Vegas.

“You’re pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues.”