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"A publisher in New York asked me to write down what I know about the Greek gods, and I was like, Can we do this anonymously? Because I don't need the. Kobo BooksKobo eBooksFREE - In Google Play. VIEW · Worldwide Kobo . Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Sea of Monsters: The Graphic Novel ebook by. Percy Jackson and the Percy Jackson's Greek Gods ebook by Rick Riordan,John Rocco .. The Devil Went Down to Austin ebook by Rick Riordan. The Devil. The Lightning Thief. Percy Jackson and the Olympians (Series). Book 1. Rick Riordan Author Jesse Bernstein Narrator (). cover image of The Lightning.


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Percy Jackson - Diebe im Olymp (Percy Jackson 1) (German Edition) - Kindle edition by Rick Riordan, Gabriele Haefs. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. $ Read with Our Free App; Hardcover . Adult in German; # in Teen & Young Adult Fairy Tales & Folklore eBooks. For Everyone who couldn't find this I bought the Ebook and put it here. Also by Rick Riordan Percy Jackson and the Olympians Book One: The Lightning Thief Book Two: The Sea of . I ignored the warm Dumpster juice trickling down my neck. We wish to be free, uncontroooolled—” “Yes, I know. Title: Percy Jackson's Greek Heroes (UK) Author: Rick Riordan Published: August 18, Percy Jackson/Kane Chronicles Adventures (ebooks): THE SON OF Then they promised me a year's supply of free pepperoni pizza, plus . Zeus peered down from the heavens with his super-keen X-ray vision.

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Meg McCaffrey set me straight. Also enslaved by a small child. You look gross. I looked about sixteen. My medium-length hair was dark and curly—a style I had rocked in Athenian times, and again in the s. My eyes were blue. My face was pleasing enough in a dorkish way, but it was marred by a swollen eggplant-colored nose, which had dripped a gruesome mustache of blood down my upper lip. Even worse, my cheeks were covered with some sort of rash that looked suspiciously like…My heart climbed into my throat.

It is one of our inalienable rights. Yet I leaned closer to the glass and saw that my skin was indeed a scarred landscape of whiteheads and pustules. I have been made a teenager, and not even one with perfect skin!

My midriff was covered with a floral pattern of bruises from my fall into the Dumpster and my subsequent kicking. But even worse, I had flab. I always have eight-pack abs. I never have love handles. Never in four I allowed Meg to pull me farther down the street. She skipped along, occasionally stopping to pick up a coin or swing herself around a streetlamp.

The child seemed unfazed by the cold weather, the dangerous journey ahead, and the fact that I was suffering from acne. I decided I might not be able to stand the stress of knowing. The alley. She returned her attention to her twenty-dollar airplane. For children blessed with an immortal parent, they were strangely sensitive about their backgrounds. Or Camp Jupiter? A few more blocks…I think. She hopscotched ahead, throwing the cash airplane and retrieving it.

She cartwheeled through the intersection at East Seventy-Second Street—her clothes a flurry of traffic-light colors so bright I worried the drivers might get confused and run her down. Fortunately, New York drivers were used to swerving around oblivious pedestrians. I decided Meg must be a feral demigod. They were rare but not unheard of. Without any support network, without being discovered by other demigods or taken in for proper training, she had still managed to survive.

But her luck would not last. Monsters usually began hunting down and killing young heroes around the time they turned thirteen, when their true powers began to manifest. Meg did not have long. She needed to be brought to Camp Half-Blood as much as I did. She was fortunate to have met me. I know that last statement seems obvious. Everyone who meets me is fortunate, but you take my meaning. I could have looked into her soul and seen all I needed to know about her godly parentage, her powers, her motives and secrets.

Now I was blind to such things. I could only be sure she was a demigod because she had successfully claimed my service.

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Zeus had affirmed her right with a clap of thunder. I felt the binding upon me like a shroud of tightly wrapped banana peels. Whoever Meg McCaffrey was, however she had happened to find me, our fates were now intertwined.

It was almost as embarrassing as the acne. We turned east on Eighty-Second Street. By the time we reached Second Avenue, the neighborhood started to look familiar—rows of apartment buildings, hardware shops, convenience stores, and Indian restaurants. I knew that Percy Jackson lived around here somewhere, but my trips across the sky in the sun chariot had given me something of a Google Earth orientation.

Also, in this mortal form, my flawless memory had become…flawed. Mortal fears and needs clouded my thoughts. I wanted to eat. I wanted to use the restroom. My body hurt. My clothes stank. I felt as if my brain had been stuffed with wet cotton.

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Honestly, how do you humans stand it? After a few more blocks, a mixture of sleet and rain began to fall. Meg tried to catch the precipitation on her tongue, which I thought a very ineffective way to get a drink—and of dirty water, no less. I shivered and concentrated on happy thoughts: I still wondered about their boss, and how he had known where I would fall to earth.

After all, I had been the god of prophecy, master of the Oracle of Delphi, distributor of the highest quality sneak previews of destiny for millennia.

Of course, I had no shortage of enemies. One of the natural consequences of being so awesome is that I attracted envy from all quarters. But I could only think of one adversary who might be able to tell the future. And if he came looking for me in my weakened state… I tamped down that thought. I had enough to worry about. No point scaring myself to death with what-ifs.

We began searching side streets, checking names on apartment mailboxes and intercom panels. The Upper East Side had a surprising number of Jacksons.

I found that annoying. After several failed attempts, we turned a corner and there—parked under a crape myrtle—sat an older model blue Prius. Its hood bore the unmistakable dents of pegasus hooves.

How was I sure? I know my hoof marks. Also, normal horses do not gallop over Toyotas. Pegasi often do. She stared back toward Second Avenue, her dark eyes turbulent. Saw them back on Park Avenue.

Told you that. Many spirits could appear that way. My own father, Zeus, once took the form of a shiny blob to woo a mortal woman. Why the mortal woman found that attractive, I have no idea. She had shown no fear while pelting muggers with garbage in a blind alley, but now she seemed to be having second thoughts about ringing a doorbell. It occurred to me she Perhaps those meetings had not gone well. You have nothing to fear. Besides, he likes me.

I taught him everything he knows. So many obvious things she did not know. The front door buzzed. I pushed it open. Just before I stepped inside, I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I peered down the sidewalk but again saw nothing. Perhaps it had been a reflection. Or a whirl of sleet. Or perhaps it had been a shiny blob.

My scalp tingled with apprehension. I did not want Meg bolting off when we were so close to reaching safety. We were bound together now. I would have to follow her if she ordered me to, and I did not fancy living in the alley with her forever.

A tearful welcome, a few burnt offerings, and a small festival in my honor would not have been inappropriate. He had the same sea-green eyes, the same dark tousled hair, the same handsome features that could shift from humor to anger so easily. Meg inched back into the hallway, hiding behind me. I tried for a smile. I am in need of assistance. She rescued me from street thugs. Dude, what happened to you?

He sighed. Casa de Jackson No gold-plated throne for guests Seriously, dude? How can you mortals live in such tiny places? Where is your pride?

Your sense of style? The Jackson apartment had no grand throne room, no colonnades, no terraces or banquet halls or even a thermal bath. It had a tiny living room with an attached kitchen and a single hallway leading to what I assumed were the bedrooms.

What did they do when guests from the sky wanted to visit? Standing behind the kitchen counter, making a smoothie, was a strikingly attractive mortal woman of about forty. Her long brown hair had a few gray streaks, but her bright eyes, quick smile, and festive tie-dyed sundress made her look younger.

As we entered, she turned off the blender and stepped out from behind the counter. My sister, Artemis, had experience with midwifery, but I had always found it one area of the healing arts best left to others.

Are you cursed? And can you not mention Hera?

She would give birth as soon as she felt like it. Percy Jackson coughed. Mom, this is Apollo and his friend Meg. Guys, this is my mom. What happened? I, the silver-tongued god of poetry, could not bring myself to describe my fall from grace to this kind woman. I understood why Poseidon had been so smitten with her. Sally Jackson possessed just the right She was one of those rare mortal women who could connect spiritually with a god as an equal—to be neither terrified of us nor greedy for what we can offer, but to provide us with true companionship.

If I had still been an immortal, I might have flirted with her myself. But I was now a sixteen-year- old boy. My mortal form was working its way upon my state of mind. I saw Sally Jackson as a mom —a fact that both consternated and embarrassed me. I thought about how long it had been since I had called my own mother. I should probably take her to lunch when I got back to Olympus. Sally gave him the slightest motherly eyebrow raise.

Apollo can take a shower, then wear your extra clothes. You two are about the same size. Thankfully, Meg did not bite her. No doubt she was thinking, Who dressed this poor girl like a traffic light? Sally laughed. Percy, you take Apollo. Percy left me alone in the bathroom to take care of all this myself, for which I was grateful. He offered me some ambrosia and nectar—food and drink of the gods—to heal my wounds, but I was not sure it would be safe to consume in my mortal state.

When I was done, I stared at my battered face in the bathroom mirror. Perhaps teenage angst had permeated the clothes, because I felt more like a sulky high schooler than ever. I thought how unfair it was that I was being punished, how lame my father was, how no one else in the history of time had ever experienced problems like mine.

Of course, all that was empirically true. No exaggeration was required. The swelling in my nose had subsided. My ribs still ached, but I no longer felt as if someone were knitting a sweater inside my chest with hot needles. Accelerated healing was the least Zeus could do for me.

I was a god of medicinal arts, after all. Zeus probably just wanted me to get well quickly so I could endure more pain, but I was grateful nonetheless.

I examined the black T-shirt Percy had given me. I had no problem with Led Zeppelin. I had inspired all their best songs. But I had a sneaking suspicion that Percy had given me this shirt as a joke—the fall from the sky. Yes, ha-ha. I decided not to comment on it. Then I did my usual motivational speech in the mirror: I went out to face the world. Percy was sitting on his bed, staring at the trail of blood droplets I had made across his carpet.

Percy spread his hands. The Acropolis. We gods had battled side by side with Percy Jackson and his comrades. I ask you: How was that my fault? Zeus seemed to consider egotism a trait the boy had inherited from me. Which is ridiculous. I am much too self- aware to be egotistical.

Then bam—he vaporized you. What had happened in the last six months?

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Had I been in some kind of stasis? Had Zeus taken that long to decide what to do with me? Your fault. Your punishment. My shame felt fresh and raw, as if the conversation had just happened, but I could not be sure. After being alive for so many millennia, I had trouble keeping track of time even in the best of circumstances. Last year I lost an entire semester thanks to Hera.

During the war with Gaea, I had been focused mostly on my own fabulous exploits. But I suppose he and his friends had undergone a few minor hardships. Do you have something besides the Prius?

A Maserati, perhaps? They were long and nimble. He would have made an excellent musician. If I want to go to college with Annabeth next fall, I have to stay out of trouble and get my diploma.

Some family emergency. Calliope is quite touchy when novelists forget to thank her. On the sill was a potted plant with delicate silver leaves— possibly moonlace.

I wanted to get back to talking about my problems. I was impatient with Percy for turning the conversation to himself. Sadly, I have found this sort of self-centeredness common among demigods. Can you turn down such glory? It always disappointed me when mortals put themselves first and failed to see the big picture—the importance of putting me first—but I had to remind myself that this young man had helped me out on many previous occasions.

He had earned my goodwill. For a moment I thought he wanted my autograph. Then I remembered the pen was the disguised form of his sword, Riptide. He smiled, and some of that old demigod mischief twinkled in his eyes. She had transformed Meg from a street urchin into a shockingly pretty young girl. Her round face was scrubbed clean of grime. Her cat-eye glasses had been polished so the rhinestones sparkled.

She had evidently insisted on keeping her old red sneakers, but she wore new black leggings and a knee- length frock of shifting green hues. Meg now had an elfish springtime aura that reminded me very much of a dryad.

In fact… A sudden wave of emotion overwhelmed me. I choked back a sob. Meg pouted. You remind me of someone. Only two mortals ever had broken my heart. I felt no attraction to Meg. I was sixteen or four thousand plus, depending on how you looked at it. She was a very young twelve. But the way she appeared now, Meg McCaffrey might have been the daughter of my former love…if my former love had lived long enough to have children.

It was too painful. I looked away. Meg sat on the edge of the sofa. Can you believe that? I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections. Meg swung her feet. Like me? What about your parents? She studied her chewed cuticles, the matching crescent rings glinting on her middle fingers. As soon as its leaves are touched, the plant closes up defensively. Percy raised his hands. I may have exaggerated my brave defense against Cade and Mikey—just for narrative effect, you understand.

As I finished, Sally Jackson returned. She set down a bowl of tortilla chips and a casserole dish filled with elaborate dip in multicolored strata, like sedimentary rock. You invented this for me?

It tasted almost as good as ambrosia nachos. Meg ate like a chipmunk, shoving more food in her mouth than she could possibly chew. My belly was full. I had never been so happy. I had a strange desire to fire up an Xbox and play Call of Duty. You guys barely know each other. My fate is now linked with young McCaffrey. She seemed to savor that word. From his pocket, Percy fished his ballpoint pen.

He tapped it thoughtfully against his knee. We tried to overthrow Zeus. Oh, and your father, Poseidon. We were both cast down to earth as mortals, forced to serve Laomedon, the king of Troy.

He was a harsh master. He even refused to pay us for our work! But as I was saying, the second time I became mortal, Zeus got mad because I killed some of his Cyclopes. My brother is a Cyclops. They made the lightning bolt that killed one of my sons!

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He was a kind master. I liked him so much, I made all his cows have twin calves. Possibly more. I gritted my teeth. But if I suffer through them and prove I am worthy, Zeus will forgive me and allow me to become a god again. I had to believe my mortal punishment was temporary, as it had been the last two times.

Yet Zeus had created a strict rule for baseball and prison sentences: I could only hope this would not apply to me. I can figure out which of my godly powers remain with me in this mortal form. Once we reach camp, the magical borders will protect me. You, too. I have to. Being a mortal was traumatic enough. The thought of being barred from camp, of being unimportant…No.

That simply could not be. I must have other abilities! I hear you throw a mean garbage bag. Any other skills we should know about? Summoning lightning? Making toilets explode? I did not like the way she was grinning at Percy. We might never get out of here. Percy gestured with distaste at his test manuals. Got a lot of studying. The first two times I took the SAT—ugh. I was glad there were no garbage bags nearby for her to throw.

For some reason, the cookies were blue, but they smelled heavenly—and I should know. Sally sighed. Her expression softened, her innate kindness perhaps overweighing her concern.

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Be careful. It was lovely meeting you both. Please try not to die. He reached for the cookies, but she moved the plate away. And hurry, dear. It would be a shame if Paul ate them all when he gets home. He faced us. A batch of cookies is depending on me. If you get me killed on the way to camp, I am going be ticked off. Perhaps that was an arcane ward against evil spirits. Hecate would have known. Once we reached the Prius, Meg called shotgun, which was yet another example of my unfair existence.

Gods do not ride in the back. I again suggested following them in a Maserati or a Lamborghini, but Percy admitted he had neither. The Prius was the only car his family owned. I mean…wow. Just wow. Sitting in the backseat, I quickly became carsick. I was used to driving my sun chariot across the sky, where every lane was the fast lane.

I was not used to the Long Island Expressway. Believe me, even at midday in the middle of January, there is nothing express about your expressways.

Percy braked and lurched forward. I sorely wished I could launch a fireball in front of us and melt cars to make way for our clearly more important journey.

At least some Hephaestian bumper blades? What sort of cheap economy vehicle is this? Again I wondered if she had some connection to Artemis. Perhaps Artemis had sent Meg to look after me? Artemis had trouble sharing anything with me—demigods, arrows, nations, birthday parties. Meg had another sort of aura…one I would have been able to recognize easily if I were a god.

But, no. I had to rely on mortal intuition, which was like trying to pick up sewing needles while wearing oven mitts. Meg turned and gazed out the rear windshield, probably checking for any shiny blobs pursuing us. Meg huffed. Neither of us answered. For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. And believe me, I have to be very stunned for that to happen. How was I to know that Gaea would take advantage of the chaos of war and raise my oldest, greatest enemy from the depths of Tartarus so he could take possession of his old lair in the cave of Delphi and cut off the source of my prophetic power?

Oh, yes, I hear you critics out there: How could you not know that would happen? The next sound you hear will be me blowing you a giant Meg-McCaffrey-quality raspberry. I swallowed back the taste of fear and seven-layer dip. Those are the rules. Meg threw a piece of lint at me.

The water swirled around me, tugging me downward. Soon I would be left shivering and exposed, or else I would be sucked down the drain into the sewers of hopelessness. I was beginning to see what was in store for me during my mortal sojourn. The Oracle was held by hostile forces. My adversary lay coiled and waiting, growing stronger every day on the magical fumes of the Delphic caverns. And I was a weak mortal bound to an untrained demigod who threw garbage and chewed her cuticles.

Zeus could not possibly expect me to fix this. Not in my present condition. And yet…someone had sent those thugs to intercept me in the alley.

Someone had known where I would land. Nobody can tell the future anymore, Percy had said. Where was she finding this lint? It had felt good while it lasted.

She pointed behind us. I envisioned crossing an actual countryside. Instead, Percy shot down the nearest exit ramp, wove across the parking lot of a shopping mall, then blasted through the drive-through of a Mexican restaurant without even ordering anything.

We swerved into an industrial area of dilapidated warehouses, the smoking apparitions still closing in behind us. We sped north, the warehouses giving way to a hodgepodge of apartment buildings and abandoned strip malls. I fight better near water. Because Poseidon. I glanced out the rear window. The three glittering plumes were still gaining. One of them passed through a middle-aged man crossing the street. The mortal pedestrian instantly collapsed. I hate being mortal!

Meg yelped as her head hit the ceiling. Then she began giggling uncontrollably. The landscape opened into actual countryside—fallow fields, dormant vineyards, orchards of bare fruit trees. We can do it. One of the shiny smoke clouds pulled a dirty trick, pluming from the pavement directly in front of us. Instinctively, Percy swerved. The Prius went off the road, straight through a barbed wire fence and into an orchard. Percy managed to avoid hitting any of the trees, but the car skidded in the icy mud and wedged itself between two trunks.

Miraculously, the air bags did not deploy. Percy popped his seat belt. Get me out of here! It was firmly jammed against the side of a peach tree. The three smoky figures had stopped at the edge of the orchard. Now they advanced slowly, taking on solid shapes.

They grew arms and legs. Their faces formed eyes and wide, hungry mouths. I knew instinctively that I had dealt with these spirits before. I was a panicky sixteen-year-old. My palms sweated. My teeth chattered. My only coherent thought was: Percy and Meg struggled to get out of the Prius. They needed time, which meant I had to run interference. They hovered in place about forty feet away.

I heard Meg grunt as she tumbled out of the backseat. Percy scrambled after her. I advanced toward the spirits, the frosty mud crunching under my shoes. My breath steamed in the cold air. I raised my hand in an ancient three-fingered gesture for warding off evil. My hopes lifted. I waited for them to dissipate or flee in terror. Instead, they solidified into ghoulish corpses with yellow eyes.

Their clothes were tattered rags, their limbs covered with gaping wounds and running sores. But the list never seems to end. Their cadaverous mouths gaped. Their tongues lolled.

Their eyes glistened with a film of yellow mucus. Except for that story about how I flayed the satyr Marsyas alive. That was a total lie. Difficult for me, but I managed. Once I was born, spreading illnesses became part of my job. Stop interrupting! I will strike you down!

In fact, I was terrified. My sixteen-year-old mortal instincts were screaming, RUN! My knees were knocking together, and my right eye had developed a nasty twitch.

Rick Riordan

But the secret to dealing with plague spirits was to keep talking so as to appear in charge and unafraid. I trusted that this would allow my demigod companions time I certainly hoped Meg and Percy were working on such a plan. The spirit on the right bared his rotten teeth. Where is your booow? Percy cleared his throat. I thought. It does not have the pooooetry of a good epidemic. I thrust out my arms, hoping to blast them to dust. Nothing happened. The branch stuck. Glittering smoke began swirling down the length of the wood.

Meanwhile, Percy Jackson charged into battle. Whenever his blade connected with the nosoi, their bodies simply dissolved into glittery mist, then resolidified. A spirit lunged to grab him. I took one century off to lie around the beach in Cabo, and came back and found that the nosoi had gotten loose and a third of the continent was dead. Gods, I was so irritated. But I was too terrified to argue.

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Meg and Percy sprinted off through the orchard, and I followed. Percy pointed to a line of hills about a mile ahead. With a casual flick of his hand, Percy caused the side of the tank to rupture. A wall of water crashed into the three nosoi behind us. My chest ached. Each breath was a ragged wheeze. I resented that these two demigods could carry on a conversation while running for their lives while I, the immortal Apollo, was reduced to gasping like a catfish.

Before I could finish, three glittering pillars of smoke plumed from the ground in front of us. Two of the nosoi solidified into cadavers—one with a peach for a third eye, the other with a tree branch sticking out of his chest. He ran straight into the plume of smoke. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat.

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