Well, for one thing, he's been turned into a human and banished from Olympus. And he's called Lester. But being an awkward mortal teenager is the least of his worries right now. Though he and some of his friends have emerged from the Burning Maze, rescued the Oracle and lived to fight another day, they can't escape the tragedy that has befallen them, or the terrible trials still to face.
So, with heavy heart, Apollo OK, Lester and Meg have a triumvirate still to defeat, oracles to rescue, and prophecies to decipher, so that the world may be saved, and Lester may ascend into the heavens to become Apollo once again. But, right now, Caligula is sailing to San Francisco to deal with Camp Jupiter personally, and they have to get there first. Failure would mean its destruction. Now, he's a teenage boy called Lester.
Apollo has angered his father Zeus for the last time. So, how do you punish an immortal? Cast down from Olympus, he's weak, disorientated and stuck in New York City as a teenage boy.
It's the first time he's been without his powers, and he has to survive in the modern world. Which isn't an easy feat for a four-thousand-year old deity, especially one with as many enemies as he has. Apollo needs help, and he can only think of one place to go. Score: 5. Semua orang mengenalnya sebagai dewa paling tampan, paling berbakat, dan paling populer.
Namun, kini wujudnya yang mengagumkan berubah menjadi sesosok remaja culun berambut keriting, dengan muka berjerawat dan perut menggelambir bernama Lester Papadopoulos!
Sang Dewa Musik tidak lagi memiliki satu kekuatan dewata pun dan tanpa sengaja malah membuat dirinya terikat menjadi pesuruh seorang demigod remaja bernama Meg. Siapa yang membuat Apollo dikutuk menjadi manusia fana dan berakhir di dalam salah satu tong sampah di New York? Apa yang harus dia lakukan demi mendapatkan kembali wujud dewatanya dan pulang ke Olympus? The battle for Camp Jupiter is over. New Rome is safe. Tarquin and his army of the undead have been defeated. Somehow Apollo has made it out alive, with a little bit of help from the Hunters of Artemis.
But though the battle may have been won, the war is far from over. Now Apollo and Meg must get ready for the final - and, let's face it, probably fatal - adventure. They must face the last emperor, the terrifying Nero, and destroy him once and for all.
Can Apollo find his godly form again? Will Meg be able to face up to her troubled past? 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. After all I had done for Percy Jackson, I expected delight upon my arrival.
A tearful welcome, a few burnt offerings, and a small festival in my honor would not have been inappropriate. As usual, I was struck by his resemblance to his father, Poseidon.
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? Percy blinked. He sighed. Casa de Jackson. No gold-plated throne for guests. Seriously, dude? 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. The woman stopped, mystified, and looked down at her hugely swollen belly. I wanted to cry for her. 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? Percy stepped to my side. 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. The Mother of Jackson smiled and shook our hands. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my busted nose. What happened? I attempted to explain, but I choked on my words. 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 combination of compassion, strength, and beauty.
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. In short order, I was showered, bandaged, and dressed in Jacksonesque hand-me-downs.
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. 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 memory came back to me, though hazy and incomplete. 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. I tried to recall, but my memories of godhood were getting fuzzier rather than clearer. What had happened in the last six months? Had I been in some kind of stasis? Had Zeus taken that long to decide what to do with me? 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. Percy winced. 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. He gave me that confusing expression again: as if he wanted to kick me, when I was sure he must be struggling to contain his gratitude.
Do you have something besides the Prius? A Maserati, perhaps? I stared at him, not quite comprehending. Percy laced his fingers. 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. Percy waved vaguely toward the north. Some family emergency.
Calliope is quite touchy when novelists forget to thank her. Percy glanced toward his window. 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? I pursed my lips. 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. Seven-layer dip. Chocolate chip cookies in blue. I love this woman.
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.
I wanted to say: 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. She gave Percy a worried glance, then headed to the kitchen, her hands protectively over her pregnant belly.
Meg sat on the edge of the sofa. Percy snorted. Can you believe that? Percy frowned. 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.
Percy hesitated. I thought of a certain plant, the Mimosa pudica , which the god Pan created. As soon as its leaves are touched, the plant closes up defensively. Percy raised his hands. I told him the story. 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.
Sally ruffled his hair. You invented this for me? Sally wiped her hands on her apron. It tasted almost as good as ambrosia nachos. Soon we were plowing through turkey sandwiches, chips and dip, and banana smoothies. 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! Meg nearly choked on her sandwich. I had a terrifying image of Meg McCaffrey trying to pay me in bottle caps, marbles, and pieces of colored string.
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!
Meg bounced on the arm of the sofa. I took a deep breath, trying to find my happy place. 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. Percy did not look convinced—probably because I did not sound convincing. I had to believe my mortal punishment was temporary, as it had been the last two times.
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.
Percy sat back in his armchair. Percy nodded gravely. Once we reach camp, the magical borders will protect me. You, too. The seven-layer dip began to churn in my stomach. 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! Percy turned to Meg. I hear you throw a mean garbage bag. Any other skills we should know about? Summoning lightning? Making toilets explode? Meg smiled hesitantly. Meg giggled. I did not like the way she was grinning at Percy. We might never get out of here. Percy glanced at the wall clock. Percy gestured with distaste at his test manuals. Got a lot of studying. The first two times I took the SAT—ugh. Meg frowned. I was glad there were no garbage bags nearby for her to throw.
He rose just as Sally Jackson walked in with a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. For some reason, the cookies were blue, but they smelled heavenly—and I should know. Sally sighed. Sally looked at me, then Meg. Her expression softened, her innate kindness perhaps overweighing her concern. Be careful. It was lovely meeting you both. Please try not to die.
Percy kissed her on the cheek. 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 gonna be ticked off. Aquaman driving. Oh, wait, now it is. Sally lent Meg and me some proper winter fleece jackets, however.
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? Percy glanced in the rearview mirror. Meg tugged at her crescent moon rings.
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.
That was unjust. 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? 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. I felt as if I were floating in a warm bath and someone had pulled out the stopper. 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. Weaving through the traffic, closing in on us rapidly, were three glittery, vaguely humanoid apparitions—like billowing plumes from smoke grenades touched by King Midas.
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.
Meg bounced up and down with excitement, which seemed pointless to me, since we were already bouncing quite a lot. 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. My brain clouded over. 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. Meg shoved against her passenger-side door. Get me out of here! Percy tried his own door. It was firmly jammed against the side of a peach tree. I kicked my door open and staggered out, my legs feeling like worn shock absorbers. 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. Percy and Meg struggled to get out of the Prius. They needed time, which meant I had to run interference. To my pleasant surprise, the three spirits stopped.
Come along for what promises to be a harrowing, hilarious, and haiku-filled ride. By making him human. After angering his father Zeus, the god Apollo is cast down from Olympus. Weak and disorientated, he lands in New York City as a regular teenage boy.
But Apollo has many enemies — gods, monsters and mortals who would love to see the former Olympian permanently destroyed. Apollo needs help, and he can think of only one place to go.
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