was inspired by his son Haley. I'm Carter Kane – part-time high-school freshman, part-time magician, full- .. 'This monster is a petsuchos – a son of Sobek.'. Read The Son of Sobek online free from your iPhone, iPad, android, Pc, Mobile. The Son of Sobek is a Fantasy novel by Rick Riordan. In this e-book short story by Rick Riordan, Carter Kane is investigating rumored sightings of a monster on Long Island when he runs into something else: a.
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SON OF sieflowiqroweb.gq - Download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. book by rick riordon. Percy Jackson and Kane Chronicles Crossover 01 - The Son of Sobek - Rick sieflowiqroweb.gq KB. Percy Jackson and Kane Chronicles Crossover 02 - The. Read "The Son of Sobek A Disney Hyperion Short Story" by Rick Riordan Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune The Complete Kane Chronicles.
And I really don't have any patience left. Would you ever do a crossover series with Kane characters and Percy Jackson characters? It's tons of fun! It will also be available as an e-single later in the summer. More details to come. Some day, I might write a full-length novel crossover combining the two worlds, but remember that each novel takes one year to write, and I have a lot of other books I have to write first!
I'm already hyperventilating about the release of this book. What do I expect? I expect lots of Percyness. I want sarcastic Percyness, as always. I've waited so long for this crossover that if Rick Riordan makes this really short and basically just an easy means out of having to write the crossover That everybody was asking for..
Odin's Ravens. United as One. Pittacus Lore. Loki's Wolves. The Copper Gauntlet Magisterium 2. Holly Black. Scorpion Mountain. John Flanagan. Seven Wonders Book 1: The Colossus Rises. Peter Lerangis. Seven Wonders Book 3: The Tomb of Shadows. Island of Legends. Lisa McMann. The Iron Trial Magisterium 1. The Fall of Five. The Bronze Key Magisterium 3. Morgan Rice. The Revenge of Seven. Seven Wonders Book 2: Lost in Babylon.
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: The Forgotten Ones. The Fate of Ten. Island of Fire. Island of Shipwrecks. Rogue Knight. Brandon Mull. The Royal Ranger: A New Beginning. Crystal Keepers.
The Transfer. Veronica Roth. The Caldera. The Last Days of Lorien. The Silver Mask Magisterium 4. An Incomplete and Unreliable Guide. The Inquisition. Taran Matharu. The Tournament at Gorlan. Sky Raiders. The Battlemage. Seven Wonders Book 4: The Curse of the King. The Battle of Hackham Heath.
Dragon Captives. Generation One. Wings of Fire Book Three: The Hidden Kingdom. Tui T. Wings of Fire Book Five: The Brightest Night. Five's Legacy. Seven Wonders Book 5: The Legend of the Rift. Return to Paradise. Wings of Fire Book Four: The Dark Secret.
Island of Dragons. The Land of Stories: Worlds Collide. The scene disappeared in the fog, but when the mountain god bellowed again, other numina answered in the distance, their voices echoing through the valleys. You think they grow on trees? A few feet away, a trapdoor opened in the deck.
A Celestial bronze cannon rose. Hazel just had time to cover her ears before it discharged into the sky, spraying a dozen metal spheres that trailed green fire.
The spheres grew spikes in midair, like helicopter blades, and hurtled away into the fog.
A moment later, a series of explosions crackled across the mountains, followed by the outraged roars of mountain gods. Another boulder whistled through the air off to their starboard side. The engines hummed. Magical rigging lashed itself tight, and the ship tacked to port.
The fog cleared. Below them, morning sunlight illuminated the Italian countryside—rolling green hills and golden fields not too different from those in Northern California. Hazel could almost imagine she was sailing home to Camp Jupiter.
The thought weighed on her chest. Camp Jupiter had only been her home for nine months, since Nico had brought her back from the Underworld. She missed her bunk in the Fifth Cohort barracks. She missed dinners in the mess hall, with wind spirits whisking platters through the air and legionnaires joking about the war games. She wanted to wander the streets of New Rome, holding hands with Frank Zhang.
She wanted to experience just being a regular girl for once, with an actual sweet, caring boyfriend. Most of all, she wanted to feel safe. She was tired of being scared and worried all the time. They were exhausted from defending the ship. Every few hours, it seemed, some Roman monster had decided the Argo II looked like a tasty treat. Whenever she got a chance to crash, she slept like a coma patient. Ever since their friends Percy and Annabeth had fallen into Tartarus, Leo had been working almost nonstop.
Hazel worried about him. But part of her was relieved by the change. Ugh, why did her life have to be so complicated? The Apennine Mountains ran down the middle of the boot-shaped country. A green dot for the Argo II blinked on the western side of the range, a few hundred miles north of Rome. Their path should have been simple.
To reach Epirus, all they had to do was go straight east—over the Apennines and across the Adriatic Sea. Each time they tried to cross the spine of Italy, the mountain gods attacked. That made them very determined enemies. The numina can sense us. His black shirt and jeans hung off his skeletal frame. Long dark hair framed his sunken eyes. His olive complexion had turned a sickly greenish white, like the color of tree sap. Like Hazel, Nico di Angelo was a demigod from another era.
The children of Hades Pluto—whichever rarely had happy lives. Nico gripped the hilt of his Stygian iron sword. We get under their skin—literally. But I think the numina could sense this ship anyway. That thing is like a magical beacon. So far the only thing it seemed to be good for was alerting more monsters to their presence. Leo traced his finger down the map of Italy. Thing is, they go a long way in either direction.
Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon…probably the demigod Hazel admired most. Hazel took a deep breath. Percy and Annabeth were still alive.
She knew that in her heart. She could still help them if she could get to the House of Hades, if she could survive the challenge Nico had warned her about. Every time Hazel looked at the thing, her mouth went dry. She worried that Leo would turn the wrong combination on the sphere and accidentally eject them all from the deck, or blow up the ship, or turn the Argo II into a giant toaster. Fortunately, they got lucky. The sphere grew a camera lens and projected a 3-D image of the Apennine Mountains above the console.
But I like that idea better than backtracking south. Rome had not been a good experience. They had to hope Percy and Annabeth could survive long enough to find the Tartarus side of the Doors of Death. Yes…nothing could go wrong with that plan. Nico scowled at the Italian countryside below them. This decision affects us all. Then bam…their two most important members fell into Tartarus. Percy had been their backbone. She was the smartest of the seven, the one with the answers.
She had to make Percy and Annabeth proud of her. She had to take the initiative. She pushed the thought aside. Hazel stared down at the rolling farmland, thinking about what lay beneath it—the realm of her father, lord of the Underworld.
She certainly had never expected help from him—not when she was alive the first time, not during her time as a spirit in the Underworld, not since Nico had brought her back to the world of the living. If Pluto took notice of her, he might have to return her to the land of the dead. Which meant calling on Pluto would be a very bad idea.
And yet… Please, Dad, she found herself praying. I have to find a way to your temple in Greece—the House of Hades. Leo let out a happy whoop as the dust cloud got closer. You missed that whole part. It felt so good to see her old friend. About a mile to the north, the small beige dot circled a hill and stopped at the summit. He was difficult to make out, but when the horse reared and whinnied, the sound carried all the way to the Argo II.
Hazel had no doubt—it was Arion. You know, with Gaea wanting to destroy us and all. As soon as she reached the ground, she ran to Arion and threw her arms around him. Hazel wished she could speak Horse like Percy could, but she got the general idea. Arion sounded impatient, as if saying, No time for sentiment, girl! Come on! Arion bobbed his head, trotting in place. His dark brown eyes gleamed with urgency. The Mediterranean was too dangerous for demigods and their allies.
And he seemed so agitated. Instead, she felt elated. She was so tired of being seasick and airsick. Aboard the Argo II, she felt about as useful as a box of ballast.
She was ready to ride. She was getting better at controlling her power. Precious stones hardly ever popped up around her by accident anymore, and pulling gold from the ground was easy. She fed Arion the nugget…his favorite snack. Then she smiled up at Leo and Nico, who were watching her from the top of the ladder a hundred feet above. A mile away, on the crest of the next hill, a storm had gathered over some old stone ruins—maybe the remains of a Roman temple or a fortress.
A funnel cloud snaked its way down toward the hill like an inky black finger. She looked at Arion. Well…Hazel had asked for help. She hoped so, but she sensed something besides Pluto at work in that storm…something dark, powerful, and not necessarily friendly.
Still, this was her chance to help her friends—to lead instead of follow. She spurred Arion, and they shot across the countryside, heading straight for the growing tornado. Arion charged straight into it. Hazel found herself at the summit, but it felt like a different dimension. The world lost its color. The walls of the storm encircled the hill in murky black. The sky churned gray. The crumbling ruins were bleached so white, they almost glowed. Even Arion had turned from caramel brown to a dark shade of ash.
In the eye of the tempest, the air was still. In front of her, an arched gateway led through mossy walls into some sort of enclosure. Its pull was irresistible, dragging her forward. Yet she hesitated. She reined in Arion, and he clopped impatiently, the ground crackling under his hooves.
Wherever he stepped, the grass, dirt, and stones turned white like frost.
Hazel remembered the Hubbard Glacier in Alaska—how the surface had cracked under their feet. She remembered the floor of that horrible cavern in Rome crumbling to dust, plunging Percy and Annabeth into Tartarus. Arion trotted through the stone archway. Ruined walls bordered a square courtyard about the size of a tennis court. Three other gateways, one in the middle of each wall, led north, east, and west.
In the center of the yard, two cobblestone paths intersected, making a cross. Mist hung in the air— hazy shreds of white that coiled and undulated as if they were alive. Not mist, Hazel realized. The Mist. It could deceive humans, even demigods, into seeing monsters as harmless animals, or gods as regular people. Somehow she knew: this white stuff was pure magic. In the distance, a dog howled. Instantly he turned and ran. So much for being in this together.
Another howl cut through the air—closer this time. Hazel stepped toward the center of the courtyard.
The Mist clung to her like freezer fog. The pale figure of a woman appeared at the northern gateway. No, wait…she stood at the eastern entrance.
No, the western. Three smoky images of the same woman moved in unison toward the center of the ruins. Her form was blurred, made from Mist, and she was trailed by two smaller wisps of smoke, darting at her heels like animals.
Some sort of pets? She reached the center of the courtyard and her three forms merged into one. She solidified into a young woman in a dark sleeveless gown. Her golden hair was gathered into a high-set ponytail, Ancient Greek style.
Her dress was so silky, it seemed to ripple, as if the cloth were ink spilling off her shoulders. She looked no more than twenty, but Hazel knew that meant nothing. She was beautiful, but deathly pale. Once, back in New Orleans, Hazel had been forced to attend a wake for a dead classmate. She remembered the lifeless body of the young girl in the open casket.
Her face had been made up prettily, as if she were resting, which Hazel had found terrifying. When she tilted her head, she seemed to break into three different people again…misty afterimages blurring together, like a photograph of someone moving too fast to capture.
This woman radiated power. Everything around them—the swirling Mist, the monochromatic storm, the eerie glow of the ruins—was because of her presence. Suddenly she was holding two old-fashioned reed torches, guttering with fire. The Mist receded to the edges of the courtyard. One was a black Labrador retriever.
The other was a long, gray, furry rodent with a white mask around its face. A weasel, maybe? The woman smiled serenely. On either side of the crossroads, two dark metal torch-stands erupted from the dirt like plant stalks. Hecate fixed her torches in them, then walked a slow circle around Hazel, regarding her as if they were partners in some eerie dance. The black dog and the weasel followed in her wake. Marie was a fortune-teller.
She dealt in charms and curses and gris-gris. I am the goddess of magic. During her first lifetime in New Orleans, Hazel had been tormented by the kids at St. Agnes School because of her mother. They called Marie Levesque a witch. If the nuns were scared of my mom, Hazel wondered, what would they make of this goddess?
It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil. Not really. She was just faking it, for the money. Then it made a squeaking sound from its back end.
She gave Hazel an apologetic shrug. She herself was once a witch, you see. She had terrible personal hygiene, plus extreme—ah, digestive issues.
The dog grunted. The point is, Hazel Levesque, your mother may have claimed not to believe, but she had true magic. Eventually, she realized this. When she searched for a spell to summon the god Pluto, I helped her find it.
I see even more potential in you. Hazel could summon riches from the earth, but anyone who used them would suffer and die. Now this goddess was saying that she had made all that happen. Neither do you. Without my help, you will die. The polecat snapped its teeth and passed gas.
Hazel felt like her lungs were filling with hot sand. Hecate raised her pale arms. A flurry of black-and-white images glowed and flickered, like the old silent movies that were still playing in theaters sometimes when Hazel was small. In the western doorway, Roman and Greek demigods in full armor fought one another on a hillside under a large pine tree. The grass was strewn with the wounded and the dying.
Hazel saw herself riding Arion, charging through the melee and shouting—trying to stop the violence. Its rigging was in flames. A boulder smashed into the quarterdeck.
Another punched through the hull. The ship burst like a rotten pumpkin, and the engine exploded. The images in the northern doorway were even worse. Hazel saw Leo, unconscious—or dead— falling through the clouds. She saw Frank staggering alone down a dark tunnel, clutching his arm, his shirt soaked in blood. And Hazel saw herself in a vast cavern filled with strands of light like a luminous web. She was struggling to break through while, in the distance, Percy and Annabeth lay sprawled and unmoving at the foot of two black-and-silver metal doors.
And I am the goddess of crossroads. She looked down and saw the glint of silver coins… thousands of old Roman denarii breaking the surface all around her, as if the entire hilltop was coming to a boil. News was exchanged. Markets were held. Friends met, and enemies fought. Entire armies had to choose a direction. Crossroads are always places of decision.
Demigods would go there to make decisions. They would flip a coin, heads or tails, and hope the two-faced god would guide them well. Hazel had always hated that place. After all Hazel had been through, she trusted the wisdom of the gods about as much as she trusted a New Orleans slot machine. The goddess of magic made a disgusted hiss.
He would have you believe that all choices are black or white, yes or no, in or out. Whenever you reach the crossroads, there are always at least three ways to go…four, if you count going backward.
You are at such a crossing now, Hazel. None of you will survive. She scooped a handful of fire and sculpted the flames until she was holding a miniature relief map of Italy. Your comrades back home, Greek and Roman, are on the brink of war. Leave now, and you might save many lives. Gaea has set the date of August first, the Feast of Spes, goddess of hope, for her rise to power. By waking on the Day of Hope, she intends to destroy all hope forever. Even if you reached Greece by then, could you stop her?
I do not know. She has raised her mountain gods against you. Ironically, this might be the safest option for your crew. I foresee that all of you would survive the explosion. It is possible, though unlikely, you could still reach Epirus and close the Doors of Death. You might find Gaea and prevent her rise.
But by then, both demigod camps would be destroyed. You would have no home to return to. It would mean the end of your quest, but it would spare you and your friends much pain and suffering in the days to come. The war with the giants would have to be won or lost without you.
A small, guilty part of Hazel found that appealing. She looked behind Hecate at the middle gateway. She saw Percy and Annabeth sprawled helplessly before those black-and-silver doors. A massive dark shape, vaguely humanoid, now loomed over them, its foot raised as if to crush Percy. From there, sail the Adriatic to your goal, here: Epirus in Greece. She had no idea what the Adriatic Sea was like. But one thing was obvious. You must learn to use the Mist.
She flicked her hand at the black dog Hecuba. Mist collected around the Labrador until she was completely hidden in a cocoon of white. The fog cleared with an audible poof! Where the dog had stood was a disgruntled-looking black kitten with golden eyes.
My children learn to use the Mist to their advantage, to create illusions or influence the minds of mortals. Other demigods can do this as well. And so must you, Hazel, if you are to help your friends. The cat seemed so real. As a child of Pluto who has returned from the dead, you understand the veil between worlds better than most. You can control the Mist. If you do not…well, your brother Nico has already warned you.
The spirits have whispered to him, told him of your future.