Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
I caught Bast’s arm when she was a few steps from the bank. “Stay away from the water.” She frowned. “Carter, I’m a cat. I’m not going for a swim. But if you want to summon a river goddess, you really need to do it at the riverbank.
Yes, Horus said. I remember this place. It’s El Paso, I told him. Unless you went out for Mexican Food, you’ve never been here.
We’re on the moon,” Sadie murmured. “El Paso, Texas,” Bast corrected.
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and realized my head was in Khufu’s lap. The baboon was foraging my scalp for munchies. “Dude.” I sat up groggily. “Not cool.” “But he gave you a lovely hairdo,” Sadie said. “Agh-agh!” Khufu agreed.
We don’t have much time. Mel will be out of the restroom soon.” “You’ve got a magician named Mel?
I didn’t know baboons could drive recreational vehicles, but Khufu did okay. When I woke up around dawn, he was navigating through the early morning rush hour in Houston, baring his fangs and barking a lot, and none of the other drivers seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
How flattering,” I grumbled. “My soul glows.
A long white ribbon shot out of the crack in the wall. The ribbon just kept coming, weaving itself into some kind of shape next to Anubis, and my first thought was, My god, he’s got a magic roll of toilet paper.
All I heard was the blood rushing through my ears, and the distant rumble and crackle of the Lake of Fire. (And Khufu scratching himself and grunting, but that was nothing new.)
I’m the god of funerals. I know every death custom in the world—how to die properly, how to prepare the body and soul for the afterlife. I live for death.” “You must be fun at parties,” I said.
His lion and hippo legs twitched. I wondered if netherworld monsters dreamed of chasing rabbits.
Anubis frowned. He locked his very nice eyes with mine. “You’re not dead.” “No,” I said. “Though we’re trying awfully hard.
Thanks for everything.” “As you wish,” the captain said. If axes could frown, I’m sure he would have. “Stay sharp,” Carter told him.
Someday, you will make an excellent guardian ba.” “Thanks,” I muttered. “Can’t wait to be poultry forever.