The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus, The, Book Four) (The Heroes of Olympus)
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sand, and hot thunderstorm. Four of them raced past, their heat singeing the hair off Jason’s arms. They galloped around the marble columns, spitting flames, neighing with a sound like sandblasters. The more they ran, the wilder they became. They started to eye Jason. Auster stroked his rainy beard. “Do you know why the venti can appear as horses, my boy? Every so often, we wind gods travel the earth in equine form. On occasion, we’ve been known to sire the fastest of all horses.” “Thanks,”
within the ruins, tendrils of black ether curled into the sky, like a smoky squid peeking from its cave. As Frank watched, a bolt of dark energy ripped through the air, rocking the ship and sending a cold shockwave across the landscape. “The Necromanteion,” Nico said. “The House of Hades.” Frank steadied himself at the rail. He supposed it was too late to suggest turning back. He was starting to feel nostalgic about the monsters he’d fought in Rome. Heck, chasing poison cows through Venice had
get to a place called Epirus in Greece and find an old temple called the House of Hades (or Pluto, as the Romans called him; or as Hazel liked to think of him: the World’s Worst Absent Father). To reach Epirus, all they had to do was go straight east—over the Apennines and across the Adriatic Sea. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Each time they tried to cross the spine of Italy, the mountain gods attacked. For the past two days they’d skirted north, hoping to find a safe pass, with no luck.
him—especially now, with Annabeth gone. Annabeth had been kind to him. Even when he was so distracted he’d acted like a buffoon, Annabeth had been patient and helpful. While Ares screamed that Athena’s children couldn’t be trusted, and Mars bellowed at him to kill all the Greeks, Frank had grown to respect Annabeth. Now that they were without her, Frank was the next best thing the group had to a military strategist. They would need him for the trip ahead. He rose and got dressed. Fortunately
a corn plant in Venice, he’d only gotten more reclusive and morose. “I don’t know,” Hazel admitted. “He’s been through a lot. Getting captured in Tartarus, being held prisoner in that bronze jar, watching Percy and Annabeth fall…” “And promising to lead us to Epirus.” Frank nodded. “I get the feeling Nico doesn’t play well with others.” Frank stood up straight. He was wearing a beige T-shirt with a picture of a horse and the words PALIO DI SIENA. He’d only bought it a couple of days ago, but