Rick Riordan - The Tower of Nero

Also by Rick Riordan

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS

Book One: The Lightning Thief

Book Two: The Sea of Monsters

Book Three: The Titans Curse

Book Four: The Battle of the Labyrinth

Book Five: The Last Olympian

The Demigod Files

The Lightning Thief: The Graphic Novel

The Sea of Monsters: The Graphic Novel

The Titans Curse: The Graphic Novel

The Battle of the Labyrinth: The Graphic Novel

The Last Olympian: The Graphic Novel

Percy Jacksons Greek Gods

Percy Jacksons Greek Heroes

From Percy Jackson: Camp Half-Blood Confidential

THE KANE CHRONICLES

Book One: The Red Pyramid

Book Two: The Throne of Fire

Book Three: The Serpents Shadow

The Red Pyramid: The Graphic Novel

The Throne of Fire: The Graphic Novel

The Serpents Shadow: The Graphic Novel

From the Kane Chronicles: Brooklyn House Magicians Manual

THE HEROES OF OLYMPUS

Book One: The Lost Hero

Book Two: The Son of Neptune

Book Three: The Mark of Athena

Book Four: The House of Hades

Book Five: The Blood of Olympus

The Demigod Diaries

The Lost Hero: The Graphic Novel

The Son of Neptune: The Graphic Novel

Demigods & Magicians

MAGNUS CHASE AND THE GODS OF ASGARD

Book One: The Sword of Summer

Book Two: The Hammer of Thor

Book Three: The Ship of the Dead

For Magnus Chase: Hotel Valhalla Guide to the Norse Worlds 9 from the Nine Worlds

THE TRIALS OF APOLLO

Book One: The Hidden Oracle

Book Two: The Dark Prophecy

Book Three: The Burning Maze

Book Four: The Tyrants Tomb

Camp Jupiter Classified

Copyright 2020 by Rick Riordan

All rights reserved. Published by Disney Hyperion, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

Designed by Joann Hill

Cover design by Joann Hill

Cover illustration 2020 by John Rocco

ISBN 978-1-368-00145-8

Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

Follow @ReadRiordan

To Becky,
Every journey leads me home to you

WHEN TRAVELING THROUGH WASHINGTON, DC, one expects to see a few snakes in human clothing. Still, I was concerned when a two-headed boa constrictor boarded our train at Union Station.

The creature had threaded himself through a blue silk business suit, looping his body into the sleeves and trouser legs to approximate human limbs. Two heads protruded from the collar of his dress shirt like twin periscopes. He moved with remarkable grace for what was basically an oversize balloon animal, taking a seat at the opposite end of the coach, facing our direction.

The other passengers ignored him. No doubt the Mist warped their perceptions, making them see just another commuter. The snake made no threatening moves. He didnt even glance at us. For all I knew, he was simply a working-stiff monster on his way home.

And yet I could not assume

I whispered to Meg, I dont want to alarm you

Shh, she said.

Meg took the quiet-car rules seriously. Since wed boarded, most of the noise in the coach had consisted of Meg shushing me every time I spoke, sneezed, or cleared my throat.

But theres a monster, I persisted.

She looked up from her complimentary Amtrak magazine, raising an eyebrow above her rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses. Where?

I chin-pointed toward the creature. As our train pulled away from the station, his left head stared absently out the window. His right head flicked its forked tongue into a bottle of water held in the loop that passed for his hand.

Its an amphisbaena, I whispered, then added helpfully, a snake with a head at each end.

Meg frowned, then shrugged, which I took to mean Looks peaceful enough. Then she went back to reading.

I suppressed the urge to argue. Mostly because I didnt want to be shushed again.

I couldnt blame Meg for wanting a quiet ride. In the past week, we had battled our way through a pack of wild centaurs in Kansas, faced an angry famine spirit at the Worlds Largest Fork in Springfield, Missouri (I did not get a selfie), and outrun a pair of blue Kentucky drakons that chased us several times around Churchill Downs. After all that, a two-headed snake in a suit was perhaps not cause for alarm. Certainly, he wasnt bothering us at the moment.

I tried to relax.

Meg buried her face in her magazine, enraptured by an article on urban gardening. My young companion had grown taller in the months that Id known her, but she was still compact enough to prop her red high-tops comfortably on the seatback in front of her. Comfortable for her, I mean, not for me or the other passengers. Meg hadnt changed her shoes since our run around the racetrack, and they looked and smelled like the back end of a horse.

At least she had traded her tattered green dress for Dollar General jeans and a green VNICORNES IMPERANT! T-shirt shed bought at the Camp Jupiter gift shop. With her pageboy haircut beginning to grow out and an angry red zit erupting on her chin, she no longer looked like a kindergartener. She looked almost her age: a sixth grader entering the circle of hell known as puberty.

I had not shared this observation with Meg. For one thing, I had my own acne to worry about. For another thing, as my master, Meg could literally order me to jump out the window and I would be forced to obey.

The train rolled through the suburbs of Washington. The late-afternoon sun flickered between the buildings like the lamp of an old movie projector. It was a wonderful time of day, when a sun god should be wrapping up his work, heading to the old stables to park his chariot, then kicking back at his palace with a goblet of nectar, a few dozen adoring nymphs, and a new season of The Real Goddesses of Olympus to binge-watch.

Not for me, though. I got a creaking seat on an Amtrak train and hours to binge-watch Megs stinky shoes.

At the opposite end of the car, the amphisbaena still made no threatening movesunless one considered drinking water from a nonreusable bottle an act of aggression.

Why, then, were my neck hairs tingling?

I couldnt regulate my breathing. I felt trapped in my window seat.

Perhaps I was just nervous about what awaited us in New York. After six months in this miserable mortal body, I was approaching my endgame.

Meg and I had blundered our way across the United States and back again. Wed freed ancient Oracles, defeated legions of monsters, and suffered the untold horrors of the American public transportation system. Finally, after many tragedies, we had triumphed over two of the Triumvirates evil emperors, Commodus and Caligula, at Camp Jupiter.