The hidden oracle pdf download

I just sort of run into them. Overhead, thunder rumbled in the gray sky. The sound echoed through the city canyons like divine laughter. Whatever was left of my pride turned to ice water and trickled into my socks. With great difficulty, I resisted the urge to weep. A demigod. I raised my face to the heavens. Zeus did not answer. He was probably too busy recording my humiliation to share on Snapchat.

I sighed miserably. It was going to be a very long servitude. Used to be goddy. Now uptown feeling shoddy. Why did Percy Jackson live so far uptown? Why did pedestrians keep staring at me?

I wondered if my divine radiance was starting to return. Perhaps the New Yorkers were awed by my obvious power and unearthly good looks. Meg McCaffrey set me straight. Also enslaved by a small child. You look gross. My reflection stared back at me, except it was not my reflection. I looked about sixteen. My medium-length hair was dark and curly—a style I had rocked in Athenian times, and again in the s.

My eyes were blue. My face was pleasing enough in a dorkish way, but it was marred by a swollen eggplant-colored nose, which had dripped a gruesome mustache of blood down my upper lip. Even worse, my cheeks were covered with some sort of rash that looked suspiciously like…My heart climbed into my throat.

Immortal gods do not get acne. It is one of our inalienable rights. Yet I leaned closer to the glass and saw that my skin was indeed a scarred landscape of whiteheads and pustules. Meg tugged at my sleeve. I have been made a teenager, and not even one with perfect skin! My midriff was covered with a floral pattern of bruises from my fall into the Dumpster and my subsequent kicking.

But even worse, I had flab. I always have eight-pack abs. I never have love handles. Never in four thousand years! Meg made another snorting laugh. I wanted to protest that I was not average nor a person, but with growing despair, I realized the term now fit me perfectly. I allowed Meg to pull me farther down the street. She skipped along, occasionally stopping to pick up a coin or swing herself around a streetlamp.

The child seemed unfazed by the cold weather, the dangerous journey ahead, and the fact that I was suffering from acne. I was tempted to ask what could be weirder than the morning we had just had.

I decided I might not be able to stand the stress of knowing. The alley. A ripple of discomfort passed over her face. She returned her attention to her twenty-dollar airplane. My highly advanced people-reading skills told me she was hiding something, but that was not unusual for demigods. For children blessed with an immortal parent, they were strangely sensitive about their backgrounds. Or Camp Jupiter? A few more blocks…I think. That seemed to satisfy Meg. She hopscotched ahead, throwing the cash airplane and retrieving it.

She cartwheeled through the intersection at East Seventy-Second Street—her clothes a flurry of traffic-light colors so bright I worried the drivers might get confused and run her down.

Fortunately, New York drivers were used to swerving around oblivious pedestrians. I decided Meg must be a feral demigod. They were rare but not unheard of. Without any support network, without being discovered by other demigods or taken in for proper training, she had still managed to survive. But her luck would not last. Monsters usually began hunting down and killing young heroes around the time they turned thirteen, when their true powers began to manifest. Meg did not have long.

She needed to be brought to Camp Half-Blood as much as I did. She was fortunate to have met me. I know that last statement seems obvious. Everyone who meets me is fortunate, but you take my meaning. I could have looked into her soul and seen all I needed to know about her godly parentage, her powers, her motives and secrets. Now I was blind to such things. I could only be sure she was a demigod because she had successfully claimed my service.

Zeus had affirmed her right with a clap of thunder. I felt the binding upon me like a shroud of tightly wrapped banana peels. Whoever Meg McCaffrey was, however she had happened to find me, our fates were now intertwined. It was almost as embarrassing as the acne. We turned east on Eighty-Second Street. By the time we reached Second Avenue, the neighborhood started to look familiar—rows of apartment buildings, hardware shops, convenience stores, and Indian restaurants.

I knew that Percy Jackson lived around here somewhere, but my trips across the sky in the sun chariot had given me something of a Google Earth orientation. Also, in this mortal form, my flawless memory had become…flawed.

Mortal fears and needs clouded my thoughts. I wanted to eat. I wanted to use the restroom. My body hurt. My clothes stank. I felt as if my brain had been stuffed with wet cotton.

Honestly, how do you humans stand it? After a few more blocks, a mixture of sleet and rain began to fall. Meg tried to catch the precipitation on her tongue, which I thought a very ineffective way to get a drink—and of dirty water, no less. I shivered and concentrated on happy thoughts: the Bahamas, the Nine Muses in perfect harmony, the many horrible punishments I would visit on Cade and Mikey when I became a god again. I still wondered about their boss, and how he had known where I would fall to earth.

After all, I had been the god of prophecy, master of the Oracle of Delphi, distributor of the highest quality sneak previews of destiny for millennia. Of course, I had no shortage of enemies. One of the natural consequences of being so awesome is that I attracted envy from all quarters. But I could only think of one adversary who might be able to tell the future.

And if he came looking for me in my weakened state…. I tamped down that thought. I had enough to worry about. No point scaring myself to death with what-ifs. We began searching side streets, checking names on apartment mailboxes and intercom panels.

The Upper East Side had a surprising number of Jacksons. I found that annoying. After several failed attempts, we turned a corner and there—parked under a crape myrtle—sat an older model blue Prius. Its hood bore the unmistakable dents of pegasus hooves. How was I sure? I know my hoof marks. Also, normal horses do not gallop over Toyotas. Pegasi often do. Half a block down, I recognized the building: a five-story brick row house with rusty air conditioner units sagging from the windows.

She stared back toward Second Avenue, her dark eyes turbulent. Saw them back on Park Avenue. My pulse increased from an andante tempo to a lively allegretto. She tapped the temples of her glasses. Told you that. I scanned the street again. Many spirits could appear that way. My own father, Zeus, once took the form of a shiny blob to woo a mortal woman. Why the mortal woman found that attractive, I have no idea. Still, Meg held back. She had shown no fear while pelting muggers with garbage in a blind alley, but now she seemed to be having second thoughts about ringing a doorbell.

It occurred to me she might have met demigods before. Perhaps those meetings had not gone well. You have nothing to fear. Besides, he likes me. I taught him everything he knows. She frowned. I found her innocence somewhat charming. So many obvious things she did not know. I rang the buzzer. More static, followed by two voices in muted conversation. 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. Teachers and Homeschool Instructors may use them to improve student learning and organization.

Students will construct and identify the following areas of knowledge. From The Hidden Oracle to the long awaited The Tower of Nero, this collection will thrill loyal readers and be a go-to gift for new fans of the bestselling series.

With five books in one package, no one will miss a minute of the excitement. One epic collection containing the first book from three different New York Times 1 best-selling series by Rick Riordan. He and his friends have ten days to find and return it and bring peace to a warring Mount Olympus.

To succeed, Percy has come to terms with the father who abandoned him, solve the riddle of the Oracle that warns of betrayal by a friend, and unravel a treachery more powerful than the gods themselves.

These three friends must rely on one another and their newfound demigod gifts as they embark on an epic quest to save Mount Olympus. Now, as awkward mortal teenager Lester Papadopoulos, he's been tasked with restoring five Oracles that have gone dark in order to regain his place on Mount Olympus.

How is he supposed to accomplish that without any godly powers? This primer of heroes and demigods will start readers on three unforgettable adventures. Bonus first chapters from two other amazing series promise more exciting journeys. Popular Books. The Becoming by Nora Roberts. Fear No Evil by James Patterson.

So when he came home Zeus is angry on him and meanwhile, Apollo also become angry and in the heat of movement he left his home and shift to New York where he was preparing for Olympia but he cannot even think his father cut off his powers and he becomes mortal from an immortal guy.

Rick Riordan was born on June 5, , in the United States. He is the winner of more than 2 dozens of awards no doubt he is the history maker writer. Till now he writes uncountable books and most of his book was New York Times bestseller. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Young Adult. Facebook Twitter Pinterest Telegram Whatsapp. Report this app Download links do not work There is a new version Others. Download File.

Contents 1 About the author of this book Rick Riordan: 1.