by Rick Riordan
"Hermes will be here soon," she promised. "He'll want to see his boy!"
"Maybe next time," I said. "Thank you for—" I looked down at the burned cookies scattered on the floor. "Thanks for everything."
She tried to stop us, to offer us Kool-Aid, but I had to get out of that house. On the front porch, she grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin. "Luke, at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe."
"I will . . . Mom."
That made her smile. She released my wrist, and as she closed the front door I could hear her talking to the candles: "You hear that? He will be safe. I told you he would be!"
As the door shut, Nico and I ran. The little beanbag animals on the sidewalk seemed to grin at us as we passed.
Back at the cliff, Mrs. O'Leary had found a friend.
A cozy campfire crackled in a ring of stones. A girl about eight years old was sitting cross-legged next to Mrs. O'Leary, scratching the hellhound's ears.
The girl had mousy brown hair and a simple brown dress. She wore a scarf over her head so she looked like a pioneer kid—like the ghost of Little House on the Prairie or something. She poked the fire with a stick, and it seemed to glow more richly red than a normal fire.
"Hello," she said.
My first thought was: monster. When you're a demigod and you find a sweet little girl alone in the woods—that's typically a good time to draw your sword and attack. Plus, the encounter with Ms. Castellan had rattled me pretty bad.
But Nico bowed to the little girl. "Hello again, Lady."
She studied me with eyes as red as the firelight. I decided it was safest to bow.
"Sit, Percy Jackson," she said. "Would you like some dinner?
After staring at moldy peanut butter sandwiches and burned cookies, I didn't have much of an appetite, but the girl waved her hand and a picnic appeared at the edge of the fire. There were plates of roast beef, baked potatoes, buttered carrots, fresh bread, and a whole bunch of other foods I hadn't had in a long time. My stomach started to rumble. It was the kind of home-cooked meal people are supposed to have but never do. The girl made a five-foot-long dog biscuit appear for Mrs. O'Leary, who happily began tearing it to shreds.
I sat next to Nico. We picked up our food, and I was about to dig in when I thought better of it.
I scraped part of my meal into the flames, the way we do at camp. "For the gods," I said.
The little girl smiled. "Thank you. As tender of the flame, I get a share of every sacrifice, you know."
"I recognize you now," I said. "The first time I came to camp, you were sitting by the fire, in the middle of the commons area."
"You did not stop to talk," the girl recalled sadly. "Alas, most never do. Nico talked to me. He was the first in many years. Everyone rushes about. No time for visiting family."
"You're Hestia," I said. "Goddess of the Hearth."
She nodded.
Okay . . . so she looked eight years old. I didn't ask. I'd learned that gods could look any way they pleased.
"My lady," Nico asked, "why aren't you with the other Olympians, fighting Typhon?"
"I'm not much for fighting." Her red eyes flickered. I realized they weren't just reflecting the flames. They were filled with flames—but not like Ares's eyes. Hestia's eyes were warm and cozy.
"Besides," she said, "someone has to keep the home fires burning while the other gods are away."
"So you're guarding Mount Olympus?" I asked.
"'Guard' may be too strong a word. But if you ever need a warm place to sit and a home-cooked meal, you are welcome to visit. Now eat."
My plate was empty before I knew it. Nico scarfed his down just as fast.
"That was great," I said. "Thank you, Hestia."
She nodded. "Did you have a good visit with May Castellan?"
For a moment I'd almost forgotten the old lady with her bright eyes and her maniacal smile, the way she'd suddenly seemed possessed.
"What's wrong with her, exactly?" I asked.
"She was born with a gift," Hestia said. "She could see through the Mist."
"Like my mother," I said. And I was also thinking, Like Rachel "But the glowing eyes thing—"
"Some bear the curse of sight better than others," the goddess said sadly. "For a while, May Castellan had many talents. She attracted the attention of Hermes himself. They had a beautiful baby boy. For a brief time, she was happy. And then she went too far."
I remembered what Ms. Castellan had said: They offered me an important job . . . It didn't work out. I wondered what kind of job left you like that.
"One minute she was all happy," I said. "And then she was freaking out about her son's fate, like she knew he'd turned into Kronos. What happened to . . . to divide her like that?"
The goddess's face darkened. "That is a story I do not like to tell. But May Castellan saw too much. If you are to understand your enemy Luke, you must understand his family."
I thought about the sad little pictures of Hermes taped above May Castellan's sink. I wondered if Ms. Castellan had been so crazy when Luke was little. That green-eyed fit could've seriously scared a nine-year-old kid. And if Hermes never visited, if he'd left Luke alone with his mom all those years . . .
"No wonder Luke ran away," I said. "I mean, it wasn't right to leave his mom like that, but still—he was just a kid. Hermes shouldn't have abandoned them."
Hestia scratched behind Mrs. O'Leary's ears. The hellhound wagged her tail and accidentally knocked over a tree.
"It's easy to judge others," Hestia warned. "But will you follow Luke's path? Seek the same powers?"
Nico set down his plate. "We have no choice, my lady. It's the only way Percy stands a chance."
"Mmm." Hestia opened her hand and the fire roared. Flames shot thirty feet into the air. Heat slapped me in the face. Then the fire died back down to normal.
"Not all powers are spectacular." Hestia looked at me. "Sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding. Do you believe me?"
"Uh-huh," I said. Anything to keep her from messing with her flame powers again.
The goddess smiled. "You are a good hero, Percy Jackson. Not too proud. I like that. But you have much to learn. When Dionysus was made a god, I gave up my throne for him. It was the only way to avoid a civil war among the gods."
"It unbalanced the Council," I remembered. "Suddenly there were seven guys and five girls."
Hestia shrugged. "It was the best solution, not a perfect one. Now I tend the fire. I fade slowly into the background. No one will ever write epic poems about the deeds of Hestia. Most demigods don't even stop to talk to me. But that is no matter. I keep the peace. I yield when necessary. Can you do this?"
"I don't know what you mean."
She studied me. "Perhaps not yet. But soon. Will you continue your quest?"
"Is that why you're here—to warn me against going?"
Hestia shook her head. "I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian. You must remember me when you face your final decision.
I didn't like the way she said final.
I looked at Nico, then back at Hestia's warm glowing eyes. "I have to continue, my lady. I have to stop Luke . . . I mean Kronos."
Hestia nodded. "Very well. I cannot be of much assistance, beyond what I have already told you. But since you sacrificed to me, I can return you to your own hearth. I will see you again, Percy, on Olympus."
Her tone was ominous, as though our next meeting would not be happy.
The goddess waved her hand, and everything faded.
Suddenly I was home. Nico and I were sitting on the couch in my mom's apartment on the Upper East Side. That was the good news. The bad news was that the rest of the living room was occupied by Mrs. O'Leary.
I heard a muffled yell from the bedroom. Paul's voice said, "Who put this wall of fur in the doorway?"
"Percy?" my mom called out. "A
re you here? Are you all right?"
"I'm here!" I shouted back.
"WOOF!" Mrs. O'Leary tried to turn in a circle to find my mom, knocking all the pictures off the walls. She's only met my mom once before (long story), but she loves her.
It took a few minutes, but we finally got things worked out. After destroying most of the furniture in the living room and probably making our neighbors really mad, we got my parents out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where we sat around the kitchen table. Mrs. O'Leary still took up the entire living room, but she'd settled her head in the kitchen doorway so she could see us, which made her happy. My mom tossed her a ten-pound family-size tube of ground beef, which disappeared down her gullet. Paul poured lemonade for the rest of us while I explained about our visit to Connecticut.
"So it's true." Paul stared at me like he'd never seen me before. He was wearing his white bathrobe, now covered in hellhound fur, and his salt-and-pepper hair was sticking up in every direction. "All the talk about monsters, and being a demigod . . . it's really true."
I nodded. Last fall I'd explained to Paul who I was. My mom had backed me up. But until this moment, I don't think he really believed us.
"Sorry about Mrs. O'Leary," I said, "destroying the living room and all."
Paul laughed like he was delighted. "Are you kidding? This is awesome! I mean, when I saw the hoofprints on the Prius, I thought maybe. But this!"
He patted Mrs. O'Leary's snout. The living room shook—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—which either meant a SWAT team was breaking down the door or Mrs. O'Leary was wagging her tail.
I couldn't help but smile. Paul was a pretty cool guy, even if he was my English teacher as well as my stepdad.
"Thanks for not freaking out," I said.
"Oh, I'm freaking out," he promised, his eyes wide. "I just think it's awesome!"
"Yeah, well," I said, "you may not be so excited when you hear what's happening."
I told Paul and my mom about Typhon, and the gods, and the battle that was sure to come. Then I told them Nico's plan.
My mom laced her fingers around her lemonade glass. She was wearing her old blue flannel bathrobe, and her hair was tied back. Recently she'd started writing a novel, like she'd wanted to do for years, and I could tell she'd been working on it late into the night, because the circles under her eyes were darker than usual.
Behind her at the kitchen window, silvery moon lace glowed in the flower box. I'd brought the magical plant back from Calypso's island last summer, and it bloomed like crazy under my mother's care. The scent always calmed me down, but it also made me sad because it reminded me of lost friends.
My mom took a deep breath, like she was thinking how to tell me no.
"Percy, it's dangerous," she said. "Even for you."
"Mom, I know. I could die. Nico explained that. But if we don't try—"
"We'll all die," Nico said. He hadn't touched his lemonade. "Ms. Jackson, we don't stand a chance against an invasion. And there will be an invasion."
"An invasion of New York?" Paul said. "Is that even possible? How could we not see the . . . the monsters?"
He said the word like he still couldn't believe this was real.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't see how Kronos could just march into Manhattan, but the Mist is strong. Typhon is trampling across the country right now, and mortals think he's a storm system."
"Ms. Jackson," Nico said, "Percy needs your blessing. The process has to start that way. I wasn't sure until we met Luke's mom, but now I'm positive. This has only been done successfully twice before. Both times, the mother had to give her blessing. She had to be willing to let her son take the risk."
"You want me to bless this?" She shook her head. "It's crazy. Percy, please—"
"Mom, I can't do it without you."
"And if you survive this . . . this process?"
"Then I go to war," I said. "Me against Kronos. And only one of us will survive."
I didn't tell her the whole prophecy—about the soul reaping and the end of my days. She didn't need to know that I was probably doomed. I could only hope I'd stop Kronos and save the rest of the world before I died.
"You're my son," she said miserably. "I can't just . . ."
I could tell I'd have to push her harder if I wanted her to agree, but I didn't want to. I remembered poor Ms. Castellan in her kitchen, waiting for her son to come home. And I realized how lucky I was. My mom had always been there for me, always tried to make things normal for me, even with the gods and monsters and stuff. She put up with me going off on adventures, but now I was asking her blessing to do something that would probably get me killed.
I locked eyes with Paul, and some kind of understanding passed between us.
"Sally." He put his hand over my mother's hands. "I can't claim to know what you and Percy have been going through all these years. But it sounds to me . . . it sounds like Percy is doing something noble. I wish I had that much courage."
I got a lump in my throat. I didn't get compliments like that too much.
My mom stared at her lemonade. She looked like she was trying not to cry. I thought about what Hestia had said, about how hard it was to yield, and I figured maybe my mom was finding that out.
"Percy," she said, "I give you my blessing."
I didn't feel any different. No magic glow lit the kitchen or anything.
I glanced at Nico.
He looked more anxious than ever, but he nodded. "It's time."
"Percy," my mom said. "One last thing. If you . . . if you survive this fight with Kronos, send me a sign." She rummaged through her purse and handed me her cell phone.
"Mom," I said, "you know demigods and phones—"
"I know," she said. "But just in case. If you're not able to call . . . maybe a sign that I could see from anywhere in Manhattan. To let me know you're okay."
"Like Theseus," Paul suggested. "He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to Athens."
"Except he forgot," Nico muttered. "And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other than that, it was a great idea."
"What about a flag or a flare?" my mom said. "From Olympus—the Empire State Building."
"Something blue," I said.
We'd had a running joke for years about blue food. It was my favorite color, and my mom went out of her way to humor me. Every year my birthday cake, my Easter basket, my Christmas candy canes always had to be blue.
"Yes," my mom agreed. "I'll watch for a blue signal. And I'll try to avoid jumping off palace roofs."
She gave me one last hug. I tried not to feel like I was saying good-bye. I shook hands with Paul. Then Nico and I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked at Mrs. O'Leary.
"Sorry, girl," I said. "Shadow travel time again."
She whimpered and crossed her paws over her snout.
"Where now?" I asked Nico. "Los Angeles?"
"No need," he said. "There's a closer entrance to the Underworld."
SEVEN
MY MATH TEACHER GIVES ME A LIFT
We emerged in Central Park just north of the Pond. Mrs. O'Leary looked pretty tired as she limped over to a cluster of boulders. She started sniffing around, and I was afraid she might mark her territory, but Nico said, "It's okay. She just smells the way home."
I frowned. "Through the rocks?"
"The Underworld has two major entrances," Nico said. "You know the one in L.A."
"Charon's ferry."
Nico nodded. "Most souls go that way, but there's a smaller path, harder to find. The Door of Orpheus."
"The dude with the harp."
"Dude with the lyre," Nico corrected. "But yeah, him. He used his music to charm the earth and open a new path into the Underworld. He sang his way right into Hades's palace and almost got away with his wife's soul."
I remembered the story. Orpheus wasn't supposed to look behind him when he was leading his wife back to the world, but of course he did. It was one of those typical "and-so-
they-died/the-end" stories that always made us feel warm and fuzzy.
"So this is the Door of Orpheus." I tried to be impressed, but it still looked like a pile of rocks to me. "How does it open?"
"We need music," Nico said. "How's your singing?"
"Um, no. Can't you just, like, tell it to open? You're the son of Hades and all."
"It's not so easy. We need music."
I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.
"I have a better idea." I turned and called, "GROVER!"
We waited for a long time. Mrs. O'Leary curled up and took a nap. I could hear the crickets in the woods and an owl hooting. Traffic hummed along Central Park West. Horse hooves clopped down a nearby path, maybe a mounted police patrol. I was sure they'd love to find two kids hanging out in the park at one in the morning.
"It's no good," Nico said at last.
But I had a feeling. My empathy link was really tingling for the first time in months, which either meant a whole lot of people had suddenly switched on the Nature Channel, or Grover was close.
I shut my eyes and concentrated. Grover.
I knew he was somewhere in the park. Why couldn't I sense his emotions? All I got was a faint hum in the base of my skull.
Grover, I thought more insistently.
Hmm-hmmmm, something said.
An image came into my head. I saw a giant elm tree deep in the woods, well off the main paths. Gnarled roots laced the ground, making a kind of bed. Lying in it with his arms crossed and his eyes closed was a satyr. At first I couldn't be sure it was Grover. He was covered in twigs and leaves, like he'd been sleeping there a long time. The roots seemed to be shaping themselves around him, slowly pulling him into the earth.
Grover, I said. Wake up.
Unnnh—zzzzz.
Dude, you're covered in dirt. Wake up!
Sleepy, his mind murmured.
FOOD, I suggested. PANCAKES!
His eyes shot open. A blur of thoughts filled my head like he was suddenly on fast-forward. The image shattered, and I almost fell over.
"What happened?" Nico asked.
"I got through. He's . . . yeah. He's on his way."
