Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
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something about staying away from her daughter."
I'm not sure whose face was redder: Annabeth's or mine.
"Thank you, Hermes," Annabeth said. "And I . . . I wanted to say . . . I'm sorry about Luke."
The god's expression hardened like he'd turned to marble. "You should've left that subject
alone."
Annabeth stepped back nervously. "Sorry?"
"SORRY doesn't cut it!"
George and Martha curled around the caduceus, which shimmered and changed into
something that looked suspiciously like a high-voltage cattle prod.
"You should've saved him when you had the chance," Hermes growled at Annabeth. "You're
the only one who could have."
I tried to step between them. "What are you talking about? Annabeth didn't—"
"Don't defend her, Jackson!" Hermes turned the cattle prod toward me. "She knows exactly
what I'm talking about."
"Maybe you should blame yourself!" I should've kept my mouth shut, but all I could think
about was turning his attention away from Annabeth. This whole time, he hadn't been angry with
me. He'd been angry with her. "Maybe if you hadn't abandoned Luke and his mom!"
Hermes raised his cattle prod. He began to grow until he was ten feet tall. I thought, Well,
that's it.
But as he prepared to strike, George and Martha leaned in close and whispered something
in his ear.
Hermes clenched his teeth. He lowered the cattle prod, and it turned back to a staff.
"Percy Jackson," he said, "because you have taken on the curse of Achilles, I must spare
you. You are in the hands of the Fates now. But you will never speak to me like that again. You have
no idea how much I have sacrificed, how much—"
His voice broke, and he shrank back to human size. "My son, my greatest pride . . . my poor
May . . ."
He sounded so devastated I didn't know what to say. One minute he was ready to vaporize
us. Now he looked like he needed a hug.
"Look, Lord Hermes," I said. "I'm sorry, but I need to know. What happened to May? She
said something about Luke's fate, and her eyes—"
Hermes glared at me, and my voice faltered. The look on his face wasn't really anger,
though. It was pain. Deep, incredible pain.
"I will leave you now," he said tightly. "I have a war to fight."
He began to shine. I turned away and made sure Annabeth did the same, because she was
still frozen in shock.
Good luck, Percy, Martha the snake whispered.
Hermes glowed with the light of a supernova. Then he was gone.
Annabeth sat at the foot of her mother's throne and cried. I wanted to comfort her, but I
wasn't sure how.
"Annabeth," I said, "it's not your fault. I've never seen Hermes act that way. I guess . . . I
don't know . . . he probably feels guilty about Luke. He's looking for somebody to blame. I don't
know why he lashed out at you. You didn't do anything to deserve that."
Annabeth wiped her eyes. She stared at the hearth like it was her own funeral pyre.
I shifted uneasily. "Um, you didn't, right?"
She didn't answer. Her Celestial bronze knife was strapped to her arm—the same knife I'd
seen in Hestia's vision. All these years, I hadn't realized it was a gift from Luke. I'd asked her many
times why she preferred to fight with a knife instead of a sword, and she'd never answered me. Now
I knew.
"Percy," she said. "What did you mean about Luke's mother? Did you meet her?"
I nodded reluctantly. "Nico and I visited her. She was a little . . . different." I described May
Castellan, and the weird moment when her eyes had started to glow and she talked about her son's
fate.
Annabeth frowned. "That doesn't make sense. But why were you visiting—" Her eyes