The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson and the Olympians #5)(57)

He sounded just like Luke when he'd tried to kill me in the woods at camp four years ago. The memory made my hand ache where the pit scorpion had stung me.

"Your mom's the goddess of revenge," I told Ethan. "We should respect that?"

"Nemesis stands for balance! When people have too much good luck, she tears them down."

"Which is why she took your eye?"

"It was payment," he growled. "In exchange, she swore to me that one day I would tip the balance of power. I would bring the minor gods respect. An eye was a small price to pay."

"Great mom."

"At least she keeps her word, unlike the Olympians. She always pays her debts—good or evil."

"Yeah," I said. "So I saved your life, and you repaid me by raising Kronos. That's fair."

Ethan grabbed the hilt of his sword, but Prometheus stopped him.

"Now, now," the Titan said. "We're on a diplomatic mission."

Prometheus studied me as if trying to understand my anger. Then he nodded like he'd just picked a thought from my brain.

"It bothers you what happened to Luke," he decided. "Hestia didn't show you the full story. Perhaps if you understood . . ."

The Titan reached out.

Thalia cried a warning, but before I could react, Prometheus's index finger touched my forehead.

* * *

Suddenly I was back in May Castellan's living room. Candles flickered on the fireplace mantel, reflected in the mirrors along the walls. Through the kitchen doorway I could see Thalia sitting at the table while Ms. Castellan bandaged her wounded leg. Seven-year-old Annabeth sat next to her, playing with a Medusa beanbag toy.

Hermes and Luke stood apart in the living room.

The god's face looked liquid in the candlelight, like he couldn't decide what shape to adopt. He was dressed in a navy blue jogging outfit with winged Reeboks.

"Why show yourself now?" Luke demanded. His shoulders were tense, as if he expected a fight. "All these years I've been calling to you, praying you'd show up, and nothing. You left me with her." He pointed toward the kitchen like he couldn't bear to look at his mother, much less say her name.

"Luke, do not dishonor her," Hermes warned. "Your mother did the best she could. As for me, I could not interfere with your path. The children of the gods must find their own way."

"So it was for my own good. Growing up on the streets, fending for myself, fighting monsters."

"You're my son," Hermes said. "I knew you had the ability. When I was only a baby, I crawled from my cradle and set out for—"

"I'm not a god! Just once, you could've said something. You could've helped when"—he took an unsteady breath, lowering his voice so no one in the kitchen could overhear—"when she was having one of her fits, shaking me and saying crazy things about my fate. When I used to hide in the closet so she wouldn't find me with those . . . those glowing eyes. Did you even care that I was scared? Did you even know when I finally ran away?"

In the kitchen, Ms. Castellan chattered aimlessly, pouring Kool-Aid for Thalia and Annabeth as she told them stories about Luke as a baby. Thalia rubbed her bandaged leg nervously. Annabeth glanced into the living room and held up a burned cookie for Luke to see. She mouthed, Can we go now?

"Luke, I care very much," Hermes said slowly, "but gods must not interfere directly in mortal affairs. It is one of our Ancient Laws. Especially when your destiny . . ." His voice trailed off. He stared at the candles as if remembering something unpleasant.

"What?" Luke asked. "What about my destiny?"

"You should not have come back," Hermes muttered. "It only upsets you both. However, I see now that you are getting too old to be on the run without help. I'll speak with Chiron at Camp Half-Blood and ask him to send a satyr to collect you."

"We're doing fine without your help," Luke growled. "Now, what were you saying about my destiny?"

The wings on Hermes's Reeboks fluttered restlessly. He studied his son like he was trying to memorize his face, and suddenly a cold feeling washed through me. I realized Hermes knew what May Castellan's mutterings meant. I wasn't sure how, but looking at his face I was absolutely certain. Hermes understood what would happen to Luke someday, how he would turn evil.

"My son," he said, "I'm the god of travelers, the god of loads. If I know anything, I know that you must walk your own path, even though it tears my heart."

"You don't love me."

"I promise I . . . I do love you. Go to camp. I will see that you get a quest soon. Perhaps you can defeat the Hydra, or steal the apples of Hesperides. You will get a chance to be a great hero before . . ."

"Before what?" Luke's voice was trembling now. "What did my mom see that made her like this? What's going to happen to me? If you love me, tell me."

Hermes's expression tightened. "I cannot."

"Then you don't care!" Luke yelled.

In the kitchen, the talking died abruptly.

"Luke?" May Castellan called. "Is that you? Is my boy all right?"

Luke turned to hide his face, but I could see the tears in his eyes. "I'm fine. I have a new family. I don't need either of you."