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