The Last Olympian

satyrs.”
    “Yeah, but the satyrs you have are working super hard,” I said. “I think they’re scared of you.”
    Grover blushed. “That’s silly. I’m not scary.”
    “You’re a lord of the Wild, dude. The chosen one of Pan. A member of the Council of—”
    “Stop it!” Grover protested. “You’re as bad as Juniper. I think she wants me to run for president next.”
    He chewed on a tin can as we stared across the pond at the line of new cabins under construction. The U-shape would soon be a complete rectangle, and the demigods had really taken to the new task with gusto.
    Nico had some undead builders working on the Hades cabin. Even though he was still the only kid in it, it was going to look pretty cool: solid obsidian walls with a skull over the door and torches that burned with green fire twenty-four hours a day. Next to that were the cabins of Iris, Nemesis, Hecate, and several others I didn’t recognize. They kept adding new ones to the blueprints every day. It was going so well, Annabeth and Chiron were talking about adding an entirely new wing of cabins just so they could have enough room.
    The Hermes cabin was a lot less crowded now, because most of the unclaimed kids had received signs from their godly parents. It happened almost every night, and every night more demigods straggled over the property line with the satyr guides, usually with some nasty monsters pursuing them, but almost all of them made it through.
    “It’s going to be a lot different next summer,” I said. “Chiron’s expecting we’ll have twice as many campers.”
    “Yeah,” Grover agreed, “but it’ll be the same old place.”
    He sighed contentedly.
    I watched as Tyson led a group of Cyclops builders. They were hoisting huge stones in place for the Hecate cabin, and I knew it was a delicate job. Each stone was engraved with magical writing, and if they dropped one, it would either explode or turn everyone within half a mile into a tree. I figured nobody but Grover would like that.
    “I’ll be traveling a lot,” Grover warned, “between protecting nature and finding half-bloods. I may not see you as much.”
    “Won’t change anything,” I said. “You’re still my best friend.”
    He grinned. “Except for Annabeth.”
    “That’s different.”
    “Yeah,” he agreed. “It sure is.”
    In the late afternoon, I was taking one last walk along the beach when a familiar voice said, “Good day for fishing.”
    My dad, Poseidon, was standing knee-deep in the surf, wearing his typical Bermuda shorts, beat-up cap, and a real subtle pink-and-green Tommy Bahama shirt. He had a deep-sea fishing rod in his hands, and when he cast it the line went way out—like halfway across Long Island Sound.
    “Hey, Dad,” I said. “What brings you here?”
    He winked. “Never really got to talk in private on Olympus. I wanted to thank you.”
    “Thank me? You came to the rescue.”
    “Yes, and I got my palace destroyed in the process, but you know—palaces can be rebuilt. I’ve gotten so many thank-you cards from the other gods. Even Ares wrote one, though I think Hera forced him to. It’s rather gratifying. So, thank you. I suppose even the gods can learn new tricks.”
    The Sound began to boil. At the end of my dad’s line, a huge green sea serpent erupted from the water. It thrashed and fought, but Poseidon just sighed. Holding his fishing pole with one hand, he whipped out his knife and cut the line. The monster sank below the surface.
    “Not eating size,” he complained. “I have to release the little ones or the game wardens will be all over me.”
    “Little ones?”
    He grinned. “You’re doing well with those new cabins, by the way. I suppose this means I can claim all those other sons and daughters of mine and send you some siblings next summer.”
    “Ha-ha.”
    Poseidon reeled in his empty line.
    I shifted my feet. “Um, you were kidding, right?”
    Poseidon gave me one of his inside-joke winks, and I still didn’t know whether he was serious or not. “I’ll see you soon, Percy. And remember, know which fish are big enough to land, eh?”
    With that he dissolved in the sea breeze, leaving a fishing pole lying in the sand.
    That evening was the last night of camp—the bead ceremony. The Hephaestus cabin had designed the bead this year. It showed the Empire State Building, and etched in tiny Greek letters, spiraling around the image, were the names of all the heroes who had died defending