The Last Olympian

is okay ,” I offered.
    “If you call fighting Typhon okay.” She locked eyes with me. “Percy, even with the centaurs’ help, I’m starting to think—”
    “I know.” I had a bad feeling this might be our last chance to talk, and I felt like there were a million things I hadn’t told her. “Listen, there were some . . . some visions Hestia showed me.”
    “You mean about Luke?”
    Maybe it was just a safe guess, but I got the feeling Annabeth knew what I’d been holding back. Maybe she’d been having dreams of her own.
    “Yeah,” I said. “You and Thalia and Luke. The first time you met. And the time you met Hermes.”
    Annabeth slipped her knife back into its sheath. “Luke promised he’d never let me get hurt. He said . . . he said we’d be a new family, and it would turn out better than his.”
    Her eyes reminded me of that seven-year-old girl’s in the alley—angry, scared, desperate for a friend.
    “Thalia talked to me earlier,” I said. “She’s afraid—”
    “That I can’t face Luke,” she said miserably.
    I nodded. “But there’s something else you should know. Ethan Nakamura seemed to think Luke was still alive inside his body, maybe even fighting Kronos for control.”
    Annabeth tried to hide it, but I could almost see her mind working on the possibilities, maybe starting to hope.
    “I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted.
    She looked up at the Empire State Building. “Percy, for so long in my life, I felt like everything was changing, all the time. I didn’t have anyone I could rely on.”
    I nodded. That was something most demigods could understand.
    “I ran away when I was seven,” she said. “Then with Luke and Thalia, I thought I’d found a family, but it fell apart almost immediately. What I’m saying . . . I hate it when people let me down, when things are temporary. I think that’s why I want to be an architect.”
    “To build something permanent,” I said. “A monument to last a thousand years.”
    She held my eyes. “I guess that sounds like my fatal flaw again.”
    Years ago in the Sea of Monsters, Annabeth had told me her biggest flaw was pride—thinking she could fix anything. I’d even seen a glimpse of her deepest desire, shown to her by the Sirens’ magic. Annabeth had imagined her mother and father together, standing in front of a newly rebuilt Manhattan, designed by Annabeth. And Luke had been there too—good again, welcoming her home.
    “I guess I understand how you feel,” I said. “But Thalia’s right. Luke has already betrayed you so many times. He was evil even before Kronos. I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.”
    Annabeth pursed her lips. I could tell she was trying not to get mad. “And you’ll understand if I keep hoping there’s a chance you’re wrong.”
    I looked away. I felt like I’d done my best, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
    Across the street, the Apollo campers had set up a field hospital to tend the wounded—dozens of campers and almost as many Hunters. I was watching the medics work, and thinking about our slim chances for holding Mount Olympus. . . .
    And suddenly: I wasn’t there anymore.
    I was standing in a long dingy bar with black walls, neon signs, and a bunch of partying adults. A banner across the bar read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOBBY EARL. Country music played on the speakers. Big guys in jeans and work shirts crowded the bar. Waitresses carried trays of drinks and shouted at each other. It was pretty much exactly the kind of place my mom would never let me go.
    I was stuck in the very back of the room, next to the bathrooms (which didn’t smell so great) and a couple of antique arcade games.
    “Oh good, you’re here,” said the man at the Pac-Man machine. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
    He was a pudgy guy in a leopard-skin Hawaiian shirt, purple shorts, red running shoes, and black socks, which didn’t exactly make him blend in with the crowd. His nose was bright red. A bandage was wrapped around his curly black hair like he was recovering from a concussion.
    I blinked. “Mr. D?”
    He sighed, not taking his eyes from the game. “Really, Peter Johnson, how long will it take for you to recognize me on sight?”
    “About as long as it’ll take for you to figure out my name,” I muttered. “Where are we?”
    “Why, Bobby Earl’s birthday party,” Dionysus said. “Somewhere in lovely rural America.”
    “I thought Typhon swatted you out of the sky. They said you