Hopeful - Luke Castellan [1]

20 ~ I Battle My Jerk Relative With Some Surprising Help

A Coast Guard boat picked us up, but they were too busy to keep us for long or to wonder how three kids in street clothes had gotten out into the middle of the bay. There was a disaster to mop up.

Their radios were jammed with distress calls. They dropped us off at the Santa Monica Pier with towels around our shoulders and water bottles that said I'M A JUNIOR COAST GUARD! and sped off to save more people.

Our clothes were sopping wet, even mine. When the Coast Guard boat had appeared, I'd silently
prayed they wouldn't pick me out of the water and find me perfectly dry, which might've raised some eyebrows.

So I'd willed myself to get soaked. Sure enough, my usual waterproof magic had abandoned
me. I was also barefoot because I'd given my shoes to Grover. Better the Coast Guard wonder why one of us was barefoot than wonder why one of us had hooves.

After reaching dry land, we stumbled down the beach, watching the city burn against a beautiful sunrise. I felt as if I'd just come back from the dead—which I had. My backpack was heavy with Zeus's master bolt. My heart was even heavier from seeing my mother.

"I don't believe it," Annabeth said. "We went all that way—"

"It was a trick," I said as I looked at both Luke and Annabeth. "A strategy worthy of Athena or Hermes."

"Hey," they both warned.

But they didn't need to warn me. I didn't think that it was Hermes or Athena no matter how much the latter annoyed me. I had a feeling that I knew exactly who did it. "You get it, don't you?"

Annabeth dropped her eyes, her anger fading. "Yeah. I get it."

"Well, I don't!" Grover complained. "Would somebody—"

"Angel..." Luke said. "I'm sorry about your mother. I'm so sorry...."

I pretended not to hear him. If I talked about my mother, I was going to start crying like a little kid. "The prophecy was right," I said. "You shall go west and face the god who has turned.' But it wasn't Hades. Hades didn't want war among the Big Three. Someone else pulled off the theft. Someone stole Zeus's master bolt, and Hades's helm, and framed me because I'm Poseidon's kid. Poseidon will get blamed by both sides. By sundown today, there will be a three-way war. And I'll have caused it."

Grover shook his head, mystified. "But who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?"

I stopped in my tracks, looking down the beach. "Gee, let me think."

There he was, waiting for us, in his black leather duster and his sunglasses, an aluminum baseball bat propped on his shoulder. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, its headlight turning the sand red. "Hey, kid," Ares said, seeming genuinely pleased to see me. "You were supposed to die."

"You tricked me," I said. "You  stole the helm and the master bolt."

Ares grinned. "Well, now, I didn't steal them personally. Gods taking each other's symbols of
power—that's a big no-no. But you're not the only hero in the world who can run errands."

"Who did you use? Clarisse? She was there at the winter solstice."

The idea seemed to amuse him. "Doesn't matter. The point is, kid, you're impeding the war effort. See, you've got to die in the Underworld. Then Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have Zeus's master bolt, so Zeus will be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this ..."

From his pocket, he took out a ski cap—the kind bank robbers wear—and placed it between the
handlebars of his bike. Immediately, the cap transformed into an elaborate bronze war helmet. "The helm of darkness," Grover gasped.