The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan Page B

blessing to do something that would probably get me killed.
    I locked eyes with Paul, and some kind of understanding passed between us.
    “Sally.” He put his hand over my mother’s hands. “I can’t claim to know what you and Percy have been going through all these years. But it sounds to me . . . it sounds like Percy is doing something noble. I wish I had that much courage.”
    I got a lump in my throat. I didn’t get compliments like that too much.
    My mom stared at her lemonade. She looked like she was trying not to cry. I thought about what Hestia had said, about how hard it was to yield, and I figured maybe my mom was finding that out.
    “Percy,” she said, “I give you my blessing.”
    I didn’t feel any different. No magic glow lit the kitchen or anything.
    I glanced at Nico.
    He looked more anxious than ever, but he nodded. “It’s time.”
    “Percy,” my mom said. “One last thing. If you . . . if you survive this fight with Kronos, send me a sign.” She rummaged through her purse and handed me her cell phone.
    “Mom,” I said, “you know demigods and phones—”
    “I know,” she said. “But just in case. If you’re not able to call . . . maybe a sign that I could see from anywhere in Manhattan. To let me know you’re okay.”
    “Like Theseus,” Paul suggested. “He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to Athens.”
    “Except he forgot,” Nico muttered. “And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other than that, it was a great idea.”
    “What about a flag or a flare?” my mom said. “From Olympus—the Empire State Building.”
    “Something blue,” I said.
    We’d had a running joke for years about blue food. It was my favorite color, and my mom went out of her way to humor me. Every year my birthday cake, my Easter basket, my Christmas candy canes always had to be blue.
    “Yes,” my mom agreed. “I’ll watch for a blue signal. And I’ll try to avoid jumping off palace roofs.”
    She gave me one last hug. I tried not to feel like I was saying good-bye. I shook hands with Paul. Then Nico and I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked at Mrs. O’Leary.
    “Sorry, girl,” I said. “Shadow travel time again.”
    She whimpered and crossed her paws over her snout.
    “Where now?” I asked Nico. “Los Angeles?”
    “No need,” he said. “There’s a closer entrance to the Underworld.”

SEVEN

MY MATH TEACHER GIVES ME A LIFT
    We emerged in Central Park just north of the Pond. Mrs. O’Leary looked pretty tired as she limped over to a cluster of boulders. She started sniffing around, and I was afraid she might mark her territory, but Nico said, “It’s okay. She just smells the way home.”
    I frowned. “Through the rocks?”
    “The Underworld has two major entrances,” Nico said. “You know the one in L.A.”
    “Charon’s ferry.”
    Nico nodded. “Most souls go that way, but there’s a smaller path, harder to find. The Door of Orpheus.”
    “The dude with the harp.”
    “Dude with the lyre,” Nico corrected. “But yeah, him. He used his music to charm the earth and open a new path into the Underworld. He sang his way right into Hades’s palace and almost got away with his wife’s soul.”
    I remembered the story. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to look behind him when he was leading his wife back to the world, but of course he did. It was one of those typical “and-so-they-died/the-end” stories that always made us demigods feel warm and fuzzy.
    “So this is the Door of Orpheus.” I tried to be impressed, but it still looked like a pile of rocks to me. “How does it open?”
    “We need music,” Nico said. “How’s your singing?”
    “Um, no. Can’t you just, like, tell it to open? You’re the son of Hades and all.”
    “It’s not so easy. We need music.”
    I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.
    “I have a better idea.” I turned and called, “GROVER!”
    We waited for a long