The Blood of Olympus by Rick Riordan Page A

visited Ithaca. After all, it was the home of Odysseus, the dude who had constructed the astrolabe. But, judging from what Jason had said, those ruins hadn’t held any answers for him – just a bunch of ill-tempered ghouls and ghosts.
    Anyway, Odysseus never got the astrolabe to work. He hadn’t had a crystal to use as a homing beacon. Leo did. He would have to succeed where the cleverest demigod of all time had failed.
    Just Leo’s luck. A super-hot immortal girl was waiting for him on Ogygia, but he couldn’t figure out how to wire a stupid chunk of rock into the three-thousand-year-old navigation device. Some problems even duct tape couldn’t solve.
    Leo closed the drawer and locked it.
    His eyes drifted to the bulletin board above his worktable, where two pictures hung side by side. The first was the old crayon drawing he’d made when he was seven years old – a diagram of a flying ship he’d seen in his dreams. The second was a charcoal sketch Hazel had recently made for him.
    Hazel Levesque … that girl was something. As soon as Leo rejoined the crew in Malta, she’d known right away that Leo was hurting inside. The first chance she got, after all that mess in the House of Hades, she’d marched into Leo’s cabin and said, ‘Spill.’
    Hazel was a good listener. Leo told her the whole story. Later that evening, Hazel came back with her sketch pad and her charcoal pencils. ‘Describe her,’ she insisted. ‘Every detail.’
    It felt a little weird helping Hazel make a portrait of Calypso – as if he were talking to a police artist:
Yes, officer, that’s the girl who stole my heart!
Sounded like a freaking country song.
    But describing Calypso had been easy. Leo couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her.
    Now her likeness gazed back at him from the bulletin board – her almond-shaped eyes, her pouty lips, her long straight hair swept over one shoulder of her sleeveless dress. He could almost smell her cinnamon fragrance. Her knitted brow and the downward turn of her mouth seemed to say,
Leo Valdez, you are so full of it.
    Dang, he loved that woman!
    Leo had pinned her portrait next to the drawing of the
Argo II
to remind himself that sometimes visions
do
come true. As a little kid, he’d dreamed about a flying ship. Eventually he built it. Now he would build a way to get back to Calypso.
    The hum of the ship’s engines changed to a lower pitch. Over the cabin loudspeaker, Festus’s voice creaked and squeaked.
    ‘Yeah, thanks, buddy,’ Leo said. ‘On my way.’
    The ship was descending, which meant Leo’s projects would have to wait.
    ‘Sit tight, Sunshine,’ he told Calypso’s picture. ‘I’ll get back to you, just like I promised.’
    Leo could imagine her response:
I am
not
waiting for you, Leo Valdez. I am
not
in love with you. And I certainly don’t believe your foolish promises!
    The thought made him smile. He slipped his keys back into his tool belt and headed for the mess hall.
    The other six demigods were eating breakfast.
    Once upon a time, Leo would have worried about all of them being together belowdecks with nobody at the helm,but ever since Piper had permanently woken up Festus with her charmspeak – a feat Leo
still
did not understand – the dragon figurehead had been more than capable of running the
Argo II
by himself. Festus could navigate, check the radar, make a blueberry smoothie and spew white-hot jets of fire at invaders – simultaneously – without even blowing a circuit.
    Besides, they had Buford the Wonder Table as backup.
    After Coach Hedge left on his shadow-travel expedition, Leo had decided that his three-legged table could do just as good a job as their ‘adult chaperone’. He had laminated Buford’s tabletop with a magic scroll that projected a pint-sized holographic simulation of Coach Hedge. Mini-Hedge would stomp around on Buford’s top, randomly saying things like ‘CUT THAT OUT!’ ‘I’M GONNA KILL YOU!’ and the ever-popular ‘PUT SOME