The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan Page B

wilderness than lawn. The house was a two-story white Colonial. Despite the fact that it was right on the other side of the hill from a highway, it felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. I could see a light glowing in the kitchen window. A rusty old swing set stood under an apple tree.
    I couldn’t imagine living in a house like this, with an actual yard and everything. I’d lived in a tiny apartment or a school dorm my whole life. If this was Luke’s home, I wondered why he’d ever wanted to leave.
    Mrs. O’Leary staggered. I remembered what Nico had said about shadow travel draining her, so I slipped off her back. She let out a huge toothy yawn that would’ve scared a T. rex, then turned in a circle and flopped down so hard the ground shook. Nico appeared right next to me, as if the shadows had darkened and created him. He stumbled, but I caught his arm.
    “I’m okay,” he managed, rubbing his eyes.
    “How did you do that?”
    “Practice. A few times running into walls. A few accidental trips to China.”
    Mrs. O’Leary started snoring. If it hadn’t been for the roar of traffic behind us, I’m sure she would’ve woken up the whole neighborhood.
    “Are you going to take a nap too?” I asked Nico.
    He shook his head. “The first time I shadow traveled, I passed out for a week. Now it just makes me a little drowsy, but I can’t do it more than once or twice a night. Mrs. O’Leary won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
    “So we’ve got some quality time in Connecticut.” I gazed at the white Colonial house. “What now?”
    “We ring the doorbell,” Nico said.
    If I were Luke’s mom, I would not have opened my door at night for two strange kids. But I wasn’t anything like Luke’s mom.
    I knew that even before we reached the front door. The sidewalk was lined with those little stuffed beanbag animals you see in gift shops. There were miniature lions, pigs, dragons, hydras, even a teeny Minotaur in a little Minotaur diaper. Judging from their sad shape, the beanbag creatures had been sitting out here a long time—since the snow melted last spring at least. One of the hydras had a tree sapling sprouting between its necks.
    The front porch was infested with wind chimes. Shiny bits of glass and metal clinked in the breeze. Brass ribbons tinkled like water and made me realize I needed to use the bathroom. I didn’t know how Ms. Castellan could stand all the noise.
    The front door was painted turquoise. The name CASTELLAN was written in English, and below in Greek:

    Nico looked at me. “Ready?”
    He’d barely tapped the door when it swung open.
    “Luke!” the old lady cried happily.
    She looked like someone who enjoyed sticking her fingers in electrical sockets. Her white hair stuck out in tufts all over her head. Her pink housedress was covered in scorch marks and smears of ash. When she smiled, her face looked unnaturally stretched, and the high-voltage light in her eyes made me wonder if she was blind.
    “Oh, my dear boy!” She hugged Nico. I was trying to figure out why she thought Nico was Luke (they looked absolutely nothing alike), when she smiled at me and said, “Luke!”
    She forgot all about Nico and gave me a hug. She smelled like burned cookies. She was as thin as a scarecrow, but that didn’t stop her from almost crushing me.
    “Come in!” she insisted. “I have your lunch ready!”
    She ushered us inside. The living room was even weirder than the front lawn. Mirrors and candles filled every available space. I couldn’t look anywhere without seeing my own reflection. Above the mantel, a little bronze Hermes flew around the second hand of a ticking clock. I tried to imagine the god of messengers ever falling in love with this old woman, but the idea was too bizarre.
    Then I noticed the framed picture on the mantel, and I froze. It was exactly like Rachel’s sketch—Luke around nine years old, with blond hair and a big smile and two missing teeth. The lack of a scar on