𝒊𝒗. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝒙𝒊.

He looked at Grover and frowned. "Satyr." Then he looked at Tyson, and his eyes twinkled. "Well, a Cyclops. Good, good. What are you doing traveling with this lot?" 

"Uh . . ." said Tyson, staring in wonder at the god. 

"Yes, well said," Hephaestus agreed. "So, there'd better be a good reason you're disturbing me. The suspension on this Corolla is no small matter, you know." 

"Sir," Annabeth said hesitantly, "we're looking for Daedalus. We thought—" 

"Daedalus?" the god roared. "You want that old scoundrel? You dare to seek him out!" 

His beard burst into flames and his black eyes glowed.

"Uh, yes, sir, please," Annabeth said. 

"Humph. You're wasting your time." He frowned at something on his worktable and limped over to it. He picked up a lump of springs and metal plates and tinkered with them. In a few seconds he was holding a bronze and silver falcon. It spread its metal wings, blinked its obsidian eyes, and flew around the room. 

Tyson laughed and clapped his hands. The bird landed on Tyson's shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately.

Hephaestus regarded him. The god's scowl didn't change, but Noelle thought she saw a kinder twinkle in his eyes. "I sense you have something to tell me, Cyclops." 

Tyson's smile faded. "Y-yes, lord. We met a Hundred-Handed One." 

Hephaestus nodded, looking unsurprised. "Briares?" 

"Yes. He—he was scared. He would not help us." 

"And that bothered you." 

"Yes!" Tyson's voice wavered. "Briares should be strong! He is older and greater than Cyclopes. But he ran away." 

Hephaestus grunted. "There was a time I admired the Hundred-Handed Ones. Back in the days of the first war. But people, monsters, even gods change, young Cyclops. You can't trust 'em. Look at my loving mother, Hera. You met her, didn't you? She'll smile to your face and talk about how important family is, eh? Didn't stop her from pitching me off Mount Olympus when she saw my ugly face." 

"But I thought Zeus did that to you," Percy said. 

Hephaestus cleared his throat and spat into a bronze spittoon. He snapped his fingers, and the robotic falcon flew back to the worktable. 

"Mother likes telling that version of the story," he grumbled. "Makes her seem more likable, doesn't it? Blaming it all on my dad. The truth is, my mother likes families, but she likes a certain kind of family. Perfect families. She took one look at me and . . . well, I don't fit the image, do I?" 

He pulled a feather from the falcon's back, and the whole automaton fell apart. 

"Believe me, young Cyclops," Hephaestus said, "you can't trust others. All you can trust is the work of your own hands." 

It seemed like a pretty lonely way to live. Plus, Noelle didn't exactly trust the work of Hephaestus. One time in Denver, his mechanical spiders had almost killed her and Percy. And last year, it had been a defective Talos statue that cost Bianca her life—another one of Hephaestus's little projects.

He focused on her and narrowed his eyes, as if he were reading her thoughts. "Oh, this one doesn't like me," he mused. "No worries, I'm used to that. What would you ask of me, little demigod?" 

"We told you," she said. "We need to find Daedalus. There's this guy Luke, and he's working for Kronos. He's trying to find a way to navigate the Labyrinth so he can invade our camp. If we don't get to Daedalus first—"