On the front porch, she grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin.

"Luke, at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe."

 

"I will . . . Mom."

 

That made her smile. She released my wrist, and as she closed the front door I

could hear her talking to the candles: "You hear that? He will be safe. I told

you he would be!"

 

As the door shut, Nico and I ran. The little beanbag animals on the sidewalk

seemed to grin at us as we passed.

 

Back at the cliff, Mrs. O'Leary had found a friend.

 

A cozy campfire crackled in a ring of stones. A girl about eight years old was

sitting cross-legged next to Mrs. O'Leary, scratching the hellhound's ears.

 

The girl had mousy brown hair and a simple brown dress. She wore a scarf over

her head so she looked like a pioneer kid — like the ghost of Little House on

the Prairie or something. She poked the fire with a stick, and it seemed to glow

more richly red than a normal fire.

 

"Hello," she said.

 

My first thought was: monster. When you're a demigod and you find a sweet little