Over by the fire, Hestia was huddled in her robes, rocking back and forth.

 

"Come on," I told Rachel. "I want you to meet someone."

 

We sat next to the goddess.

 

"Lady Hestia," I said.

 

"Hello, Percy Jackson," the goddess murmured. "Getting colder. Harder to keep

the fire going."

 

"I know," I said. "The Titans are near."

 

Hestia focused on Rachel. "Hello, my dear. You've come to our hearth at last."

 

Rachel blinked. "You've been expecting me?"

 

Hestia held out her hands, and the coals glowed. I saw images in the fire: My

mother, Paul, and I eating Thanksgiving dinner at the kitchen table; my friends

and me around the campfire at Camp Half- Blood, singing songs and roasting

marshmallows; Rachel and me driving along the beach in Paul's Prius.

 

I didn't know if Rachel saw the same images, but the tension went out of her

shoulders. The warmth of the fire seemed to spread across her.