ONE

ضش
I Discover the Boogie Monster Does Exist.

Looking back on my life so far, I probably should have realized what I was sooner.

Well, maybe I shouldn't have been able to guess what I was exactly—after all, the whole idea was so preposterous that there is no way I could have come that that conclusion on my own—but I should have had some sort of idea. My entire life, I had been seeing things which didn't make sense—things I didn't even believe were really there. Big Cyclopes walking the street, snakes with multiple heads slithering through the forest, winged horses soaring through the sky, a car in the sky, light on its trail…I had seen this all and more, but never believed it later, thinking my imagination had gotten the best of me again.

Now I know better.

I didn't ask to be enlightened. I would have been perfectly happy remaining ignorant. This isn't a life I would have chosen for myself. And it isn't a life I would suggest for anyone else. Sure, it seems like it should be cool. It even can be. You learn all sorts of things and you get to do things most normal kids would never even dream of, but I still wouldn't recommend it.

So if you think you see something strange—leave it alone. Don't go asking questions; don't try to figure out what it was. Why, you may ask? Aren't we supposed to be curious—isn't that the path to enlightenment? Well, yeah. You have some valid points. But I can give you a reason better than "enlightenment" to stop.

You just might be a half-blood.

.

My name is Effie Morgan.

I'm fourteen years old. Until this school year, I had been home schooled by my dad, so I rarely left my little house down at the Jersey shore. Growing up, it was just me, Ludo (my cat), my dad, and whatever girlfriend he had at the time.

Was it a lonely childhood?

Yeah. You could say that.

The only friends I had were the kids seven years younger than me down the street, and they didn't even count because they were the kids I babysat. But that was okay with me; it was all I knew. Until last August, that is.

It was a stormy summer—the worst I'd ever seen. The tides were coming up higher than usual. A storm of a kind I couldn't even name was raging across the country, leaving a wake of destruction in its path. Whenever my dad turned on the news, he got a worried expression on his face and he would start to mumble incoherently. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Whatever it was, though, it was big—big enough to get us on a plane to Colorado to visit my aunt.

I believe that there is a pivotal moment in every person's life which sets the course for the rest of their life.

For me, this was that moment.

Even as I sat on the plane, staring out the window at the ground, thousands of feet below, I could feel that this trip was different. I had been to Colorado twice before—both times to meet a new cousin. Other than that, they always came to us. But I could tell that this wasn't just a visit to see family. What it was exactly, though, I couldn't be sure.

I glanced at my dad again and frowned. He looked anxious. Every once and a while he would look up from his celebrity crossword to glance out at the window. We barely spoke the whole plane ride, which was quite unlike us. Neither of us could stay silent for this long.

Something had to be seriously wrong.

I tried not to worry about it too much—my dad was the type of guy who would talk about something and look for help if he needed it—but it was hard to ignore. Sighing, I took my People magazine out of my bag and started to read. This would require all of my attention and none would be left for worrying.

I squinted at the words, trying to decipher what they said. Sometimes I hated being dyslexic.

Okay, not just sometimes.

More like all of the time.

I really liked to read, and being dyslexic made it really difficult. Most of the time it strained my eyes so much that I had to put the book down after reading just a couple of lines. Magazines were no exception to this. I forced myself to get through at least one article before putting the magazine away. It had taken me something like fifteen minutes, and the article was only a page long.

With nothing to entertain myself, I was getting restless. Sitting still for so long did not bode well with my ADHD. I needed to run around, get rid of my pent up energy, but there was no where to go. So, instead, I settled on squirming uncomfortably in my seat and waiting for the four-hour flight to come to an end.

Aunt Laura wasn't expecting us.

I could tell because when she opened the door she looked really confused and said, "Alexander! Effie! I wasn't expecting you!"

As you can see, I'm really good at reading people.

Aunt Laura leaned forward and gave me a big hug and a peck on the cheek before ushering me inside. She gave my dad a quick kiss before helping him bring the bags into the house.

"So, Alex," she began, taking a seat on the sofa. My dad sat down in a chair across from her. I stayed where I was and watched the two, waiting to see how this would play out. My dad hadn't mentioned to me that she didn't even know we were coming. He hadn't mentioned a lot of things.

"Sorry for just dropping by like this," my dad said before she could say anything more. His sea-foam green eyes flashed towards me quickly before continuing, "Things just came up."

"Things always seem to 'just come up' with you, don't they?" She didn't sound annoyed, just a little amused. She looked over at me, too, her brown eyes smiling at me.

My dad and my aunt really look nothing alike. She is average height, average build, with long, straight brown hair and a long, thin face. Her eyes are the color of mud, and her skin is just a few shades darker than milk. My dad, on the other hand, is tall and muscular. His hair is blonde and curly; his face is strong, with high cheekbones and a sturdy jaw. He has an olive complexion. Basically, he looks like your typical California boy. Also, he looks like no one else in the family.

I would seriously doubt my grandmother's fidelity if it wasn't for the fact that my dad's and grandfather's hair was the exact same shade of blonde—an unusual golden-hay color tinted with a caramel brown.

"Effie, why don't we bring this stuff to the guest room," Aunt Laura said, smiling brightly at me. She got to her feet, placing her hand on my back. "Alexander, I'm sure you have every intention of telling me what's going on, right?" She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. And, although he was older than his sister, I noticed my dad shrinking under her gaze like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Uncle Benji's out with Christopher and Emily, but they should be back soon," Aunt Laura told me as we put my suitcase down. "I'm sure they'll be very happy to see you."

"Yeah. It will be nice to see them," I said. I wondered if she had any idea why we were here. The way she was avoiding my eyes seemed highly suspicious. "So Dad really didn't talk to you before we came here?"

"No, he didn't. But it's alright. He's always been impulsive. That's his ADHD, though. I grew up with it; I'm used to it." She shrugged. "Why don't you take a nap? You look tired."

She smiled at me again, touched my shoulder, and walked out, closing the door behind her. I sat down on the bed; I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. Out there, I knew that my dad was telling Aunt Laura why we were here and why he had been acting so uneasy all summer, and my ADHD wouldn't let me just lay there and sleep.

I slipped out of my shoes and carefully pulled open the door. I cringed as it creaked and hoped that they didn't hear me. I had a feeling that this was something I probably wasn't supposed to hear.

They had moved out of the living room into the kitchen, as if they had known I'd come along. I crawled closer until I was just outside of the doorway and (hopefully) out of sight.

"—and I'm sure that you've noticed that storm raging across the country."

"Are you trying to tell me that that storm isn't actually...a storm?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"And that's why you're here? You're trying to stay out of danger?"

"Sort of." His voice had taken on that anxious tone I had become so familiar with that summer. "Laurie..." I peeked around the corner and saw him lean in closer to her, his voice just barely above a whisper. I held my breath, trying hard to hear. "There's a war. I have...I have to go see if I can help."

A war? I pulled back, confused. Then, realization dawned on my face. Iraq. He was going to enlist. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

"I brought Effie here hoping you could...you know, take care of her. Just while I'm gone...in New York."

"Alex, I don't understand...War? New York? You aren't talking about Iraq, are you?"

"No, of course not," he replied, surprised. "Why would I...what does that have to do with the storm?"

"Nothing, I'm just...confused. This still has to do with the storm?"

"Well, yeah. Laurie, I can't explain it further. Just, please?"

Aunt Laura sighed and ran a hand through her lank hair. "Yeah, of course. Just...be careful?"

I imagined him grinning cockily. "I always am! Oh, but one more thing..." He bent down and started to rummage through his suitcase, finally pulling out a thin green box. I didn't recognize it. "Make sure Effie knows to take this if she gets in any trouble."

Aunt Laura pulled off the lid. Inside, I saw a flash of bronze. It looked like a blade, but I couldn't be sure because I heard the front door opening. I jumped to my feet and fled back towards the guest room. Closing the door carefully behind me, I jumped onto the bed and feigned sleep.

I didn't understand anything I had just heard or seen.

A storm that wasn't really a storm?

A war which required my dad to go to New York?

A box with what looked like a sword inside?

I felt like these things were supposed to be pieced together, but I didn't understand what any of it meant. And what did he mean by "trouble?"

I sighed, turning over onto my stomach and burying my face into my pillow. As I did, I heard the door squeak open and giggles as two not-so-discreet little kids snuck into the room. I could feel them climb up onto the bed on either side of me.

Then, at once, they screeched, "EFFIE!" just about blasting out my eardrums.

Needless to say, I gave a start. Because, even when you know someone is there, it still hurts to have them scream into your ear. I don't know, maybe that's just me.

Emily started to giggle some more. I rolled over to look at her, doing my best to look annoyed, but all she had to do was smile for me to give it up. I could never be annoyed at her. She leaned forward and gave me a big kiss on the cheek and then jumped off of the bed.

Christopher crawled over me so we faced each other. Then he just stared at me with wide, hazel eyes. I reached forward and tousled his thick brown hair, a smile on my lips. He reached forward and yanked a lock of my curly black hair.

Hard.

Oh, the joys of family.

"Oh, Christopher! There you are!"

I looked up and Uncle Benji was standing in the doorway. He saw me looking at him and smiled brightly. "Hi Effie."

"Hi Uncle Benji." I had known him almost as long as I had known my dad. They had been in a band together when they were younger, which still existed when I was born. My dad was actually the reason he had even met Aunt Laura. He was a tall, lanky guy with wavy hair that was so light a shade of brown that it was almost blonde. His eyes were a bright, clear blue behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Have you seen Emily?"

The six-year-old giggled from where she hid underneath my bed before she wriggled out from underneath it. She ran to her father and latched onto his leg, grinning up at him widely. They looked very similar. Their eyes were the same startling shade of blue and they both had wavy hair, though Emily's was lighter; they even had the same wrinkles by their eyes when they smiled.

I lifted myself off of the bed and picked up Christopher. He was eight years old, and so almost too heavy for me to hold. Plus, he was tall like his dad—he almost came up to my shoulder. But, I had built up muscle from playing volleyball and from water skiing, so I managed to hold him for a few seconds. He grinned at me as I dropped him.

Uncle Ben smiled at us. Emily was still attached to his leg. "Come on you three; I think dinner's ready."

My dad left in the morning. The sun hadn't even risen yet when he snuck into my room. All he told me was that he had some "business to attend do." That was the thing about my dad; he couldn't lie outright to my face. So he would probably be hoping that I would assume he meant with his photography business and not ask any questions. But I knew what he was really doing—something with a war I didn't know about. I was just too afraid to ask anything.

So, instead, I hugged him extra tightly. By the look on his face when he pulled away, it looked like he got the message—that I knew something other than what he was telling me; that he better be careful.

He left my room slowly, as if reconsidering his choice. He stopped in the doorway and smiled at me. "Love you, Effie," he told me.

"Love you, too. Don't be too long."

He just gave me a sad smile in response, like he couldn't promise me that. I should have figured. "Go back to sleep, Effie."

And with that, he walked out the door. I lay back down and stared up at the dark ceiling. The house was still. I could hear everything. I could hear my dad walk out the door; I could hear his cab pull up and then pull away. I could hear the silence of his absence, and I couldn't sleep.

Birds started to tweet as the sun came up. I was already awake and reading by the time light spilled into the room. Not long after that, the door slowly creaked open and Aunt Laura peered inside. Seeing I was awake, she slipped inside.

"Good morning," she said tentatively. I glanced up from my magazine. I must have looked upset because emotion suddenly flooded over her and she gushed, "Oh, Effie!" and flew towards me. I scooted aside, giving her more room to sit. She draped her arm around my shoulder and rested her head against mine.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh…yeah," I said with a short nod. I put down my magazine and started to rub my eyes; they were burning from reading for so long.

"Oh, Effie, it's okay," she said pityingly. She rubbed my back consolingly and started to make sympathetic clicking noises with her tongue.

I had no clue what was going on.

"It'll all be okay. Your dad will be back."

It hadn't even crossed my mind that he wouldn't be back. I had been afraid that he'd be hurt—badly injured. But killed? Never! Suddenly I felt like crying—you know that feeling. It starts in your throat—a big lump you can't swallow. The more you try, the bigger it gets, until finally it just dissolves in your eyes.

I wiped them from my eyes before she could see them. "I know," I said. I hoped the crack in my voice wasn't too obvious and I picked my magazine back up, burying my face in it before she could see the fear on it.

"Oh. Well…good." Aunt Laura slowly got to her feet. She rubbed my back briefly before heading back towards the door. "You can always talk to me if you need to."

"I know." I didn't look up.

"Okay, good. Breakfast will be ready soon."

"Alright, I'll be right out. Thanks."

I scanned over the rest of the sentence, dog-eared the magazine, and set it down before slowly crawling out of bed and into the kitchen. Aunt Laura, Uncle Benji, Chris, and Emily were all already around the table, waiting patiently for me to join them.

I slid silently into my seat, flashing them all a big smile and pretending not to notice the fact that my father wasn't there with us. Really, I just wanted to cry.

He had never left me before, and the thought that he might not come back from this storm or war or whatever it was had been seared into my mind.

What if he didn't?

"Eat up, Effie," Aunt Laura said kindly as Uncle Benji pushed a plate of sausage towards me.

I silently placed a few sausage links on my plate before passing them off to Christopher.

What would I do without him?

The five of us ate in relative silent, though the only one who appeared to be experiencing any discomfort or unease was me.

"Effie, sweetie, can I talk to you after breakfast?" Aunt Laura asked, flashing me a reassuring smile, though her tone was a bit serious; Uncle Benji pat me knee, sending me a wink.

"Yeah, sure."

What was going on?

What Aunt Laura had wanted to talk to me about was the thin green box my dad had left with her. She brought it into my room after breakfast, holding it as far from her body as her arms would allow. Dropping it down on the bed, relief spread over her, as if holding the box were a huge burden.

"Your father left me that to give to you. He wanted you to know about it, just in case something goes…wrong," she explained hesitantly. I hated the way she phrased it—as if he was dead; as if this was his final will.

"What is it?" I asked, although I had a feeling I already knew, unless my eyes had mistaken me.

She nodded towards the box. "Take a look."

I gingerly removed the lid. Inside was a short bronze sword. It was nothing special—the most significant part was the piece of sea glass—a pale green, the exact same shade as the eyes my father and I shared—but, for the most part, it was just an ordinary sword…though the bronze was a bit odd.

I picked it up and tossed it back and forth in my hands. It was light, though heavier than I was used to. It was nothing I couldn't handle. What I wondered, though, was why I would need such a thing.

"So you don't know what's going on?" Aunt Laura whispered. "At all?"

Looking at her, I could see she was as lost as I felt.

I hadn't thought about how she'd feel if something happened to dad. He was her brother, and they were close, but for some reason, that didn't seem as important as my loss. Looking at her now, though, I could tell that it was. Earlier, it had seemed she was just concerned for me and how I'd feel if anything happened. She was worried—more worried than I was.

I suddenly felt sick.

"No. He didn't tell me anything."

"I was afraid of that," she sighed, sinking onto the bed.

I put the sword away and an idea flickered into my mind. Dad had probably explained more to Aunt Laura than I had heard, right? Maybe I could get answers out of her.

"You could tell me."

Her head shot up; she stared at me with her face screwed up, as if she found that idea ludicrous.

"No," she said sharply, and far too quickly for her to be able to convince me that she didn't know anything. "I don't want to tell you anything for father doesn't want you to know."

There was no point arguing with her; she was more stubborn than a donkey's behind.

"Your Uncle and I had plans to go out tonight, since we didn't know you'd be here. We could cancel, if you'd like, but—"

"No, it's okay. I'll baby-sit."

Aunt Laura murmured a "thank you" into my hair as she kissed me on the head. Grinning widely, she ruffled my bangs and left the room, leaving the door hanging wide open.

Glancing back at the green box staring up at me, I silently closed the door. Why did my dad have this? But even more important than that—why would I need it?

That night, I made macaroni and cheese for dinner, but it got burnt—and I mean it was a chunk of charcoal—so we ordered pizza and ate that instead.

Then we watched a few hours of bad television while eating big bowls of ice cream sundaes. Emily fell asleep while we were still in the living room, vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup dribbling down her chin.

I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was already almost ten o'clock.

"Time for bed!" I announced, switching the T.V. off. "Christopher, could you go get yourself ready? I'll be in to say good-night as soon as I am done with Emily."

"Okay," he agreed, sliding off the couch and padding down the hallway to his bedroom. I watched him disappear around the corner before carefully lifting Emily into my arms.

Like her brother, she was tall for her age, and so more difficult to carry than I would have thought. This could also have to do with the face that I was pretty short for my age. I managed to get her to her room with minimal damage, though—a fact I was quite proud of. She just might have a slight headache—and maybe a bruise or two—when she woke up—nothing serious.

Emily had anticipated her slumber and changed into her pajamas after we ate pizza, so at least I knew she would be sleeping comfortably. I did feel a little guilty about her not brushing her teeth, but she was so peaceful snuggled under her blankets that I couldn't wake her.

That ice cream was bothering me though.

I hurried to the bathroom, wet a tissue, and returned to Emily's room to rub it off. Satisfied, I went to kiss her forehead, but stopped in my tracks. Staring up at me, almost glowing in the dark, was a big glob of ice cream.

How on earth had she managed that? Had her brain been hungry? Had she thought she could feed it through her skull?

I shook my head as I wiped up the mess, hoping that that was the last of it.

She wouldn't have gotten more food on her if I had fed her straight from a trough. The girl was a messier eater than a pig, and that was saying something.

When I got into Christopher's room, he was already sitting in his bed, patiently waiting for me to arrive, as promised. I sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his blankets up over him and tucking them into his sides.

"Should I read you something before you go to sleep?" I asked; I wasn't really sure what their nighttime protocol was, but I knew that when I was his age, I still liked to be read to.

"Okay!" he excitedly replied, a grin breaking across his face. He had such a nice smile, and not just because he had perfect teeth. It was a kind smile, extending up to his big hazel eyes.

"What should I read you?" I asked, looking over at the bookshelf pressed against the wall. "What's your favorite?"

He shrugged. "I like them all."

"How about this one?" I pulled one off the shelf at random—Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod.

"I like that one."

"Me, too." I smiled, cleared my throat, and opened the small book. I didn't actually need to look at the book to know this words—this had always been a favorite nursery rhyme of mine, and I had memorized the words long ago. This made telling it to him much easier, because I didn't have to struggle through my dyslexia. I concentrated instead on getting the words right and showing Christopher the illustrations that went along with them.

"…and you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea where the old shoe rocked the fisherman three—Winkin', Blinkin' and Nod."

I shut the book definitively and looked at him. His eyelids were already drooping. I placed the book on his nighstand and moved as if to leave, but his hand reached out and wrapped around my fingers.

"Wait," he whispered; his eyelids had fallen so far that I couldn't see his eyes anymore.

"What is it Christopher?"

"Check under the bed, please."

"For what?"

His eyes snapped open and his grip tightened. "Monsters."

I was pretty sure I had outgrown this by the age of eight, but I didn't say anything about that. Instead, I squeezed his fingers back. "Okay." Still holding his hand, I knelt down and carefully scanned under his bed.

"All clear."

"Good." A smile briefly flitted across his face as his fingers slackened, his arm falling to the side.

The sounds of his soft breathing filled the room. I smiled wistfully at him. Oh to be eight again and be able to fall asleep at whim…I kissed him on the forehead, shut off the light, and carefully left, closing the door behind me.

Watching Emily and Christopher fall asleep made me tired. I yawned openly as I crossed the hallway to the guest room. My pajamas were still in the heap I had left them in that morning. I slowly changed into them—an old "FRANKIE SAY RELAX" t-shirt of my dad's from the 80's and a pair of bright green shorts.

After my teeth were nice an clean, my breath minty fresh, I started to brush through my hair. As usual, it had knotted drastically during the day, but I blamed the curls for that. If I had straight hair…I shook my head, emitting an irritated breath as I tore through another knot.

My head was covered in glossy black curls that made me feel like a poodle of sorts. I would give anything to have straight hair, or even just have gentle waves, like my dad. Unfortunately, I hadn't inherited that from my father's genes. He hadn't really contributed much to my looks—just the sea-foam green eyes, olive complexion, the some-what big feet, and the wiry build.

According to him, I was almost the mirror image of my mother—the wide, unassuming eyes; the slender jaw and delicate face; the problem with height.

What it all really came down to, though, was the hair.

Dad said the color reminded him of an oil spill. When you looked at it, it seemed to be just black. But when the light hit it, you could see a whole myriad of colors—a rainbow—dancing through the curls.

I wasn't sure if I liked the analogy.

Suppressing another sigh, I pulled my tangle of curls to the top of my head and tied them up in a genie-doo. Having successfully made myself look like an idiot without sticking any vegetation on my eyes, I decided it was time to go to sleep.

I had just pulled my eye-mask down and was settling under the covers when I heard the scream.

How I ended up in my piggie slippers, sword in hand, back in Christopher's room is a complete mystery to me, because I had my eye-mask on the entire time.

He screamed again, and I threw my eye-mask to the ground, holding my sword out in front of me, and flipped the light on. "What's going on?"

It was then that I saw it—some horrible creature leaning over my cousin with sharp, glistening teeth exposed. Its hair flew back behind it like a flame—a mixture of purple, deep blue, and black. Its clothes were dark and torn and whipped around its ankles as if some wind was present.

"Hey!" I shouted, sounding braver than I felt. I was shaking—I could see the sword shivering back and forth, but I kept a firm grip on it. If this thing thought it was going to hurt my Christopher, it had another thing coming to it.

The disgusting thing released its grip on Christopher's arm and turned towards me. It had a horrible face—leathery skin hanging gauntly from the surface. Its eyes were black pits; pink scars lined them. Its mouth was filled with razor-sharp teeth and a forked tongue.

Where had this thing come from? I had checked the bed; the windows were closed; the front door was locked. It was then I noticed the closet door—open. I knew for a fact that it had been closed when I was in here.

Who knew that Monsters Inc. wasn't so off-base?

"I don't know what you want, but leave him alone."

In response, the monster hissed; I gagged. It had the worst case of morning breath I had ever smelt, and it wasn't even morning.

Then it started to hiss a whole bunch of nonsense. "Half-blood…minor-god…rejected…unwanted….join us."

I didn't bother asking what it was talking about, because I decided that nothing about this monster-thing was lucid. And I really wasn't all that interested in what it had to say, anyway.

"Defeat Olympians…."

Okay, the hissing thing was getting really annoying. And I was really tired—I just wanted to get to sleep. So, I did the first thing I could think of doing—I ran towards it, sword extended.

Maybe it was impulsive and stupid of me, but you can blame that on my ADHD. All I knew was that this thing was pissing me off, and it didn't seem like it would listen to any sort of reason, so I had no other option.

I just wished that Christopher wasn't sitting there, wailing and watching me as I attempted to slay this thing.

Apparently, though, its eyes actually did serve some purpose. It saw me running towards it and jumped into the air—or flew, rather. What I thought had been a dress was actually paper-thin wings which it whipped out, grazing my cheek with, to get some leverage with, in the process revealing its real clothes—a black ad silver sequined dress accompanied by white go-go boots, reminding me of a disco-queen. Zombie version, of course.

And if that was all she did, that would have almost been okay.

But, after revealing that, as well as being incredibly grotesque, it—or she, rather—could fly, it decided that it didn't like the idea of being attacked, and expressed that quite vocally by sweeping down upon me, digging her claws into my shoulders.

If she ripped my shirt.

I swirled around, attempting to ram my sword into her exposed stomach, but she soared backwards through the door. Heart racing, I ran after her.

I got my wish; it was no longer in front of Christopher.

However, now she was destroying the living room with her raggedy wings. Already, she had knocked over two lamps. Also, there was big tears in the sofa.

Great.

How was I going to explain this to Aunt Laura?

I lunged forward at the same time the weird leather-skinned monster did, fangs and razor teeth exposed. As the blade neared her exposed flesh, her hair erupted into blue flames and she flew higher so she was almost pressed flat against the ceiling.

Seeing the flames sparked something inside of me—some repressed lesson from my childhood.

I stopped pursuing her.

Dropped the sword.

And ran.

It wasn't quite the lesson I had learned, but it was just as effective.

Until I tripped over the over-sized pig-slipped I had on my feet. I lurched forward, falling to the floor and somersaulted over myself.

Well…that was more like it.

Unfortunately, it didn't stop her from pursuing me. As I lay there, dazed and a little confused, she swept down upon me, landing so that her go-go boots were on either side of me. Then she knelt down, baring her alarmingly white teeth. I was reminded vaguely of a shark as I looked at them—each a perfect triangle in her wide mouth. I supposed it would hurt to have them penetrate my skin, but I had hit my head rather hard on my fall and I wasn't thinking very clearly.

Was she a vampire? Was all she was after my blood? I had heard her say something about blood before. Half-blood…Half blood.

Did she want to drink half my blood?

For a moment, that didn't seem so bad. I continued to lay there, watching as her mouth came closer and closer to my face.

Then my senses returned.

I lifted my legs abruptly, kneeing her in the stomach. While she was recovering from that, I rammed the heel of my hand up at her nose. She straightened, stumbling backwards, and I scrambled to my feet, running back to the sword laying abandoned on the floor.

And then I ran at her again.

Had she had a sword, too, or had my mind been working properly—at the moment it was all just static ringing in my ears—I might have been able to fight better—probably I would parry with her. I didn't really know how to handle this situation, though. She had only what her body offered her—which seemed to be quite a lot—and I had a sword. And as much as I wanted her dead and gone, I was only fourteen—I had never killed anything before. I didn't know how to go about doing this.

So I decided to charge. I'm not sure why—it hadn't worked for me yet—but it seemed, at the moment, the right thing to do.

"FOR NARNIA!" I screamed, running forward, sword ablaze. I thought maybe the battle cry would distract her or alarm her or something so I would have a better chance of actually piercing her.

No such luck.

I'm not exactly sure what Narnia did to offend her, but she suddenly became very angry. She came forward, swinging her arm back and forth. I stifled a laugh as she reminded me of disco-dancing.

It wasn't so funny anymore when her hand swung down, her claws slicing my cheek. The cut stung, and I could feel the blood seeping out, but there was no time to do anything about it, because she was coming at me again.

This time she grabbed both my shoulders, swung me over her shoulder, and flew right through the front door—the closed (and locked) front door. The wood turned to saw dust as she touched it, grinding it with her…She-Ra power.

No such luck for me, though.

The door scratched my bare skin as it tore past me in a torrent of wind, several pieces nearly poking my eyes out.

Out in the open air, she stretched her wings out as far as they would go and started to take flight. Fortunately for me, she released me as she did this, for one of two reasons:

She needed her arms free to fly properly.

She believed I was much smarter than I was.

Fortunately for me, I'm pretty stupid. Not that I don't do well in school—I actually did surprisingly well, considering my…afflictions. I just had no common sense—no survival instinct. I was very…spontaneous.

So, when we started to get a little too high, and I realized what was going on, I lifted my legs so I was no longer draped over her shoulder, and I dove.

Smart?

Not at all.

Effective?

Most definitely.

Thankfully, we hadn't really been that high, so my dive into the shrubbery didn't hurt as much as it could have. I did, however, come out with a more branches in my hair than when I dressed up as a Christmas tree for Halloween.

She hadn't noticed yet that I was gone, but I knew she would soon, so I scrambled to find the sword I had dropped as we took off. Thankfully, the bronze blade shone in the moonlight. I dove for it, grabbing the hilt just as a screech echoed through the sky and the disco-monster (or boogie-monster…heehee) turned back for me.

I hid in the shadows and waited for her to land. I held my breath, watching as she searched the yard for me.

Apparently, having black eyes doesn't mean you see well in the dark…duly noted.

When her back was turned, I crept out of the shadows as quietly as possible. She didn't hear me until I was right behind her, sword raised high above my head. She swirled around, and I brought to sword down, slicing through her.

There should have been a sickening crack or some other noise in acknowledgement of what I had done, but instead, there was just a sucking noise as she dissolved into a pile of ashes. I looked at the pile at my feet distastefully before kicking it.

Ew.

Better than a dead corpse though, I suppose.

The adrenaline rush over, exhaustion once again settled over me. Dropping my arms to my sides, I heaved a sigh and headed towards what once was the front door. This was going to take a lot of explaining…I hoped that Aunt Laura and Uncle Benji would believe me. It isn't as if they'd think I threw a party, at least—I had no one to invite.

"Effie? What just happened?"

I turned towards the sound of the voice, my breath catching in my chest. In the driveway stood Aunt Laura and Uncle Benji, each wearing a look of alarm that told me that they had seen.

Well…at least I didn't have to worry about them believing me anymore.

a/n I am so excited that I finished this chapter. I started it a while ago, but then got off my PJO high so left it. Yesterday, I randomly decided to start working on it again, and I finished it up today. I like the results. I am trying to model it after the style of the PJO series, just because, and I hope I pulled it off with this chapter.

I would like to thank Bri for her help with ideas for aspects for this story right now, even though none of them have come into play yet :P THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU :)

And thank you to everyone who has read it; I hope you enjoyed it, and I would love reviews :)

I am not sure when the next chapter will be out. I will try to start it really soon, but...we'll see. I'm not even sure what brought me to work on this again, because I am not in a particularly PJO mood...

Much love.

xox