This has some inaccurate things from Percy Jackson (all of them). For instance, Nico isn't gay and this is post Heroes of Olympus. Again inaccurate things. This will be in two POV. Chapter 1 Bianca's POV My father was always a good man. He loved me and my mother. I never would have thought I would be in the corner of my living room staring at my mother's dead body and watching my dad run out the door. I run toward my cell phone. I dial 9-1-1 and when someone answers I scream into the phone my address and situation. The ambulance and police show up ten minutes later. I am still in the corner, then they busted down the door. They try to stand me up, but I am crying, my knees up to my chest, and screaming gibberish about a demon. When they finally get me to the police station, they take me in for questioning. The detective who talks to me is a woman, around 35 years old, with brown hair. "Hi," She says. "Why don't we start with your name. Mine is Kate." "Bianca," I reply. "My dad didn't kill her." "What?" She looks confused. "I know I said my dad was stabbing her, but it wasn't him." It wasn't. Whatever possessed my father had glowing red eyes and a demonic voice. "You might be in quite a shock, but we are almost certain that your dad killed your mom," Kate sounds absolutely sure. "No. My father was a loving man. Whatever killed my mother had glowing red eyes and a voice almost as if I were speaking to the Devil himself." I know it wasn't my dad. I know my dad better than he knows himself. "You're probably still in shock, Bianca. Either way, would you be willing to go with the child service agent?" I could tell Kate thought I was nuts. Everyone did. It'd be nice to go talk to a new person to convince I'm crazy. "Alright. Can I continue to go to Westerfield?" I ask Kate. Westerfield is my high school. I have no friends and everyone hates me, but I'd rather go there than be shipped off to boarding school. Besides, dyslexia and ADHD can make anyone unpopular. "That will be up to Agent Rogers." Kate smiles as a man walked in the room. He must be the child service agent. "Hey, Bianca. I'm Mr. Rogers, and I'll be watching you for a while." He has a strange voice. It sounds scraggly an animal-like. "I'm 16. Two more years and I'll be out of anyone's custody." I am very proud of that. I hate being under anyone's control except my parents. "Well, I'm sure you will be very happy when that time comes." Mr. Rogers seems like a father-like figure. I assume he would, though. He does take care of children for a living. I am in the passenger seat of a black pickup. It's nice, small, and confined. I feel awkward, though. I am with a total stranger, being sent to an orphanage where everyone will hate me. "So, Bianca. Do you have any interests?" Mr. Rogers seems genially interested. He can't be though. No one is interested in me. "Music. That's about it. I don't give a crap about anything other than my parents and my bands." It's true. I never had friends. No siblings. No one. Only artists. "Do you play an instrument?" I shook my head. "Sing?" Shook my head. "Dance?" "I only listen. I like to sit, listen and let the lyrics sink in." It helps calm me. "Speaking of music, may we go back to my house? I would like to get my iPod." I can't live without my music. "Um... I guess we can. It's on the way." We stop at my house and a bunch of cops are still there. Investigating the crime scene, I guess. A police officer stops us. He lets me go through and stops Mr. Rogers at the "do not cross" tape. "Go on. I'll still be here. Grab what you need. You might not be back." I go inside to see a body, my mother's, covered in a sort of sheet. There are a bunch of officers around taking photos. I feel like it isn't my house. I quickly go upstairs, where my bedroom door is open and everything is how I left it. I grab a bag out of my closet and put all of my clothes in it. I find my iPod and earbuds and shove them in the bag. I go to grab my toothbrush and face wash. I walk downstairs and see Mr. Rogers standing alone, past the tape. We get in the car and drive off.