INTRODUCTION

Okay, let's get one thing straight; I didn't ask for any of this. Got that? My fate's a tangled mess, tightening the knot with each breath I take. It's not fun. If someone offered me a regular life, I'd take it in one-second flat.

Now that I've made that clear, I should tell you who I am. That's kind of hard, to be honest, because I'm not exactly sure either.

My name is Alex Park. I live in Houston, Texas. Would call it my home? No. All my life, up and 'till now, I've lived in a foster home, hopping from family-to-family. No one wanted me, of course. I was a bad omen. I brought trouble and destroyed houses and attracted unwanted attention.

Oh yeah, I'm also half Olympian god. I forget to tell people that when I introduce myself sometimes. I'm a demigod, or as some might call me, a "half-blood". That's why no one's willing to touch me with a ten-foot long pole.

Who's my godly parent? Some call her Diana, the goddess of the moon, maidenhood, or the Hunt...or, Artemis.

CHAPTER 1

Being a foster-kid isn't easy. All my life, I've been in about 20 different homes with different families. It's hard. I think that I have the worst luck possible.

Yeah, you think you're a kid of Zeus and you've got it hard? That's nothing compared to my life.

Once, when I was six, I lived with a couple and their son. I actually liked the family, and was beginning to settle in. I'd lived with them for ten months, but then something strange happened. Something strange always happens.

As I said, we were walking in the park. I was playing on the swing set while my foster parents and foster brother unpacked lunch. A very tall man who appeared to be at least 12-feet in height approached me; no one believed me, but I swore he only one large eye, right in the middle of his forehead.

After giving me a stern-there's no such thing as monsters you shouldn't make that stuff up-talk, we all just forgot about it. A year later, the Fates finally decided that I was too content. A huge, six-foot-tall, bulking, snarling, demonic rottweiler crashed into our house and shattered a few windows. I didn't know it before, but that thing was a hellhound-and just my luck, during the incident, my foster-brother was injured. That was when we were on the brink of collapsing.

Several 'unfortunate' events occurred after that, eventually sending me off to another foster home. The cycle went on and on, spiraling and never-ending.

I'd love to say I joined some other family or whatnot, became happy again, got adopted and made a good life for myself, but being a demigod is never that easy. I had a few more good families, or at least, people who tolerable people.

Then there were people like Joseph ElCardo, my current foster-father. Joseph lives in an apartment complex near a more shady part of town (tip: don't walk around our apartment buildings unless you like to be held at gun-point) with his absent-brained girlfriend, Missy.

Most of the time, Joseph just collects that cash for 'taking care' of me. My room's just about a few feet larger than your average garden shack, with peeling wallpaper, the occasional few mice, and absolutely infested with spiders.

Here's how my day usually goes:

I wake up, pull some ratty clothes I bought at Walmart with my tiny allowance money, walk out into the kitchen, and if I'm lucky, Joseph ElCardo's passed out from last night's hour of partying and drinking, and locking me in my room. Search the cabinets for year-old expired cereal: find none? Steal five bucks from your foster-father, run out, and get big mac and large Sprite from the nearest McDonalds.

Yeah. The usual glamorous schedule.

I go to school at a huge complex a few blocks away at a run-down place called Kauffman Junior High. Most of the staff and teachers are usually experiencing a hangover most of the time they're there, and you'd be pretty lucky to get to your locker without getting your money for lunch stolen to pay for cigarettes or weed.

The students there are mostly Hispanic kids with mommy-issues and like to act ten-times tougher than they actually are.

It's not all completely bad. Though it's pretty close to being down-right, 100% awful. I had a single friend-Anthony Caverly. He's a foster-kid like me.

To be honest, I don't know Anthony all that well. But it's easier to survive junior high if you've got someone else to experience it. Like getting hit on the head with a baseball-bat-it's not that bad if you have someone else there to get hit, too.

Okay, that's probably not solid-logic, but it's the best I could think of.

"Hey, Alex!"

I flinched and through a glance behind me; David Alvarez was staring down at me, wearing a smug smirk on his face.

David Alvarez, looking back on it, wasn't all that intimidating. He was about 5'4, squat, burly, with really close-cropped hair and a pudgy face. He should have been in high school by now, but he got held back several times. But, he was about two years older than me, and had about a dozen of other minions who could rough you up when he said the word 'go'.

"What?" I didn't even look up; I was staring at the floor, scraping my fingernails against my skin.

"I need some money," David said plainly. "I know you've got fifty bucks. Heard you talking to Caverly that your daddy gave you some more cash."

I snorted ungracefully. David Alvarez made it seem like my foster-father was some sort of...well, a decent guy. But he just gives me fifty bucks each week and doesn't talk to me or interact with me at all. If I'm lucky. "What's it to you? Ran out of crack?"

David's eyes got all pulsing and angry then. I saw him tense and clench his fists, but to me, he just looked like an angry marshmallow. "Hand it over, Park. Now."

"Just take mine," Anthony was already reaching into his pocket. "Then shut up and go away."

"Don't waste yours," I muttered. Then I grabbed twenty bucks out of my jacket pocket and tossed it at David.

David squinted down at the roll of paper I'd given him and squinted. "What the hell is this, Park? I asked for fifty."

I put a confused, genuine frown on my face. "You asked for twenty. Or are you to stupid to remember?"

David blinked a few times, frowning and gazing down at the small wad of cash clamped in his hands. Then he shook his head, as if he'd awoke from a sudden daze. "Watch it, Park," He growled. "I can make your life a living hell." Then he turned and stopped back to sit with the other juvenile delinquents near the back of our bus.

As I watched him go, I stared down at the thirty dollars concealed in my left palm and gave a faint smile. Once again, it worked. I was getting better at it.

"How do you do that?" Anthony stared at me in astonishment. "It's like you just hypnotized him."

I shrugged, a grin reappearing on my face. "It's a gift, I guess."

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Kylie Todd staring at me in a contemplative way. When she saw that I noticed her staring, she just frowned and directed her gaze back to the front of the bus-seat.

Kylie Todd was weird that way. I've caught her staring at me several times, like I was some juicy meal. She was my age, with shoulder-length hair dyed blue. She had brown eyes, tan skin, and was about several inches shorter than me.

I pushed back the thoughts of Kylie, and then my mind swam over towards weirder stuff.

Throughout my life, I'd been able to get people to do things with a simple snap of my fingers, or with simple, honeyed words. Most of the time it worked. However, there was some people I just couldn't fool. Like my foster-father, Joseph.

My giddy smile morphed into a frown at the thought of him. But I just shuddered and pushed back the thoughts before I started to cry. "At least the being mugged part of the day is over," I said dryly.

Anthony snorted. "There shouldn't ever be a 'mugging part of the day', Alex. It sucks that we're stuck here."

I knew what he meant. Anthony spent his entire 13 years in foster-care, too. Bouncing from home-to-home, from state-to-state, and often experienced the same strange situations that we somehow never thought twice of.

I straightened my silver jacket and brushed off a few crumbs of Chex Mix off my ripped jeans. "Yeah, I know. But it won't be like this forever, okay? Once we both hit eighteen we'll dump our foster-parents go on a road-trip to Santa Monica."

Anthony smiled. Me and him had a sort of pact-once we both turned eighteen, we'd run away from Texas and drive across the country to the sunny beaches of the western coast. It was a silly, childish promise we'd made to each other, but it helped get through a crappy day like this one.

School went the normal way; Anthony and I arrived, got swept through the surge of kids, and got to our lockers, and somehow managed to get all the way to lunch without any trouble.

When I say 'without any trouble', what I mean is nothing on the drastic scale of things. We didn't get shot, but we were held up by one of David Alvarez's goons at the end of fourth period.

My little tricks work best on not-so-bright people. So, it was easy to wave away the kid and get on with lunch.

The cafeteria was packed with kids that day. The murmurings of the school were so loud and constant, I couldn't hear my own footsteps. And that bothered me; not being able to hear or feel the movement of my own body.

I threw Anthony a glance across from the table. The air had developed a sudden unnerving chill; not really terrible or anything, but filled with tension, like a fight was about to break out. And I knew a lot about fights from attending this school.

I tapped my foot nervously against the ground. Something wasn't right. I could feel it in the uneasy prickling of my skin...there was definitely something wrong. It was the same feeling I often felt over the course of my miserable life. The string of strange, unexplainable occurrences...

Finally, I couldn't take it. I grabbed Anthony's arm, my gaze rapidly fluctuating around the cafeteria. "Please tell me you can sense that." I whispered.

Anthony nodded uneasily. "Yeah...it's not good. Remember that weird bull-thing I saw a few years ago? It's a feeling like that."

My jaws opened for a hasty reply. It probably would've been; "That drive to Santa Monica sounds pretty good now..." Of course, there was no time to reply.

All at once, crashing through the cafeteria wall was a massive blur of dark gold fur. The sound of the crumbling wall smacked through my mind, leaving me stunned for a few moments.

Screams erupted from all around me. Kids were sent scattering through the room and out into the halls, yelling for help.

I jumped to my feet and pulled out a long, curved dagger from my jacket. I kept the weapon hidden in my locker and carried it around just in case-you have no idea how many times it has saved my life.

This is the part where I bravely slashed through the creature, sending it cowering away seconds after it charged at me, right? The part where I became a hero and saved an entire school of defenseless children.

Nope. Not even close.

Instead, as the monster came closer, my eyes widened. It was a lion. Or at least, it appeared to be. It was five times the size of any lion I'd ever seen, with huge, long, curved fangs that length of my dagger. It's golden eyes gleamed hungrily as it lumbered towards me, flicking away cafeteria tables like they were little toys.

I made a goggling sound in my throat, but managed to grab Anthony by the arm and dive to the side as the lion slashed a claw through the air where we stood only a millisecond ago.

"It's..." Anthony stared, trembling. "It's a lion!"

"We have to get out of here," Oh, gee, Alex! I never would have thought of that! "Come on. Run!"

We scrambled and got to our feet, leaping over the wreckage. The lion scampered after us, snarling in fury.

The left wall now had a gaping hole in it, large enough for an elephant to sneak through. Just a bit closer...

The lion reached for me with a paw, just as we were climbing out of the school. Without thinking, in a flash of movement, I sliced my dagger through it's paw.

The lion roared in agony; the paw, instead of falling limply to the ground in a pool of blood, dispersed into dust.

I didn't look back. Anthony and I were running for our lives, hurrying across the narrow sidewalk as sirens descended from behind us.

(A/N): To anyone who's been in foster-care, I sincerely apologize if anything's been inaccurate. I'm not quite sure how foster-care works.