I guess it all started out when I was attacked by my to-be stepfather. Let me back up. Who am I? Cassandra Elizabeth Case, demigod and daughter of Apollo. Of course, when I was attacked by my mom's now ex-boyfriend, I didn't know that. About being a demigod, that is.

I had been sitting in my bedroom after school last year, listening to music and trying to cool off from the humidity outside. It was around three, and my mom wouldn't be getting home for another three hours. Not that I could complain. Those three hours alone at home were heaven to me. I could watch TV for hours, eat the snacks in my pantry, and play my music as loud as I wanted without being yelled at or nagged to do anything. It was my own personal sanctuary.

So like I said, I was chilling out listening to my i-pod (pretty loudly I might add) when I heard a door close, which was pretty strange since, like I mentioned, my mom didn't get home for another three hours. I paused my i-pod and listened for a moment, hoping it had just been a part of my imagination or even part of the song I was listening to. The little town of Charlottesville, Virginia didn't have a high crime rate, but there was still the random chance of a theft or even a murder.

As I listened, I heard footsteps. My blood froze and I silently turned off my i-pod and my eyes searched the small part of the house that I could see through my bedroom door. The footsteps stopped for a moment before continuing. They sounded like they were growing closer, but my ears were still in high-volume i-pod mode. I rolled off my bed silently, dropping to the floor and rolling under my bed. It was better to be safe than sorry.

The footsteps grew closer, and I could see a pair of Banana Republic dress shoes that my mom's boyfriend always wore. The feet turned and left and I breathed a sigh of relief before rolling back out from under the bed. I forgot that my mom had given him a house key. But why was he here when he knew my mom didn't get home until six? I hoped it wasn't for one of those stupid bonding days. No kids ever liked their parent's boyfriends or girlfriends. Ever.

"Ryan?" I called as I walked into the kitchen. He was crouched on top of the stool, bent over a raw slab of meat on the table. Without a plate. His shoes were sitting in the sink, and the counter was covered with all the knives in our house. Okay, weird. "Ryan?" his head jerked up as meat dripped off his chin and on to the floor. "What are…what are you doing?" I asked, still cautious. What was up with him? His eyes narrowed and he blinked. I frowned. What did he do, get those cat eye contacts from the color contact website? His eyes were yellow and there weren't any white space showing. His pupils were reduced to black slits. That couldn't be right…

"Cassandra…" he said in a low voice. It was almost a growl. I took a slight step back. I had never known his voice to be that low. He crept onto the table, still crouching. The knives on the table rattled slightly. I took another step back. Did I miss Halloween or something? "You're mother was very ignorant…" he hissed, launching himself off the table. The knives rattled more and inched towards the edge of the counter.

"Umm…"

"Now it's your time to die!" he shouted. The knives flew from the counted and I yelped and ran as they launched themselves at me. I heard as the imbedded themselves in the wall, and Ryan yelled in frustration.

"I'll get you, Cassandra! You dirty half-blood!" he screamed, as I rolled under my bed and tried to stop myself from hyperventilating. What had just happened? Did my mom's boyfriend just suddenly turn crazy and try to kill me? What the-

There was a crashing noise and tinkling of glass. I winced. It was most likely the bookcase with the vase and picture frames. I backed up more towards the wall and deeper under my bed. My hand hit a stray high heel I had worn for last year's dance at my school, and I grabbed it.

"Cassandra Case! You can't hide from me! I'll sniff you out, and then you'll be meeting your end!" Ryan roared. "Let's see, are you in your mother's room?" I heard more crashing. At least it disguised my frantic breathing. I was going to die in here, and even if I did live, my mom wasn't going to believe me that her boyfriend tried to kill me. She was too bent on becoming "Mrs. Thorn" and living happily ever after. Probably send me off to a boarding school once she had her happy married little family. It was a horrible thought, but once she was all star-struck and happy with her (now insane) boyfriend, I was completely out of the picture and she would do anything for him. On my twelfth birthday I got in trouble for the stupidest thing and wasn't allowed to do anything, and then I was dragged off to spend time with her, her boyfriend's family, and her boyfriend's friends on her boyfriend's boat. Then I got in trouble again because Ryan was all unhappy about me being in a bad mood.

"How about the bathroom? Or the living room?" I could hear the couch being ripped into shreds by what sounded like the knives. I was going to be stabbed to death and then my mom would finally see how messed up her boyfriend had actually been. Lately, the guys she picked weren't exactly stellar. For example, the crazy knife guy in our living room trying to kill me. "You can't hide forever, half-blood! Sooner or later, I will find you. And when I do-" There was another tearing of fabric, and then maniacal laughter. It sent chills down my spine, and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

I heard his footsteps and heavy breathing, and he gave a dark chuckle. I could hear him rubbing the knives together menacingly. I bit down on the side of my cheek. This was it. My mom probably wouldn't even find my body. It would be rolled under my bed and it would take the detectives to find it. I could see his feet stopped at my door.

"Come out wherever you are," he said creepily, sending another set of shivers down my spine. I could hear his knives clinking together. The ADHD part of me wondered if my mom would still use them to cut. We weren't exactly the richest people, and buying new knives would choke my mom's budget.

He got close to my bed and I held my breath, bracing for the worst. I was trapped now, stuck under the bed, free for him to pull me out and stab me. He bent down, and my grip tightened around the heel. It would be my last act, throwing a heel in a killer's face before he gouged me to death. His face came into view and rested against the floor. His cat eyes adjusted to the darkness under my bed, and he grinned, a fanged, sinister smile.

"Gotcha," he whispered. The next few things felt like a blur to me. I remember chucking the heel at his face, and him reeling backwards. But I remember trying to decide whether to stay under the bed or risk clambering out, when I heard footsteps and thumping and screaming. I could see a pair of what looked like goat feet(wait, what?) and a pair of orange and black Emerica shoes with a small pattern of a wing on the side. There was scuffling and shouts and clanking of metal. Sounds of fists hitting skin and an inhuman growling noise. I shut my eyes and tried to will it all away. Maybe if I tried hard enough, all of this would end up being a dream and I had just fallen asleep in class. I could go back to hating my mom's boyfriend in silence (if not still cautious) and try to forget about this nightmare. There was no way something like this could be happening.

There was more shouting, more screaming, more sounds of metal and growling before I saw the three figures exit my bedroom. I laid there, under my bed, curled up in the fetal position with my hands clamped tightly over my eyes. It wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. No one would believe me. I had to get out, to clear my head. Maybe if I left the scene of my dream, it would end and I could get back to being in class or wherever I had fallen asleep.

I peered out from under my bed, trying to keep my head off the ground so that when I hyperventilated, I wouldn't inhale the dust-bunnies that had accumulated under my bed. I could hear the noises coming from outside. Whoever came to my defense, thank you. Now I had to get out of here and wake up.

I threw on my shoes and grabbed my phone as I ran out the front door of my house. On the side, I could see two kids my age fighting what looked to be like a lion but it had Ryan's head and it was shooting knives or arrows out of it's long, scorpion-like tail. The kids seemed to be doing fine with the crazy animal, so I sprinted down the street and didn't turn back when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

Fifteen minutes later, I was, in all sense, lost. I was heading down a dark alleyway that was littered in trash and cardboard, and I was desperately trying to turn on my cell phone so that I could reach my mom. The whole time I had been walking, I had been trying to wake myself up. It hadn't been working. Whish led me to believe that this was, in fact, reality, and I was playing the part of the victim. I tried not to think about the two kids who had been fighting that lion-thin back at my house, but they kept creeping into my mind. Since this was reality, they were real too. So they could have actually gotten hurt.

But they seemed familiar. I knew them from somewhere, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. There was something about that voice and the Emerica shoes that rang a bell…

The same sort of shiver I had gotten with Ryan suddenly crept up on me. I froze mid step, and stopped to listen. There was a rustling in the alleyway, and it wasn't just some stray dog. Something was here with me, and I desperately hoped it wasn't the Ryan/lion thing that tried to knife me back home. There was crash far down, and I whipped around, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was down here. If I had been in a scary movie, the shiver would have cued the daunting music.

On the other side, a trash can tipped over, spilling it's contents onto my path. I wrinkled my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth as I listened carefully. I detected footsteps, close behind me. Before I could think to do anything, a hand was clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream…