CHAPTER 2

Alright, before things get messy, I should probably explain who I am a bit more.

My name is Alex Kay Park. I'm thirteen years old, at least 5'4, with long, messy auburn hair and silver-gray eyes. I wear cheap ripped jeans, an ancient, moth-eaten silver jacket (one that doesn't completely melt me in the Texas heat) and carry a curved, six-inch long dagger that's illegal to have on my person due to one; it being 6-inches long, two: sharpened on both sides, three; I'm thirteen.

But, hey. When your life's filled with as much dangerous disturbances as mine, laws kind of fade into the background. There's a funny story about how I got the dagger, too. But that's a tale for another time. Particularly for a time when I'm not running for my life from a gigantic, homicidal lion in the streets of Houston.

Anthony and I were gasping for breath. We'd been running for at least thirty minutes, and made it several blocks away from our school.

I hadn't realized it at the time (mostly because our school was just attacked by a huge lion) but we'd subconsciously found our way back to my foster-father's apartment complex.

I gulped. I'd rather be running again than to be within a mile's radius of my foster-father. And yet...where else could we go?

I looked at Anthony; his black hair was disheveled, his blue eyes wide and wild with panic, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He was just as terrified as I was.

"What...what was that..." Anthony stuttered, throwing a glance behind us. But the furious roaring of the lion had faded into silence. Maybe, somehow, when I cut off it's paw, it fled. And yet...something wasn't right when I slashed my blade. Instead of bleeding, it dispersed into dust.

"A lion," I said helpfully. "A giant...monstrous lion."

Then I stood there, staring at the chipped and shadowy apartment complex in front of us. I wondered if maybe someone at school put something in my food or Sprite. Maybe this was all a dream, or some illusion.

But I knew plenty about illusions. This, as much as I wanted it to be, wasn't one of them.

"That's it," Anthony muttered. "We can't stay here. We have to go-anywhere."

"Really?" We were already trudging up the sidewalk. "Like where? We're thirteen. You know running away doesn't do any good. We'll end up killed or kidnapped."

"We're not normal kids," He pointed out. Then he frowned, as if silently asking; Who are we, then? "You can protect us with that weird trick you do. You have a dagger. We'll be fine. We can even hitch a ride to another state if we combine our money."

I was only half-listening. I'd like nothing better than to escape from this place. But, still... two thirteen year-olds running around the country with only a little money, no home, no weapons except for a single dagger? That didn't sound good.

But as he said, we weren't normal. I knew that. From an early age, I knew that; I was in no way normal. We could protect ourselves. If we could fight off that huge lion, the rest would be easy. We could join a freaking traveling circus or something. Anything would be better than staying with my foster-father.

"Okay," I said at last, cutting Anthony off from continuing. "Fine. We'll run away. Hitch a bus to Arkansas or something."

Anthony's eyes stretched wide. "Really?"

"Sure," At the back of my mind, I pictured all the nights I'd spent here, all the pain... "Yeah, sure. I'll grab some cash and stuff and we'll go."

Before long, eagerness quickened my movements. We were standing in front of my apartment door, the sounds of yelling, cursing, and blows being landed were faded in the background.

Summoning all my courage, I raised a hand and knocked on the door.

At first, nothing happened. Then, like an angel opening the grotesque gates to a land filled of beer cans, garbage, cigarettes, and cursing, the door was slightly pulled ajar.

Missy Fullonder was standing in front of me.

Missy is probably my foster-father's twentieth girlfriend in my entire time of living with him. She has the intelligence of a moose, and the manners of a cobra. Her bleach-blonde hair is always curled; she has a heavy fake spray-tan, wears an Astros shirt that's way too small and tight for my liking, and skinny jeans she probably got from a clearance rack at Walmart.

Missy stared at me blankly for a moment, a cigarette hanging limp from the corner of her mouth. "Scram, kid. Wrong door."

I muttered a silent curse that would have curdled milk and made Artemis wash my mouth out with a bar of soup if I'd said it aloud. "Missy, I live here. Can I please come in?"

Missy puffed out a plume of smoke which clouded around my nose, making me cough. "Oh, you're Joseph's little runt, aren't you?" Still, she made a movement to close the door. "Aren't you supposed to be in school, kid? Doesn't matter. Go away."

I gripped the edges of the door, pulling it back. "Ma'm, there's been an incident at school. I just need to grab a few things, and I'll be gone. Promise."

Missy frowned. "Kid, I told you. Scram."

I knew what to do. My voice grew solemn, and I looked her in the eye. I wish I could say that I saw depths of intelligence and understanding, but instead, I saw shallow, arrogant, ignorance. "Ma'm, you're going to let us in," My own eyes flickered towards her atrociously-tight skinny jeans, and the bulge of a wallet hanging out of her pocket. "And you're going to give me all the cash you have."

Okay, now I know that one could consider my acts as this weird thing called 'stealing'. But you see, Missy lives off my foster-father. All the money she has is money that my foster-father gives her; money that the government gave him to take care of me. So, technically, the cash belongs to me.

Missy's eyes glazed over. She pulled a small leather wallet from her pocket, reached inside, and pulled out one-hundred dollars.

I took the money, shoving it in my jacket pocket near my dagger. I smiled, and just like that, we were walking into the apartment.

I nearly gagged. The entire place smelled of smoke and stale beer. I could detect other illegal..er, residues, in evidence as well.

My apartment's a simple four-room little building with peeling wallpaper, a case of mice and absolutely infested with spiders. The carpet's torn in some places to show the concrete beneath. Red blotches stained some of the flooring from years ago. Home sweet home.

My foster-father, Joseph ElCardo, was sitting on a battered old pea-green couch in our tiny living room, watching what I assumed was football. Two other goons, buff, bald, and bearded, were draped close by, each chugging cans of beer.

Missy shut the door behind me. She was still in a glass-eyed daze by the look of it, but then shook her head, and picked up a glass of wine sitting on a small entry table.

Joseph, however, noticed me and Anthony. His greeting attested to that. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?"

My heart froze within my chest. I admit, that out of all the strange and unexplainable phenomenons and creatures I've faced throughout my life, Joseph ElCardo scared me far more. Why? My little 'tricks' seemed to effect him far less than others. I don't know why; his intelligence isn't greater than a cow's, but he saw through it enough. More reasons kept creeping up from the dark shadows of my mind, clogging up the words in my throat. I pushed them back.

"Sir," I said stiffly, "School has been canceled. There's been an...incident. I'm just here to grab a few things so I can get lunch."

My foster-father got up from the couch and sauntered over towards me; he wore grimy, tattered blue jeans, a plain white tank, an unbuttoned blue-flannel shirt over that, and one shimmering gold ring. Joseph was at least six-feet tall, buff, with slicked back dark hair, and eyes similar to a pit bull's.

"You're not supposed to be here, Park," Joseph growled. "Not 'till three. Beat it."

"I-I just need to grab some stuff," I stammered. "I won't take more than three minutes."

Joseph glared at me. "Did you just tell me 'no', Park?"

By now, my hands were sheepishly retreating to my jacket pockets where my curved dagger was tucked away. "Sir-"

"I said get out of here!" His voice rose, his fists clenched. Joseph stepped closer, so that I could get a face-full of his rancid breath. "Do you want your buddy here to leave with a black-eye, Alex? Leave."

Yes. He just physically threatened my friend; a 13 year-old boy.

Anger boiled into my veins, spilling over the terrified weariness that has kept me in chains for months. "Sir, let me get my stuff. If you try to harm us, I can cal-"

He raised a hand, and grabbed me by the hair. I flinched and squirmed, but Joseph just jerked me backwards. He was trembling with rage. "You asked for it, kid," His grip grew tighter. Pain seared around my head. He reached for a pocket, where a gleaming switchblade was dangling out.

I knew what he'd do. I knew that I'd been warned many times not to return to his hellhole earlier than expected.

The switchblade was in his hand now, getting closer to my skin...I struggled and cried out, but nothing seemed to be of use. Tears pooled around my eyes.

Anthony tried to scramble to help me, but one of Joseph's goons stood in the way. Missy stood close-by and watched it all, looking bored.

The knife was touching my skin, pressing downward.

Use your gift, my daughter.

The whispering voice coiled around my ear, stirring around my hair. Along with that voice came the sensation of utter freedom and strength; the feeling of striding through a forest, completely independent. The man is a fool. Use that, Alex.

I didn't question what I heard. Pouring all of my focus into it, I took a deep breath and forced myself to stop trembling.

"Stop," My voice was surprisingly firm. "You do not want to hurt me. Let me leave in peace."

By some amazing, great miracle, the switchblade dropped to the floor. Joseph released me from his grip, and I stepped away.

Joseph's pitbull-eyes were glazed over, just like Missy's. "And don't try to follow us." I added.

Then I grabbed a wide-eyed Anthony and scrambled out the door. We were leaping down the stairs within moments, fleeing out into the road.

One hour later, we had passed several blocks, crossed about fifteen roads, all the while I just stared ahead blankly.

Anthony kept asking me questions like how I stopped Joseph. I just quietly muttered something indistinct and trudged on.

How did I feel, exactly? Shaken. Scared. Scared about how easily it could have happened...I could have been seriously injured, or worse. And if not for that voice..

I nearly broke down sobbing. I didn't like to admit it, but I was frail. I was weak under the veiled exterior of sarcastic comments, honeyed words, and supposed strength. I was honestly terrified and miserable, almost every second of my life.

Finally, Anthony grabbed me by the shoulder. We were walking past a worn-down convenience store, heading for a Greyhound bus stop nearby. The traffic of Houston roared and streamed all around us, indistinct and faded in the background. "Alex," He said. "I know you're scared. But I also know you're strong. This can't be what's shaken you so much."

I flinched away and wiped tears streaming down from my eyes. "You don't get it! You don't understand...living with him..."

"Tell me," Anthony insisted. "Whatever it is, I'll help you. I promise."

I shook my head. "No one can help me. It will always be this way. I deserve it."

Anthony looked me in the eye. "No kid deserves that scumbag for a foster-father, Alex. Especially you."

I opened my mouth to say more, but didn't receive the chance. The convenience store behind us was suddenly blaring an alarm. A teenage girl burst from the doors, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Another person exploded from the gas station, yelling and cursing, waving his arms frantically-a middle-aged guy who probably worked for the store.

The girl raced past us, eyes wide and frantic. "There you are!" She gasped. To my astonishment, as I looked at the girl properly, I realized she was Kylie Todd-someone who attends my school. "I thought I'd never find you. Come on! We have to go-now!"

The guy was chasing after us, so, out of a clouding confusion, Anthony and I ran with her. That probably wasn't a very wise idea, but this was too unusual to ignore.

"We have to go..." Kylie glanced behind her. Police sirens wailed in the distance-faint and feeble. "Stupid kid. He shouldn't have said anything, and this would be going on smoothly. Chrion is going to kill me..."

I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Kylie? Where are we going?"

We stopped, hidden behind a bulky dumpster in a shadowy alley now. Kylie looked at me. "To Camp Half-Blood, of course."

I just stared at her, my frown now intensified. "What?"

"Don't pretend, especially not now," Kylie muttered. She peered from the alley, shuffling her feet nervously. "We have to catch a train to Dallas...oh, crap. Who's he?"

"Anthony Logan," He said. "You know, you see me everyday when you're staring at Alex?"

Kylie pouted. "Oh, man...not good. I thought there was only one-hey, does he know?" She looked towards me, like I knew what was going on.

"What?" I waved my arms above my head. "What on earth are you talking about? Know what?"

Kylie Todd slapped a hand against her forehead, muttering curses in Ancient Greek. Only hours later did I realize I understood what she said. "Di immortals!" She said. "There's no time to explain. All you need to know is, you're in danger. Like...pretty big danger. And it's bad...really bad," Kylie glanced at Anthony. "You saw the giant lion, right?"

Anthony nodded slowly. He looked just as lost as I was.

"Oh, brilliant," Kylie growled. "Two! I don't have enough money to get two of you to Dallas. Alex, how have you not realized? Your entire life-you never even guessed once?"

My voice rose with pure irritation. "Guessed what?!"

Kylie blinked. "That you're a half-blood."

When Anthony and I just stared at her in a blank silence, Kylie added helpfully, "You know, half human, half Greek god? I'm surprised you didn't know that already. You've got one of the most powerful auras-even I can sense it, and I'm not even a satyr."

"Okay, she's nuts," Anthony decided. I nodded in agreement. I was about to ask where the nearest mental asylum was so that we could turn Kylie in, but the shouting and wailing of police cars interrupted my comment.

"I'm not crazy," Kylie told us. "But I am a thief. And since you guys ran off with me, the police think you are, too. Do you want to come to New York with me or not?"

Anthony and I exchanged glances. New York was a pretty nice alternative to juvie, so we followed Kylie down the sidewalk and towards the nearest train station.

While running from the police with a crazy Greek-obsessed 13 year-old girl towards a Greyhound train station, my brain tried to put together every weird fragment of muttering Kylie had spoken. Half-god? What the actual...I shook my head. Did it matter? One way or another, Kylie Todd was offering a chance to get out of Texas. That was great-I hated the place. Okay, don't be offended-it's not the actual state that's bad, it's just the memories I'd conjured up here.

We were about to board the next train to Dallas, and I was unloading my questions onto Kylie, but she just said that she couldn't tell us now.

"Right," Kylie said. "The camp loaned me enough money to fly Alex and I back to New York...but what about this guy? He got enough money for a ticket?"

Anthony goggled at her. "Barely. How am I going to get to New York?"

Kylie frowned, then gave a bright, unconcerned shrug. "We'll work something out. Hand over the cash."

Anthony started to reach into his pocket-he had around one-hundred dollars, but I stopped him. I glared at Kylie. "Why should we hand you over our money? After what happened at the convenience store?"

Kylie gave me an approving, impish grin. "Smart. But right now, you're going to have to trust the thief," When we said nothing, she added solemnly, "I swear upon the River Styx that I won't steal your money."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but I just frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

"Oh, right," Kylie muttered. "You guys can't see what's right in front of your noses. Okay. Just give me the money-how am I going to run off in a crowded bus station?"

We didn't give her the money. When it was time to get our tickets, Anthony bought his own.

When we were boarding our train to Dallas, I saw something unusual from the corner of my eye. I was just climbing the steps when I caught the gaze of a shrewd old lady-she wore clothes similar to biker's gear, which was strange because she must have been around fifty. Her coal-black eyes gleamed, and when she licked her lips like she was about to chomp off my arm, I got the grotesque glimpse of sharp fangs.

I ignored the lady and hastily shuffled into the bus. But I couldn't push back the utter feeling of something...ancient within the lady. Something definitely not human.

Kylie and Anthony and I were all squished in two seats together.

I was in a daze; staring at the graying head of an old man sitting ahead of us, my brain slowly processing everything that happened. One moment, I was eating a stale lunch at school; the next, I had a switchblade being held against my skin by my abusive foster-father. And that voice...it wasn't just my subconscious shaking me free of terror. It was something else. Someone else.

And now I was on a train to Dallas-and, apparently, heading to New York. As for what Kylie had said?

"Kylie," I said slowly, dragging my gaze away from the next row of people, "Can you maybe explain why we're following you to New York? And, perhaps, everything else that's happened?"

Kylie hesitated. I could tell by the moment of frowning that she was carefully considering how much to tell us. "You're special, Alex."

Anthony grunted and shifted. "Gee, thanks. I feel so wanted as well."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're a special snowflake, too, Anthony. But what I mean is, you're particularly unusual among our kind, Alex. Something none of us have ever seen before."

I jerked my head and stared at her. "What do you mean, 'our kind'?"

Kylie sighed and looked down at her feet. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."