First story ever. Hope you enjoy!

Later added: re-edited this a tad. I felt it was poor.

Disclaimer: as much as I would love to say I own Percy Jackson...I don't.

Chapter 1: In which a mythological monster terrorizes my town.

So, you know how you're reading this on a lovely fluorescent screen right now that is probably detrimental to your eyesight? Well, here I am, kind enough to offer you a way out of burning up your eyeballs.

Get up, stretch your legs, and move on out. No, really, I'm not joking. You think I'm just joshin' you, don't you? Okay, laugh while you can.

I just gave you a few seconds, those chuckles should be gone by now. So let's cut to the chase. My serious face is on. Just leave this alone and walk away, before you discover that hey, I'm not normal and suddenly meet up with some really angry Greek creatures that want to rip your head off. In case you didn't notice, my definition of not normal is not "wow, I have an extra toe" or "I'm really weird." It's quite a bit more dangerous than that...more along the lines of "I can shoot fire our of my fingertips and weave baskets of sunshine from my hair." Get it now? So goodbye, nice meeting you, hope you don't find out that the past 15 years of your life have been a lie.

Toodles. Have fun saving your eyeballs.

Well, since you're still here to read this, you either have a meeting with Hades (which by the way, is NOT an enjoyable thing) or are extremely curious as to why I would be telling you this.

It's a funny story. Really.

It had started out as a normal day, which just happened to be a little worse than usual.

"…And that is why x equals the square root of 2," I finished, taking a well deserved seat in the air conditioned class room. It was muggy outside during the spring, and my lips were dry from talking so long.

"Good job May," grumbled Ms. Hawkings.

Ah, Ms. Hawkings. The lady that hated children, hated her job, hated life, puppies, and all things good an beautiful. From the way she commented on my explanation on "problem number 57", I could tell she wasn't pleased. In her book, "good job" was the equivalent of "why do I have to teach this class."

So, Ms. Hawkings started off my day on a wonderful note of joy. My horrendous math teacher was uglier than most, and her liver spots certainly were not helping. Like a normal person, when I first saw her it was the first day of school. And I had felt bad for her because I noticed that she sat in a wheelchair. How inconvenient…and she looked really old. Like old enough to be my ancestor. So I was ready to be polite to the liver-spotted woman, I was going to be kind to my elders…but then she opened her mouth, screeched at me to stop looking and sit down, and all thoughts of sympathy flew out the window.

I scowled. She obviously didn't like me.

Most of the teachers here didn't. At Meadow Creeks Prep, you were either rich or you were out. Corrupt, yes. Illegal? Unfortunately, no. And seeing as I was on the bottom of the social ladder, things were not looking so good.

I unconsciously moved my feet and drummed my fingertips on the table as she kept droning about why blah equals blah and so on and so forth. I felt like sleeping. The day had already been off to a bad start.

How bad? Pretty traumatizing.

Number one. My body build isn't exactly scrawny per say, but not exactly normal either. No matter: it doesn't change the fact that I get pushed around like a shopping cart. So during hallway rush hour, I got slammed into a locker.

Said locker was my own. The lunch in it went everywhere when I opened it, over everything and everybody in the nearby vicinity. I swear a pasta noodle hit me in the eye. And then the chips bag exploded and the drink bottle cracked and pretty much everything was a total mess. On top of Mr. Precalculus, Madame English III honors, and Duchess Cosmogirl. I was not pleased.

And I was hungry.

Upsetting situation number two. Cutest guy in Meadow Creeks Prep, Brian, got snatched up by Cindy the perfect cheerleader, who already has everything anyways, and they are shoe in to be the hottest couple for weeks. She gets everything. Like down to the last butter nickel squash in the yard. Everyone likes her and everyone wants to be her, even though she's literally the meanest girl I have ever met. And how does that work out exactly?

And to top it all off, number three. As soon as the bell rang, I headed downstairs for lunch. Unfortunately, I didn't notice someone hiding in the corner of the stairs, crashed into him, and stumbled down the last 3 steps, stubbing my toe in the process.

Pain was everywhere. And it was sure to leave a nasty bruise on my shin.

Trip-you-boy looked over at me in horror. "I am sooooo sorry," he said in a jittery voice, teeth chattering so much it looked as if he was in subzero temperatures, "I-I didn't mean it!" The last word almost came out as a bleat.

Shrugging it off, I muttered that it was ok, but my toe really hurt.

He looked at me, eyes wide with something indescribable. But I couldn't dwell on it long. More pressing matters, you know? Like how I was going to clean out my locker after school.

The day couldn't possibly get worse.

That was the point in time where a jinx officially becomes reality. The first 15 years of my young, ambitious life were relatively normal.

I lived with my dad in a nice little apartment above our store, where we sold flowers. Mom had gone on a business trip and hadn't shown up in years, or so says Dad. Every time he thinks of her, he gets this look in his eyes, like he can see her in the world around us. But when I ask him, he brushes if off, and goes back to saving the rainforests in our own backyard.

He's a bit of an eco nut, but a good eco nut.

Any piece of litter he found on the ground, regardless of when or where, he would pick it up. A few years ago, we took a trip to South America, and he almost dove into a swamp to grab a water bottle before I convinced him it wasn't safe. You think these things would be common sense, but with Dad, well…sometimes you can't tell. So afterwards, we made a lure to grab the bottle, and he looked prouder than ever when he finally fished it out. "Saving Mother Earth little by little," he'd call it.

Dad's real name is Eric Wang. He'd gone to school, smart kid, majoring in Biology and Chemistry. Aiming, as all eco nuts do, to create a world where wildife and humans could thrive together. He still spews random chemistry facts sometimes, and I still clearly remember the traumas of my childhood: instead of the typical fairy tale stories, I grew up listening about Biological happenings and molecules and chemistry and all the stuff normal kids would hate in life.

And like a normal kid, it was like torture.

In the end though, after all that education, Dad ended up meeting mom and gave up that idea, instead opening up a flower shop so he could give people little pieces of the Earth's treasures.

"Why would you do that?" I had asked. He merely shrugged and gave a soft smile. "She changed my view on the world, May." And that was the end of the discussion.

I watch him work with the flowers sometimes when I'm free, and it almost seems like they listen to them. "Straighten up," he'll say, and they'll bend to his will.

I've never tried it. Talking to plants.

Why?

Because it's weird.

I help out at the shop, but normally Dad takes care of it all. Even when I just want to water the flowers (really, it's not that much work, just hand me a watering can and we're good to go!) he ushers me back inside, claiming that I should focus on schoolwork.

And no, it's not just because I'm Asian. There's a limit to how much studying an Asian parent can force onto their child, and turns out, Dad was the kind of guy who just wasn't good at making excuses. So I never figured out why he just didn't want me to touch them.

He won't let me keep plants of my own in the house. Every detail is left up to him.

Let's just say I'm a bit of a rebel.

Over the past few years, I've harbored a little sprig of bamboo in an alcove near my window. It's stayed hidden, low maintenance, just a bit of water and such and its just fine. Apparently when you take care of plants, you're supposed to do a lot more…but like I said, this one's special. Just a bit of water.

The fun started when I got home. Notice here how I'm slyly using a bit of sarcasm to make my point: by fun, I mean "not fun." Locker clean-out duty was a complete disaster. Cindy had stopped by with her horde of cheerleader friends, scattered confetti on me like it was my birthday (which it was not) and only added to the mess. Then they cackled and ran away, doing flips and cartwheels down the hall. Needless to say, I was very irritable.

I carelessly dropped my bag on the floor while grabbing some gardening gloves in the process. It was mid April, and plants were in full bloom. We were getting orders everywhere, the shop had been busy for weeks, and I was helping out more than ever. Just at the cash register though…I wasn't trusted with the plants themselves. I hurried downstairs to take orders and place payments. My mind was whirring with numbers and calculation, which plants were what and if they were delivered in bouquets or singles…

Math hurt.

I quickly helped an old lady with some really nasty hangnails find some roses for her 60th anniversary.

"Thank you," she whispered in a raspy voice, clutching the flowers. Then she gave me a really creepy grin, full of yellow teeth and cracked lips.

It wasn't pretty.

"Uh, you're welcome," I muttered back, giving a half smile. "Have a nice day."

"Oh, I will dearie…and trust me. You will too." She chuckled a little, as if she knew something secret, and slowly limped away.

Shrugging, I went to attend to the others. Sure, she was a little weird, but we got weird people everyday.

Suddenly, I felt the air in the shop change. Like, a bad change…when someone you really hate walks into the room. I turned to face the entrance.

Go figure. Miss Perfect Cindy was here.

I felt a cold chill run up my spine as she sauntered up to the register. I still hadn't forgotten about the confetti incident, and was not eager to see her at the only refuge I had away from her. I forced a cheery smile on my face. "Hi Cindy! Hope you're doing well. What can I help you with?"

Then came the answer I was not expecting. She flashed a brilliant manicured finger in my face and her eyes clouded over in red mist. "You can let me kill you."

I thought she was joking at first, so I let out a nervous laugh. "Funny…go on Comedy Central or something. Great actress really—you almost fooled me for a second there!"

Then she snarled, and aimed a good hard punch at me.

Alright…so she wasn't kidding. And her fist had just smashed a hole into the wall next to my head.

So, like any sane person would do, I backed up slowly, hands in a defensive position.

Cindy wanted to kill me. Great.

Not like I wasn't hunted by cheerleader cronies on a daily basis, but this was pushing it.

The other shoppers looked at her oddly, but didn't say a word. They continued to browse the aisles.

I walked around the corner of the countertop, careful to keep eye contact with her. I lowered my tone. They say it's good for appeasing angered animals. Cindy was close enough, so I figured it would work.

"Okay now Cindy," I coaxed as nicely as possible. "Just back away, nice and easy…May hasn't done anything to hurt you, and you don't want to cause a scene…let's go upstairs and have some coffee and talk about this."

Cindy snarled and lunged at me, her body flickering into distorted shapes.

She obviously didn't enjoy the idea of a peaceful reconciliation.

I dodged the lunge, and noticed her skin turn a pale white, and her white teeth elongate into fangs. Her legs shimmered from her normal ones to a metallic leg and…

I really wanted to call it a donkey leg, with its hoof and all, but I wasn't too sure.

"What's with your legs?" I asked, but it was the wrong question.

She screeched, "I hate it when people ask me that!"

"Ok, then here's a better question," I snapped, evading her manicured claws and sliding onto the tiled shop floor, "What in the world are you?"

"I am empousa, servant of Hecate," she hissed in reply, skirting around a corner, destroying a sign that proudly boasted "Tulip Bouquets for Only $7.00!"

"Let me kill you!" I heard her yell.

Nearby, some one screamed. "That plant's attacking! Run for your lives!"

I quickly grabbed the nearest pot I could find, and chucked the petunias at her head. It burst into a cloud of clay and dirt. Cindy howled and clutched her face. "You'll pay for that, demigod!"

"That's not my name," I retorted, and continued to pelt her with flowers. Finally, it seemed like she had taken enough of a beating, and with her fangs bared, she leapt to attack.

I barely scraped by, skidding across the floor and skinning my knees—and suddenly, more people started taking notice, screaming words like "mutated flower" at the destroyed pots and Cindy. They quickly ran and evacuated the shop, leaving me with a monster cheerleader and some flowers.

Great. Exactly what I needed.

"May, May, May," said Cindy in a sickening voice. She got nearer and nearer, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Such a terrible way to die, right? Not knowing what you are or anything, so confused and lost. Poor, poor May…Ah well, dinner calls!"

Her nails grew alarmingly fast, and turned as sharp as knives. She licked her lips. "Now how do they say it in France? Ah yes. Bon apetit, dear!" And with that, Cindy opened her mouth and lashed out with her claws, ready to make me into shish kabob.

I closed my eyes. Worst way to die.

Ever.

"Stop right this instant," said Dad's voice, unnaturally calm in the situation. Cindy turned to face him, distracted for a moment, and got showered by a fire extinguisher at full force.

"Dad?" I asked, surprised at his sudden appearance. Then I realized he had his serious face on, which only appeared during extreme emergencies. "Hurry May," he said, grabbing my arm and making way to the car. "The extinguisher will only hold her for a moment."

I decided to get into the car and ask questions later. But just as I buckled my seatbelt, Cindy came back, more enraged than ever. "You'll never get away May!" Then a horrible, knowledgeable look came over her eyes, and she burst out the store and into the garage, taking a hold of Dad who was just about to open the driver's car door. She dangled him in front of me by the front of his collar, face triumphant. He gulped, sending me a look.

Run.

"Don't want anything happening to old Popsie here, do we?" crooned Cindy, holding her claws up to Dad's throat.

And I was done with her.

That was it. The final straw. She was not going to make me more miserable than I was already. The day had already been pretty awful, and that was the last thing I was going to take from her.

I felt my nerves tingling, and the world immediately became sharper, clearer, more distinct as if I had been underwater the whole time.

"Let go of my dad."

Without warning, the plants from the shop grew to enormous proportions, entangling Cindy with their roots, catching her by surprising and wrenching her away from Dad. The vines and tendrils of the virginia creeper latched onto her and started squeezing, while the cacti bumped her, leaving needles on her donkey leg. The buttercups, though tiny, managed to climb up and tangle in her fingers. The plants and flowers kept squeezing and squeezing, tighter and tighter until Cindy let out a blood-curdling scream and disappeared into sandy dust.

It felt awesome for a moment. You know, having some plants aid you in defeating a monster and all. Then all my energy was spent, and I realized how tired I really was.

Dad quickly climbed into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. "Thanks for saving my life," he said, pulling out of the driveway, "But we'll talk later. For now, just sit tight."

I nodded, looking at my own hands, too exhausted to say anything. Cindy had called herself something unusual, an empousa. And she had called me something more unusual.

A demigod.

How was it? R&R :)