Chapter 6

He's gonna to kill me. He's gonna throw me to the hellhounds, Xander decided as he reached the porch where the ancient centaur sat, disguised as a handicapped man. He's thinkin' it was my fault. And maybe that's true, Xander considered.

"Hello, Xander. Are you doing all right?" Chiron asked, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

Xander laughed nervously. "Under the circumstances? No sir. No sir, not really."

Chiron half-smiled. "That's understandable, although I am sympathetic nevertheless. If it makes you feel better, you aren't here because you are in trouble."

His head snapped up and Xander raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "I'm not?" His stomach seemed to unknot itself and he breathed deeply in relief. "Why am I here, then?"

The centaur sighed. "That is unfortunately where more bad news comes to play. You have been selected by the gods and myself for a quest."

Xander blinked repeatedly in shock and ran is hand through his hair. "The gods want me for a quest?" His eyes darted back and forth as if expecting someone to jump out and yell 'Gotcha!' No one did. "A quest for what? Why me?"

"Yes. You seemed like the obvious choice after having consulted with the Oracle myself." Xander felt grateful but inadequate and took to examining the wooden porch to hide it. "The quest itself though is far from enjoyable. A massive army consisting primarily of metal creatures is making its way toward Camp Half-Blood as we speak. Something- or someone- is sending it."

Metal creatures? Xander crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How massive, exactly?"

"Thousands in number and steadily increasing."

The uneasy feeling in Xander's stomach returned.

"The gods are counting on you to determine who is sending the army and put a stop to their plans. I can give you more details if you accept and receive the prophecy."

Xander remained quiet, playing it all out in his head. A scrawny demigod versus a powerful entity with a ferocious army? The odds didn't look good.

Yet…what other choice did he have but to say yes? The gods themselves had chosen him.

"I... I s'pose I accept."

Chiron smiled at Xander, squeezing his arm lightly. "The journey will be perilous, that much I can assure you. Are you quite sure?"

"Yeah. Yessir, I am," Xander answered, growing more confident.

"Then next you must consult Rachel about your prophecy. I wish you the best of luck."

Xander ascended the stairs leading to the attic of the Big House, noting that the door was slightly ajar. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door and was met by a friendly, "Come in!"

Xander pushed the door open to reveal a cozy (but extremely cluttered) room. Shelves filled with art supplies lined the walls and small trinkets and artifacts were scattered around haphazardly. Easels were strewn about; some were hung up, but the others were tossed to the side absent-mindedly. In the far corner sat a futon that was comparatively untouched and neat.

In the center, painting on a large canvas, was a tall woman around the age of thirty. Her bright red hair was pulled into a chopstick bun and her clothes were smeared with brightly colored paint and clay.

"Ah, Xander!" the woman greeted him excitedly, green eyes sparkling. She wiped her hands on her oversized shirt, adding to its array of colors, and extended her hand. Xander shook it, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet.

"Do you want a cookie?" she asked, motioning to a plate that had gone unnoticed among the mess.

"No thank you, ma'am," Xander answered, stuffing his hands into his jeans' pockets. He was afraid to leave the relatively clear patch of flooring as the Oracle hopped around, reorganizing her supplies.

"Interesting accent there, Xander," Rachel said pleasantly, "Louisiana?"

Xander's eyes skimmed over some of the completed works of art. Most were abstract and colorful but others seemed…different. His eyes froze on a small, dark painting depicting a man backed into a corner, scarred and bloody, sword pointed at an imposing black shadow. The image sent a chill up his back.

"No. Kilgore, Texas, actually." Xander replied. "Miss…uh-"

"Rachel."

"Miss Rachel. I, uh, I came here to hear a prophecy," he explained nervously.

Rachel stopped and faced him once again. "Well, of course you did! It is your quest after all. Silly me. You must be excited. Antsy, though, I bet. And here I am talking so much. Wasting your time. Gosh, it's like I just don't know when to-"

Xander cleared his throat discreetly and Rachel stopped.

"Right. Right. On with the prophecy." Rachel took a deep breath and opened her mouth, green smoke spilling out and taking shape as Xander's father and future step mother. Even in the smoke, they looked annoyed with him.

"A dark storm on the horizon, a group set out in three
The last member of the party more than he claims to be." His father said in a raspy, old voice that was very unlike his actual tone.

"The journey wrought with danger, a brother in distress.
Not with force but with a kiss he shall be made to confess." His step mother-to-be spoke in the same voice.

"A group split apart by fang, sword, and lies
Listen for the mournful cries."

"In night, love triumphs and the cursed one dies." His father's girlfriend finished ominously before both figures evaporated.

Rachel shook her head and blinked a few times. "Oh good, you're alive! I always get so worried." Rachel Elizabeth Dare walked up to Xander and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, almost like a mother. "Good luck, sweetie. Judging by the look on your face, you'll probably need it."

~O~O~O~

See? Not everyone from PJ is dead! ^.^ Granted, Rachel doesn't exactly do the dirty work.

~Monica and a slightly affronted Rachel