Glee Fic, The Sun From Both Sides, Chapter 2
Chapter 2
in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how
--E.E. Cummings
Kurt Hummel was, once again, the odd man out. He was now completely certain that he was the only teenager in North America not talking about who the next Oracle was going to be. Even Puck and Rachel were talking about it and they didn’t even worship the Greek Pantheon. It must be the ultimate popularity contest when even the monotheists were getting excited. Like being named Miss America, except you didn’t know you were competing until you’d already won.
Kurt himself had little use for the Gods. Ever since his mother’s death, he and his father had only observed the most basic and obligatory holidays and feast days. His father kept his dues to the Temple of Hephaestus current, of course, and the Smith God’s sigil prominently displayed in his shop, but that was only common sense. No one in their right mind would patronize a mechanic that didn’t honor Hephaestus. That was just asking for your brakes to fail on a long, windy, steep incline. But beyond the basics, his father had actively discouraged Kurt from worshipping any God. Most people who knew them believed that this was due to bitterness towards the Gods over Elizabeth’s untimely death, and they weren’t completely wrong.
What most people didn’t know, the thought that kept Burt Hummel up nights, was what Kurt had seen the night Elizabeth died. By now the memory was faded for Kurt, evoked occasionally by sensory experiences, smells and sounds that brought back the chill of the hospital room and a feeling of sadness. He’d been curled up in a chair next to his mother’s hospital bed, lulled by the steady beeping of the machines, when a cold dampness had stolen across the room waking him from his doze. With it came a smell, a briny mildew scent of putrid dark water, and the sound of water slapping gently against something solid. Too scared to make a sound, Kurt had seen the dark figure of the ferryman has he’d come into his mother’s room, pushing forward on the pole of an invisible raft. He saw her a second later, his mother standing beside the dark man, showing him her empty hands as he shook a money pouch at her.
Though he was only eight, Kurt was a strong reader and a good student. He knew that no one crossed the Styx without payment for Charon, the ferryman of the dead. He understood, after a moment, what his vision was telling him. His mother’s body was still alive but her spirit was waiting at the water’s edge. She could not cross until they let her go and gave her payment for the journey.
Young as he was Kurt wanted to protect his father from that decision. So, though he had no gold Drachmas, the traditional payment for the dead, he reached into his pink Power Ranger book bag and pulled out his lunch money. It was only a crumpled dollar and two quarters, but he laid it solemnly in one of his mother’s empty hands, closing her stiff fingers around it. Watching her spirit, he’d pressed his lips to her cooling fingers and whispered ‘bye-bye’ as he saw her pay Charon and board the ferry, crossing into what he hoped would be Elysium.
His Dad had awoken to the shrill scream of the heart monitor as his mother’s spirit finally crossed and left her body. It was only after the funeral that, waking from night after night of nightmares, Kurt had confessed what he’d seen and done.
Burt had held his son in his lap, hugging him tightly as he explained that mortals couldn’t see the Gods or their Servants anymore, not like in the old tales. Kurt shouldn’t have been able to see what he had, and he must never tell anyone about it. Some temples were unscrupulous when it came to promising candidates for priesthood and Burt didn’t want anyone to know what Kurt had seen, lest he be abducted or tricked into making a formal Vow he couldn’t take back.
So Burt had sheltered his son from religious life and Temples in general, encouraging his independence and lack of interest until Kurt’s memory began to seem more like a particularly vivid dream than something that had actually happened. All Kurt knew was that his mother was gone and the Gods hadn’t prevented it. So he had no use for the Gods, glad to leave them alone as long as they left him alone. He was finished with them.
His disdain for religious life was just another thing that isolated him amongst his peers. High school was when most people were either Chosen by Gods for Quests or temple life, or elected to make informal vows themselves based upon their interests and future ambitions. From the ‘Hermes’Book or it didn’t happen’ t-shirts the AV club sported to Apollo’s Lyre on the choir room door, it was hard to escape. It was just another way of separating the popular from the losers. If you were a jock, Zeus and Ares were top choices; girls gravitated to Aphrodite, Athena, or Artemis if they were athletic (and chaste).
Quinn Fabray had been forced to renounce an informal vow to Vesta, Goddess of Virginity, after her tryst with Puck at a Bacchanalia left her pregnant. She swiftly shifted her allegiance to Hera, cementing her reputation as a queen bee amongst her peers. Santana maintained an on-again off-again affinity for Hecate, citing the Goddess’ domain over female dogs and witchcraft making her the original ‘head bitch in charge,’ though Kurt suspected she also liked that half the school genuinely believed she could and would hex them. Finn, who probably hadn’t made it all the way through the Iliad even once in his life, generally switched his allegiance about once a week depending on which God was most popular at the time.
Even Rachel, although nominally Jewish, had spent much of freshman year telling anyone who would listen that the only explanation for her extraordinary talent was that her surrogate mother was a Muse. If she hadn’t actually met the (very human) woman last year, Kurt thought she’d probably still be telling people that.
The impending death of the North American Oracle, coupled with the extremely slim but not completely non-existent chance that the Oracle could be from McKinley, made life more unbearable than usual for Kurt. It was all anyone could talk about and he was so, so over it.
Kurt had chosen to sit next to Brittany during Glee, ignoring the excited chatter of the rest of the club. She was out of the running for being made an Oracle, since she’d been Chosen by Goddess of Love in return for the gift of Dance two years ago. She was also, like all those Chosen by Aphrodite, lucky in love, even as those who wronged her were unlucky in love. Artie hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since he’d called her stupid in the heat of the moment, despite Brittany herself forgiving him. The Goddess was vindictive and slower to forgive than her Acolyte.
Brittany, it turned out, was interested in the new Oracle, but not at all in the way Kurt expected. The club had the whole period free, with Mr. Schue at a conference, so he had volunteered to give her a manicure to pass the time. As he carefully applied delicate shell pink polish to her nails, she brushed the fingers of her free hand across his cheekbones.
“You’ll come visit me, right Kurtie? I know you’ll be busy, but you’ll still be my gay boyfriend, right?” Her voice was subdued.
Pausing with his brush halfway across her thumbnail, he looked up at her. “Where am I going? If it’s somewhere nice, I’ll take you with me.” He smiled at her, wondering if this was another of her strange ‘Brittany’ moments.
“I can’t go. Aphrodite already picked me,” was her somber reply, showing him the softly glowing stylized pink heart on her palm. Other than Santana, Kurt was the only person she regularly allowed to touch the marks of her Goddess, normally covering her palms with fingerless gloves to discourage casual contact.
Kurt carefully finished her thumbnail, then capped the bottle and put it aside so he could take both her hands in his.
“Honey, I don’t understand. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Brittany smiled down at their clasped hands even as she shook her head in disagreement. “But you are. And you’ll be so busy you’ll never get to visit! He’s going to mark you.” She traced a swirling ‘S’ shape on his palm, and Kurt’s heart dropped into his stomach in sudden realization. As he watched her fingers move, he could see it, see the shape they made, could almost see the famous golden glow he’d seen in photographs and on TV.
He tightened his grip, stopping her wandering fingers.
“NO. No, Britts. It can’t be me, that’s-out of all the teenagers in America, I have to be among the least likely to be picked. I don’t think I’ve ever even set foot in one of Apollo’s temples,” he tried to sound reassuring. “I’m not that special, not like you, sweet.”
Brittany wasn’t biting, though. “That boy in Westerville was Chosen as a Hero by Apollo, and his family worshipped Hermes. My family worships Demeter. It could be anyone, but it’s gonna be you.”
Santana chose this moment to wander over to their quiet corner. “Hummel, you’re not testing out hetero moves on my Britt again, are you? ‘Cause we agreed that you only get to do that if I get to watch.”
Before Kurt could open his mouth to stop her, Brittany turned to her girlfriend and solemnly informed her, “Kurt’s going to be Apollo’s new Oracle. I dreamed that dream where you and I are having sex on the beach and Aphrodite came out of the water and told me to help Kurt when he’s picked.”
Closing his eyes briefly in dismay, Kurt prayed to whoever was listening (other than Apollo) that Santana would not take this seriously. Unfortunately for him, Santana always took Brittany seriously.
Opening his eyes, he saw Santana staring at him in shock.
“Wanky!”
He gaped at her. “Santana, you can’t tell anyone that! I get enough crap around here without a rumor like-like that hanging over my head!”
Rolling her eyes, Santana threw herself into the open seat next to Brittany. “Relax, your Oracleness, I know better than to spread dish that inflammatory without the goods to back it up. But I so better get an awesome in-depth personal prophecy from you. Not like one of those crap ones you get from those poseurs at Midsummer Feasts, the real deal.”
Dropping Brittany’s hands, Kurt rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This conversation was going to give him a v-shaped stress wrinkle between his eyes, he just knew it.
Kurt’s day did not get any better following Glee. If anything, it got worse. Brittany and Santana were stalking him between classes… Santana even followed him into the men’s room which had been a last ditch attempt to lose them. Kurt rarely used the men’s room voluntarily.
By the time Kurt got to AP Lit, he knew something had changed. The excitement had shifted from random excited chatter to clusters of students huddled around cell phones and the occasional tablet, babbling in low, excited whispers. Kurt felt a shiver of ice slip down his spine even as he considered ditching the rest of the day. With his Dad’s low opinion of all things Divine, he’d probably get away with it. However, the thought of being followed home by Santana and Brittany, only to be the focus of their undivided attention, had him slouching into his seat to stick out the day. It was probably the lesser of two evils, anyway.
Laying his head on his arms, Kurt ignored Rachel as she slid into the seat next to him like a baseball player stealing second. Like there was ever such a mad rush to sit next to Kurt that someone would take her seat. She was wearing a hideous navy sweater with a large gold star on the front, which made her look like a cross between a color blind schoolgirl and some kind of demented superhero. Kurt had said all he cared to say on the subject (his discourse on the proper size and mixing of patterns and prints had been considerable) before they even got to first period. Now he’d just as soon not look at it anymore.
Rachel was accustomed to his inability to continue looking at her clothes by sixth period and babbled out an excited greeting without waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“Kurt! The most exciting news I have ever heard in my life! Did you hear? Vitoria Medeiros just got off her private jet in Columbus! It’s all over the news! Can you believe it! Maybe she’s coming for me! It would be sooo exciting to be an Oracle! Imagine me advising all the celebrities and the President about their futures-”
Snapping his head off his arms so fast he heard his vertebrae crack, Kurt stared at her. “Wait! What did you say? Vitoria Medeiros, the South American Delphic Oracle, just got off a plane in Columbus? Columbus Ohio?!”
Thrilled with his undivided attention, Rachel preened. “I know! Isn’t it amazing? She must be on her way to help the new Oracle after they get Chosen. Of course she knows who it’s going to be, she’s an Oracle, after all. Katie Couric just broke into the afternoon soaps to say that the old Oracle will probably die in the next hour or so,” she paused for a somber moment before continuing unabashed.
“Oh! I hope it’s me. I mean, I know I’m Jewish and all, but our prophets are so dreary in comparison and not nearly as famous. And they never leave Israel… it would be so boring! But I’m so very musical and my Dad is a doctor and I was raised by two gay men, which Apollo would approve of. Don’t you think I’m an obvious choice, Kurt? Kurt?”
As gooseflesh erupted all over his body, Kurt remembered the feeling of Brittany’s soft gentle fingers, brushing over his cheekbones and tracing the twinning serpent of the Delphic sigil on his palms. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
Turning to Rachel without really seeing her, he tried to enunciate in his usual clean, calm tone. “Rachel, please believe me when I tell you that I wish for nothing more right now than for you to be chosen as the newest Oracle. Now, I feel sick so I think I need to go. Now.”
He scrambled out of his seat just as the teacher reached her desk to start class, ignoring the woman’s startled protest and the sound of Rachel’s horrendous patent leather maryjanes scuffing along behind him. He stumbled blindly down the deserted hallway, focused on getting in his car and just getting home when he remembered that the navigator was at the garage and he’d rode in with Finn that morning. Kurt fumbled for his phone, unable to deny a growing sense of urgency to get out of McKinley as soon as humanly possible.
He hit the first number on his contact list, surrendering to the urge to retreat to his Dad for protection and possibly reassurance that this wasn’t actually happening. As he heard the call ring through, a strange glare began encroaching on the edges of his vision. Kurt took a few more shaky steps, trying to get away from the voices suddenly crowding around him so he could hear his phone.
Just as his father picked up, Kurt felt a small hand yanking on his sleeve. Barely able to make out his Dad’s worried voice over the noise around him, he glanced up at Rachel… and froze.
Rachel stood behind him, a frightened frown on her face, her lips moving but Kurt couldn’t make out what she was saying over the cacophony of strange voices. His phone dropped from numb fingers as he registered the fact that they were alone in the hall-the voices were entirely in his head.
Blaine had just decided to grab a sandwich and retreat to his dorm for lunch and perhaps five minutes of being left alone when he saw David and Wes hurrying towards him. Normally he’d be happy to see his best friends but at this point he was just not in the mood. David opened his mouth as soon as they caught up with him but Blaine spoke too quickly.
“If what you’re about to say has anything to do with Oracles then I don’t want to hear it. I know you guys mean well but I have had all of that I can take today.”
David and Wes exchanged a troubled glance. “Blaine, I know you wanted to ignore this but I think you need to start paying attention now,” Wes said, pulling his Ipad out of his satchel and activating the screen so Blaine could see what was on it.
There was no sound, but Blaine could make out what appeared to be a limousine being tracked from above by a news helicopter. The scrolling updates on the bottom of the screen informed him that ‘the car carrying Oracle Vitoria Medeiros is heading north on Interstate 71 towards Westerville, Ohio…’
Blaine closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. He took a deep calming breath, trying to reign in the feeling of dread and inevitability that made him feel like an animal caught in a trap. No. Oh, no, no. no. Not now, after all this time!
Rubbing his hands over his face tiredly, he paused as his eyes caught the sigils on his palms. The markings he’d been given in exchange for his life on the dark night outside the Sadie Hawkins Dance. He remembered that Jonathan hadn’t been so fortunate and tried to rein in his resentment. He just didn’t understand why Apollo had given him the gift of Music if he was never going to have the freedom to pursue it. Unless there was another Apollonian Hero in Westerville he was unaware of, he was about to be joined for life to an Oracle whose side he would never be allowed to leave.
Steeling himself against the raging cry of frustration and disappointment within, he straightened his shoulders and tried to smile reassuringly at his friends. Wes and David looked like they were trying to figure out what to say to him and failing miserably. Wes grasped his shoulder in a rough, comforting grasp.
Behind his friends, Blaine could see the Headmaster hurrying across the commons towards them and braced himself for the inevitable. For this last moment, with his two best friends, he was free.
Chapter 3
in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how
--E.E. Cummings
Kurt Hummel was, once again, the odd man out. He was now completely certain that he was the only teenager in North America not talking about who the next Oracle was going to be. Even Puck and Rachel were talking about it and they didn’t even worship the Greek Pantheon. It must be the ultimate popularity contest when even the monotheists were getting excited. Like being named Miss America, except you didn’t know you were competing until you’d already won.
Kurt himself had little use for the Gods. Ever since his mother’s death, he and his father had only observed the most basic and obligatory holidays and feast days. His father kept his dues to the Temple of Hephaestus current, of course, and the Smith God’s sigil prominently displayed in his shop, but that was only common sense. No one in their right mind would patronize a mechanic that didn’t honor Hephaestus. That was just asking for your brakes to fail on a long, windy, steep incline. But beyond the basics, his father had actively discouraged Kurt from worshipping any God. Most people who knew them believed that this was due to bitterness towards the Gods over Elizabeth’s untimely death, and they weren’t completely wrong.
What most people didn’t know, the thought that kept Burt Hummel up nights, was what Kurt had seen the night Elizabeth died. By now the memory was faded for Kurt, evoked occasionally by sensory experiences, smells and sounds that brought back the chill of the hospital room and a feeling of sadness. He’d been curled up in a chair next to his mother’s hospital bed, lulled by the steady beeping of the machines, when a cold dampness had stolen across the room waking him from his doze. With it came a smell, a briny mildew scent of putrid dark water, and the sound of water slapping gently against something solid. Too scared to make a sound, Kurt had seen the dark figure of the ferryman has he’d come into his mother’s room, pushing forward on the pole of an invisible raft. He saw her a second later, his mother standing beside the dark man, showing him her empty hands as he shook a money pouch at her.
Though he was only eight, Kurt was a strong reader and a good student. He knew that no one crossed the Styx without payment for Charon, the ferryman of the dead. He understood, after a moment, what his vision was telling him. His mother’s body was still alive but her spirit was waiting at the water’s edge. She could not cross until they let her go and gave her payment for the journey.
Young as he was Kurt wanted to protect his father from that decision. So, though he had no gold Drachmas, the traditional payment for the dead, he reached into his pink Power Ranger book bag and pulled out his lunch money. It was only a crumpled dollar and two quarters, but he laid it solemnly in one of his mother’s empty hands, closing her stiff fingers around it. Watching her spirit, he’d pressed his lips to her cooling fingers and whispered ‘bye-bye’ as he saw her pay Charon and board the ferry, crossing into what he hoped would be Elysium.
His Dad had awoken to the shrill scream of the heart monitor as his mother’s spirit finally crossed and left her body. It was only after the funeral that, waking from night after night of nightmares, Kurt had confessed what he’d seen and done.
Burt had held his son in his lap, hugging him tightly as he explained that mortals couldn’t see the Gods or their Servants anymore, not like in the old tales. Kurt shouldn’t have been able to see what he had, and he must never tell anyone about it. Some temples were unscrupulous when it came to promising candidates for priesthood and Burt didn’t want anyone to know what Kurt had seen, lest he be abducted or tricked into making a formal Vow he couldn’t take back.
So Burt had sheltered his son from religious life and Temples in general, encouraging his independence and lack of interest until Kurt’s memory began to seem more like a particularly vivid dream than something that had actually happened. All Kurt knew was that his mother was gone and the Gods hadn’t prevented it. So he had no use for the Gods, glad to leave them alone as long as they left him alone. He was finished with them.
His disdain for religious life was just another thing that isolated him amongst his peers. High school was when most people were either Chosen by Gods for Quests or temple life, or elected to make informal vows themselves based upon their interests and future ambitions. From the ‘Hermes’Book or it didn’t happen’ t-shirts the AV club sported to Apollo’s Lyre on the choir room door, it was hard to escape. It was just another way of separating the popular from the losers. If you were a jock, Zeus and Ares were top choices; girls gravitated to Aphrodite, Athena, or Artemis if they were athletic (and chaste).
Quinn Fabray had been forced to renounce an informal vow to Vesta, Goddess of Virginity, after her tryst with Puck at a Bacchanalia left her pregnant. She swiftly shifted her allegiance to Hera, cementing her reputation as a queen bee amongst her peers. Santana maintained an on-again off-again affinity for Hecate, citing the Goddess’ domain over female dogs and witchcraft making her the original ‘head bitch in charge,’ though Kurt suspected she also liked that half the school genuinely believed she could and would hex them. Finn, who probably hadn’t made it all the way through the Iliad even once in his life, generally switched his allegiance about once a week depending on which God was most popular at the time.
Even Rachel, although nominally Jewish, had spent much of freshman year telling anyone who would listen that the only explanation for her extraordinary talent was that her surrogate mother was a Muse. If she hadn’t actually met the (very human) woman last year, Kurt thought she’d probably still be telling people that.
The impending death of the North American Oracle, coupled with the extremely slim but not completely non-existent chance that the Oracle could be from McKinley, made life more unbearable than usual for Kurt. It was all anyone could talk about and he was so, so over it.
Kurt had chosen to sit next to Brittany during Glee, ignoring the excited chatter of the rest of the club. She was out of the running for being made an Oracle, since she’d been Chosen by Goddess of Love in return for the gift of Dance two years ago. She was also, like all those Chosen by Aphrodite, lucky in love, even as those who wronged her were unlucky in love. Artie hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since he’d called her stupid in the heat of the moment, despite Brittany herself forgiving him. The Goddess was vindictive and slower to forgive than her Acolyte.
Brittany, it turned out, was interested in the new Oracle, but not at all in the way Kurt expected. The club had the whole period free, with Mr. Schue at a conference, so he had volunteered to give her a manicure to pass the time. As he carefully applied delicate shell pink polish to her nails, she brushed the fingers of her free hand across his cheekbones.
“You’ll come visit me, right Kurtie? I know you’ll be busy, but you’ll still be my gay boyfriend, right?” Her voice was subdued.
Pausing with his brush halfway across her thumbnail, he looked up at her. “Where am I going? If it’s somewhere nice, I’ll take you with me.” He smiled at her, wondering if this was another of her strange ‘Brittany’ moments.
“I can’t go. Aphrodite already picked me,” was her somber reply, showing him the softly glowing stylized pink heart on her palm. Other than Santana, Kurt was the only person she regularly allowed to touch the marks of her Goddess, normally covering her palms with fingerless gloves to discourage casual contact.
Kurt carefully finished her thumbnail, then capped the bottle and put it aside so he could take both her hands in his.
“Honey, I don’t understand. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Brittany smiled down at their clasped hands even as she shook her head in disagreement. “But you are. And you’ll be so busy you’ll never get to visit! He’s going to mark you.” She traced a swirling ‘S’ shape on his palm, and Kurt’s heart dropped into his stomach in sudden realization. As he watched her fingers move, he could see it, see the shape they made, could almost see the famous golden glow he’d seen in photographs and on TV.
He tightened his grip, stopping her wandering fingers.
“NO. No, Britts. It can’t be me, that’s-out of all the teenagers in America, I have to be among the least likely to be picked. I don’t think I’ve ever even set foot in one of Apollo’s temples,” he tried to sound reassuring. “I’m not that special, not like you, sweet.”
Brittany wasn’t biting, though. “That boy in Westerville was Chosen as a Hero by Apollo, and his family worshipped Hermes. My family worships Demeter. It could be anyone, but it’s gonna be you.”
Santana chose this moment to wander over to their quiet corner. “Hummel, you’re not testing out hetero moves on my Britt again, are you? ‘Cause we agreed that you only get to do that if I get to watch.”
Before Kurt could open his mouth to stop her, Brittany turned to her girlfriend and solemnly informed her, “Kurt’s going to be Apollo’s new Oracle. I dreamed that dream where you and I are having sex on the beach and Aphrodite came out of the water and told me to help Kurt when he’s picked.”
Closing his eyes briefly in dismay, Kurt prayed to whoever was listening (other than Apollo) that Santana would not take this seriously. Unfortunately for him, Santana always took Brittany seriously.
Opening his eyes, he saw Santana staring at him in shock.
“Wanky!”
He gaped at her. “Santana, you can’t tell anyone that! I get enough crap around here without a rumor like-like that hanging over my head!”
Rolling her eyes, Santana threw herself into the open seat next to Brittany. “Relax, your Oracleness, I know better than to spread dish that inflammatory without the goods to back it up. But I so better get an awesome in-depth personal prophecy from you. Not like one of those crap ones you get from those poseurs at Midsummer Feasts, the real deal.”
Dropping Brittany’s hands, Kurt rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This conversation was going to give him a v-shaped stress wrinkle between his eyes, he just knew it.
Kurt’s day did not get any better following Glee. If anything, it got worse. Brittany and Santana were stalking him between classes… Santana even followed him into the men’s room which had been a last ditch attempt to lose them. Kurt rarely used the men’s room voluntarily.
By the time Kurt got to AP Lit, he knew something had changed. The excitement had shifted from random excited chatter to clusters of students huddled around cell phones and the occasional tablet, babbling in low, excited whispers. Kurt felt a shiver of ice slip down his spine even as he considered ditching the rest of the day. With his Dad’s low opinion of all things Divine, he’d probably get away with it. However, the thought of being followed home by Santana and Brittany, only to be the focus of their undivided attention, had him slouching into his seat to stick out the day. It was probably the lesser of two evils, anyway.
Laying his head on his arms, Kurt ignored Rachel as she slid into the seat next to him like a baseball player stealing second. Like there was ever such a mad rush to sit next to Kurt that someone would take her seat. She was wearing a hideous navy sweater with a large gold star on the front, which made her look like a cross between a color blind schoolgirl and some kind of demented superhero. Kurt had said all he cared to say on the subject (his discourse on the proper size and mixing of patterns and prints had been considerable) before they even got to first period. Now he’d just as soon not look at it anymore.
Rachel was accustomed to his inability to continue looking at her clothes by sixth period and babbled out an excited greeting without waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“Kurt! The most exciting news I have ever heard in my life! Did you hear? Vitoria Medeiros just got off her private jet in Columbus! It’s all over the news! Can you believe it! Maybe she’s coming for me! It would be sooo exciting to be an Oracle! Imagine me advising all the celebrities and the President about their futures-”
Snapping his head off his arms so fast he heard his vertebrae crack, Kurt stared at her. “Wait! What did you say? Vitoria Medeiros, the South American Delphic Oracle, just got off a plane in Columbus? Columbus Ohio?!”
Thrilled with his undivided attention, Rachel preened. “I know! Isn’t it amazing? She must be on her way to help the new Oracle after they get Chosen. Of course she knows who it’s going to be, she’s an Oracle, after all. Katie Couric just broke into the afternoon soaps to say that the old Oracle will probably die in the next hour or so,” she paused for a somber moment before continuing unabashed.
“Oh! I hope it’s me. I mean, I know I’m Jewish and all, but our prophets are so dreary in comparison and not nearly as famous. And they never leave Israel… it would be so boring! But I’m so very musical and my Dad is a doctor and I was raised by two gay men, which Apollo would approve of. Don’t you think I’m an obvious choice, Kurt? Kurt?”
As gooseflesh erupted all over his body, Kurt remembered the feeling of Brittany’s soft gentle fingers, brushing over his cheekbones and tracing the twinning serpent of the Delphic sigil on his palms. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
Turning to Rachel without really seeing her, he tried to enunciate in his usual clean, calm tone. “Rachel, please believe me when I tell you that I wish for nothing more right now than for you to be chosen as the newest Oracle. Now, I feel sick so I think I need to go. Now.”
He scrambled out of his seat just as the teacher reached her desk to start class, ignoring the woman’s startled protest and the sound of Rachel’s horrendous patent leather maryjanes scuffing along behind him. He stumbled blindly down the deserted hallway, focused on getting in his car and just getting home when he remembered that the navigator was at the garage and he’d rode in with Finn that morning. Kurt fumbled for his phone, unable to deny a growing sense of urgency to get out of McKinley as soon as humanly possible.
He hit the first number on his contact list, surrendering to the urge to retreat to his Dad for protection and possibly reassurance that this wasn’t actually happening. As he heard the call ring through, a strange glare began encroaching on the edges of his vision. Kurt took a few more shaky steps, trying to get away from the voices suddenly crowding around him so he could hear his phone.
Just as his father picked up, Kurt felt a small hand yanking on his sleeve. Barely able to make out his Dad’s worried voice over the noise around him, he glanced up at Rachel… and froze.
Rachel stood behind him, a frightened frown on her face, her lips moving but Kurt couldn’t make out what she was saying over the cacophony of strange voices. His phone dropped from numb fingers as he registered the fact that they were alone in the hall-the voices were entirely in his head.
Blaine had just decided to grab a sandwich and retreat to his dorm for lunch and perhaps five minutes of being left alone when he saw David and Wes hurrying towards him. Normally he’d be happy to see his best friends but at this point he was just not in the mood. David opened his mouth as soon as they caught up with him but Blaine spoke too quickly.
“If what you’re about to say has anything to do with Oracles then I don’t want to hear it. I know you guys mean well but I have had all of that I can take today.”
David and Wes exchanged a troubled glance. “Blaine, I know you wanted to ignore this but I think you need to start paying attention now,” Wes said, pulling his Ipad out of his satchel and activating the screen so Blaine could see what was on it.
There was no sound, but Blaine could make out what appeared to be a limousine being tracked from above by a news helicopter. The scrolling updates on the bottom of the screen informed him that ‘the car carrying Oracle Vitoria Medeiros is heading north on Interstate 71 towards Westerville, Ohio…’
Blaine closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. He took a deep calming breath, trying to reign in the feeling of dread and inevitability that made him feel like an animal caught in a trap. No. Oh, no, no. no. Not now, after all this time!
Rubbing his hands over his face tiredly, he paused as his eyes caught the sigils on his palms. The markings he’d been given in exchange for his life on the dark night outside the Sadie Hawkins Dance. He remembered that Jonathan hadn’t been so fortunate and tried to rein in his resentment. He just didn’t understand why Apollo had given him the gift of Music if he was never going to have the freedom to pursue it. Unless there was another Apollonian Hero in Westerville he was unaware of, he was about to be joined for life to an Oracle whose side he would never be allowed to leave.
Steeling himself against the raging cry of frustration and disappointment within, he straightened his shoulders and tried to smile reassuringly at his friends. Wes and David looked like they were trying to figure out what to say to him and failing miserably. Wes grasped his shoulder in a rough, comforting grasp.
Behind his friends, Blaine could see the Headmaster hurrying across the commons towards them and braced himself for the inevitable. For this last moment, with his two best friends, he was free.
Chapter 3