sakon76

Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 15th January 2022

Blinking and yawning, Jim made his way downstairs to the kitchen. It was one of Douxie's late wakeup days, and his mom had been working until nearly midnight as well, so he should make them both something nice for breakfast. French toast... no, that would have been better if he'd soaked the ingredients overnight. Waffles it was, Jim decided. With fruit compote and freshly whipped cream. And the farmer's market had finally had oranges again this week, so he'd lugged home an entire 25-pound bag on his Vespa. Which had been a tricky drive, but fresh-squeezed orange juice was totally worth it.

Engrossed in his prep and his cooking, Jim didn't notice the pair of figures conked out on the couch, nor the dark-haired girl who plodded down the stairs and slumped bonelessly onto the dining room table.

Until he did.

Jim jumped, the whisk in his hand scattering tiny splatters of batter on the counter and the floor. "Claire?"

She turned her head where it lay on her arms and regarded him as he hastily set the bowl on the counter and went around to get into the dining room. "Mmm," she said.

"Okay, wow, you sound about as bad as I felt yesterday," Jim said, taking the seat next to her and laying his hand on hers. "Claire, what are you doing here?"

Her eyes closed. "My mom caught me using magic last night. I panicked and ended up here. Douxie gave me his bed."

Jim blinked. "Your mom...? Oh." And the shirt she was wearing, which was definitely too big for Claire, he thought he recognized as Douxie's, so that made sense. "Are you okay?" he asked first, because that was the most important thing.

She huffed out a sigh. "I don't know. Today's probably going to involve a long, painful conversation." She sighed again. "I just wish I knew how they were taking things, before I go back over there."

"Well, I mean, NotEnrique has a phone, right?" Jim asked. Claire's eyes widened. "Pretty sure he'll be willing to be your ears on the ground."

"Jim, you're a genius!" She sat up, energy returning to her expression. "I could kiss you."

"Well, you know, I wouldn't mind," he said.

Claire laughed and made good on her word.

Douxie outwaited the suspicious silence coming from the dining room. "Coast clear yet?" he breathed to Archie, who was acting as sentinel.

"Not yet," the cat murmured, peering around the doorframe. "All right," he said a moment later. "I think you're good now."

Douxie made an ostentatious display of yawning and stretching and tumbling off the sofa, hopefully alerting the other two, before heading out of the living room and into the dining room. Jim had returned to the kitchen and was ladling batter into the wafflemaker; Douxie took his usual seat at the table. "'Morning, all," he greeted. "You look better this morning, Fair Lady Claire."

"Mm, thanks for the bed to crash in," she said.

"No thanks necessary. So, do we have a plan?"

"Call NotEnrique, see how things are going at home." Her fingers plucked at the hem of her sleepshirt. "Maybe shadow portal into my room and grab some clean clothes. We'll see after that."

"You think you'll be able to go back to hiding everything?" he asked her.

"No." Her expression was defiant. "I don't care what my parents think, I'm not stopping practicing magic. And they can't really stop me anyway."

"Yes," said Archie, jumping up onto his own chair, "but you needn't set them up as adversaries, either. Surely there must be some way to get them onboard?"

She snorted. "What, with the whole time travel and end of the world thing?"

"Yeah, that's not going to be an easy sell," Jim agreed from the kitchen.

Hisirdoux tilted his chair back on two legs and thought for a moment, trying to juggle all the variables. Claire was his student, if not his apprentice; he had some sort of responsibility in this situation, didn't he? "Maybe," he said, "we can get them on our side." His eyes widened as the pieces slotted into place. The chair thumped back down to the ground. "All right," he said, "here's what I've got: we tell them about Gunmar."

"Douxie, are you crazy?" Claire demanded. "My parents will go ballistic!"

He grinned at her. "Not if they know he's got your baby brother hostage."

"Wait," said Jim through the kitchen opening. "You're not throwing NotEnrique over, are you? He's a pain, but he's an ally."

"Not in the least." Douxie waved the possibility away. "He's an unwilling agent, and we'll present him as such. Given he can deliver them solid proof that your brother's fine, and continue impersonating Enrique until we get him back, your parents won't want to get rid of him. And this will get your mother, a member of the city council, on our side about opening Killahead Bridge in the town square. You can explain away your magic, and Jim and Toby's armor and skills, as all acquired in an effort to retrieve Enrique."

Jim and Claire were both staring. "They're going to freak, but that... might work," Claire admitted.

"Plus," Douxie added, "you can bring me in as your magic tutor, to back you up."

Claire cast eyes up and down him. "I dunno, Douxie. They weren't that impressed with you at the school play."

He shrugged. "What do looks matter, in this sort of thing? I'll prove I'm someone they should be listening to. And then," he added with a certain dark relish, "I can have that talk with them about why dieting is the absolute last thing they need to be shoving onto you."

The phone buzzed underneath the crib mattress, set to vibrate as it nearly always was. NotEnrique cracked an eye open, checking for parental presence, before scurrying to retrieve his communications device before whoever it was stopped calling. "'Ello," he answered. "Where's me sister?"

"I'm your sister," Claire's voice responded.

He pulled back and looked at the phone, sure he hadn't missed who was calling. "Claire? What're you doing with Lake's phone?"

"I went to his house last night," she replied. "NotEnrique, what's going on over there?"

"Well, Mom and Dad are all in a fuss," he told her. "You freaked 'em out but good, Sis."

"I didn't mean to," she shot back. "Mom came into my room without knocking."

"Ya get no sympathy from me," NotEnrique said. "They never knock when comin' inta my room." Speaking of, he could hear steps on the stairs. "Gotta go!" he said, and hung up with just enough time to shove the phone back under the mattress and go back to pretending to be asleep.

Cutely.

He was darn good at being cute, if he did say so himself.

Claire huffed in exasperation as she glowered at the phone. "Well, that was less than useful."

"I mean, we know one of them isn't in your room right now," Jim pointed out.

"Pop over and get some clothes, Claire," Douxie said. "Then come back here, have breakfast, and get dressed, and you and I will go deal with your parents while Jim heads to school."

She huffed, blowing her bangs up. She didn't really like this plan, but she had to admit she didn't have one better. "All right. Take notes for me in History?" she asked Jim. "I have a feeling I'm not going to end up making it to class today."

"Sure," said Jim.

Focusing, Claire held her hands out before herself, picturing what she wanted. A smaller shadow portal, for now, in the corner of her bedroom. The purple-black rift formed before herself with ease; if she hadn't been so tied up with other emotions, she would have grinned. Instead, she stuck her head through, and looked carefully around her room, ready to retreat if necessary.

The door was open, but neither of her parents were in the room. And she could faintly hear their voices coming from downstairs.

"Coast clear," she whispered to herself, and expanded the portal, stepping through.

From there, it was a case of carefully maneuvering around her room, avoiding the areas of the floor that squeaked or groaned. She eased open her dresser drawers one by one, fishing out clean clothing, then carefully eased them back shut. She made a tidy pile of her haul, and gathered it up, standing.

A look at her desk revealed that, as she'd expected, her parents had confiscated her copy of A Brief Recapitulation. Claire couldn't help baring her teeth at the thought of them taking her property, her textbook... but Douxie hadn't seemed to think that there would be any problem getting it back, so she reined herself in.

Time enough for that later.

Right now, she made another portal back to Jim's house and went back through.

Douxie was still sitting at the table, now with a stack of waffles before himself. Archie had one too and was chowing down. There were three other places set, and Jim was absent.

"How'd it go?" asked Douxie.

"Didn't see my parents," Claire reported, sliding into one of the empty chairs. "It sounded like they were downstairs. I was right that they took my book, though."

"All right," Douxie said as two sets of feet came down the stairs. "So, after breakfast, you and I go confront your parents?"

"I'm worried about that word 'confront'," Doctor Lake said as she and Jim sat down.

"Nothing serious," Douxie assured her. "No harm, no injury, no memory alteration spells except in case of direst need. Which I think we're not anticipating?" he asked Claire.

She huffed. "Probably not. Unless they won't give me my book back."

"Spoken like a true wizard," said Archie.

After breakfast, Jim headed out for school, while Douxie, Archie, and Claire caught a ride with Barbara, who had insisted on coming along to make sure things were clear with the Nuñezes.

"It's probably a good idea, Douxie," Claire had pointed out. "I mean, no offense, but she's an MD, and you're a nineteen-year-old punk goth. I know who my parents are more likely to listen to, and it's not the guy who wears all black."

Douxie had rolled his eyes. "I live with a black cat," he complained. "Arch sheds! Even when he's a dragon. Black's practical."

"Tell that to my parents," she replied.

Barbara parked the car in front of the Nuñez house. "Very nice," Archie commented, looking up at the Victorian structure. "What do you think, Douxie? Dragon form, or cat?"

"Probably cat, to start with," Douxie decided. "Leave the outré until we're sure they can handle it. Or we need something impressive to convince them."

"And I am so very intimidating," Archie deadpanned.

"Well, they've never seen a dragon before," Claire said, scratching Archie between his shoulderblades. He purred, arching into the touch. "You're kind of going to be impressive by default."

"One of us has to be, and it isn't me, Arch." Douxie took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He'd never before had to convince parents to let someone keep studying with him. "You ready, Claire?"

And she had to be feeling even worse nerves than he was, because this was her family, her home, her past and future... but you'd never know it by the determined expression on her face. There was fire in Claire Nuñez's eyes, and Douxie was, all over again, impressed by her drive.

"Well," said Barbara, opening the driver's door. "Shall we?"

The doorbell rang.

It was a moment before it was answered, Javier Nuñez opening the door.

"Hola, Papá," Claire said despite the butterflies in her stomach. "Can we talk?"

He stared at her for a moment before lunging forward and grabbing her in a crushing hug. "You're safe," he murmured into her hair. "We were so worried, mi hija. Ophelia!" he called over his shoulder. "It's Claire! She's back."

Claire's mother appeared behind her father, Enrique (NotEnrique) held to her shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of her daughter, then narrowed at the two people behind her. "Thank you for bringing Claire back," she said, ever the politician. "We owe you our gratitude. But if you don't mind, we have some things to discuss with her." A perfect smile. "As a family."

And Claire opened her mouth, was going to argue that, but was beaten to the punch by Douxie raising his hand, magic gathering about it like ghost fire. "Actually," he said, "there are some things I need to discuss with you. As her teacher."

With perfect timing, Archie leaped up onto the wizard's shoulder. "Parents," he said, shaking his head.

Javier and Ophelia both stared, mouths wide.

"Perhaps we should all talk about this inside," Doctor Lake said, with a tight smile that was, regardless, more genuine than Ophelia's.

Javier's head was in his hands. His daughter, his precious little girl, was a witch?

"Where did we go wrong?" Ophelia moaned, rocking gently to keep Enrique calm. "It's because we're too strict, isn't it? This is your teenage rebellion!"

"Actually, my teenage rebellion is listening to punk bands," Claire said, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, her expression unimpressed.

"She's right, you know," the teenager who'd called himself her teacher said. "Magic really isn't a rebellion, it's just something that some people happen to have."

"You! What do you know about it, you, you Satanist?" Javier demanded. "Have you been corrupting our girl, leading her down the path to your dark master?"

"Excuse me!" Doctor Lake said indignantly.

"You have a demon for a cat!" Javier said, feeling the talking animal underscored his point.

The boy rolled his eyes. "First off, I'm agnostic, not Satanic. Secondly, Archie is my familiar and is most certainly not a demon."

"Well, what is he, then?"

Now the cat rolled his eyes, and suddenly poofed into something bigger. With wings. Still wearing glasses, though. "I am a dragon," he said archly. "And you'd do well to mind your tone when speaking to my familiar, young man."

"Young man?" Javier demanded. "What do you mean, 'young man'? I am forty-five!"

"And I am over fifteen hundred years old," the demon-cat-dragon said imperiously, flaring his wings. "You are all children to me. Even Douxie."

"Thanks, Arch," said the Satanist.

"Can we all just calm down?" the doctor asked. "No one is a Satanist, no one is a demon, and no one is leading Claire down the path of evil."

"And who are you to give such certainties?" Ophelia asked.

Blue eyes narrowed. "His mother," Barbara said, gesturing at the boy.

"Wait, when did that happen?" Claire asked the dragon.

"Last night," he replied.

"Oh, crap, I interrupted last night, didn't I? I am so sorry," she apologized to the pair of humans, her eyes wide.

"Claire, it's fine," the boy replied, overlapping with the woman's "Don't worry about it."

The boy fiddled absently with the spiked leather bracelets on his right arm, then looked up and met Javier's eyes. "Claire has natural magical talent," he said in flawless Spanish, albeit with a distinct accent - not the one Javier usually heard around here, either. "She is powerful, and possesses a facility with a rather rare branch of magic. Do you really think it best for her to be untrained?"

"But why?" Ophelia asked. "Why is being normal not enough?" she asked her daughter.

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Doctor Lake?" she asked, holding out her hand.

The woman opened her purse and handed Claire a... horseshoe?

"Because of this, Mom," Claire said, and touched the item to her brother.

"What the freakin' heck?!" NotEnrique demanded as his true form was revealed in a flash.

Ophelia stared at him for a second, then screamed and threw him away. Which... hurt more than he'd been expecting.

Claire caught him. "Mom!" Claire was on her feet, glaring at her mother. "Don't treat him that way! That's my brother!"

"That is not your brother!" Ophelia shouted. "That's, that's a monster!"

Claire's glare intensified. "He is NOT a monster! He's a changeling! He's Enrique's familiar. And he's my brother too!"

Something strange turned over inside NotEnrique's heart. It made him feel almost queasy. Gas. It must be gas.

Javier was staring. "What happened to our son?" he whispered.

NotEnrique rolled his eyes and scrambled up out of Claire's arms, slinging himself over her shoulder. "'E's safe and healthy, in the Darklands nursery, with a hundred million goblins taking care of 'im." He turned to glare at Claire, poking her in the cheek. "And, hey, what's with revealing my disguise, eh, Sis?"

"That's what you get for hanging up on me!" she retorted.

"He came into the room!" he said, waving at Javier. "What was I supposed to do, keep talking to you?"

"How else was I supposed to tell you about the plan?!" Claire shot back.

His curiosity perked up. "Plan? What plan?"

"This, obviously." She gestured at their parents.

"Claire," Ophelia said, very calmly, and very obviously on the verge of breaking, "where is your baby brother?"

"Here." The doctor-lady pulled something out of her purse and handed it to Claire. "It'll be easier just to show them."

"NotEnrique?" Claire held the item up to him. Oh, a compact mirror. Yeah, that'd do.

He eyed his foster parents, then gathered the thread of magic that connected him to his familiar and spat on the mirror, making it a window.

"He's fine," Claire said, handing the compact to her parents, who took it, gazing on their sleeping infant son. The magic lasted for less than a minute, then, just as Ophelia was reaching to touch the image with a shaking hand, faded. She looked sharply up. "And that," Claire said, nodding at the mirror, "is why I have to learn magic. To help defeat Gunmar and rescue Enrique."

Which was not something she'd told NotEnrique about, certainly, but he couldn't deny that it made a certain kind of sense. And, heck, the kid would probably be happier living with his real family, even if that left NotEnrique out in the cold.

Except, as Claire reached back and stroked softly along his scruff, he realized that somewhere along the way he'd come to trust that this foster sister of his, and her weird friends, wouldn't do that kind of thing.

Probably.

It took quite a while to explain the Darklands, and Gunmar, and their plans, to the Nuñezes. They wanted Douxie and Claire and NotEnrique to go charging in right now to bring their son back. Even the explanation of the physical impossibility didn't dissuade them. Claire had to dig up the old YouTube video of the goblin swarm attacking outside Benoit's to show them a fraction of what they'd be up against, if getting Enrique out was even possible yet.

"We need to call in the National Guard," Javier said, his hands in his hair. "Or the Marines. Not children who are not qualified to deal with this!"

Douxie frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but Archie beat him to it. "Oh?" asked the dragon. "And what, pray tell, do you think a handgun will do against creatures made out of stone and magic?"

"He beat them with a broom!" Javier protested, pointing at Douxie.

"Those were goblins," Douxie told him. "They're nasty little blokes, and a swarm of them's a pain, but they're easy enough to deal with. Gunmar and the Gumm-Gumms?" He shook his head and used magic to paint the air, summoning an illusion of their future opponents. "I guarantee you, nothing the National Guard's packing will make so much as a dent on them."

"You could quite literally drop a nuclear bomb on a troll, and it would walk away undamaged," Archie agreed. "They're not made of flesh like you or I; what would kill a man won't even nick a troll."

"But--" Ophelia protested.

"When the only tool you've ever known is a hammer," Douxie told her, "everything looks like a nail. But this isn't a problem to be solved with mundane weaponry. It's a magic problem, to be solved by magic means. Which is where Claire and I, and the rest of team Trollhunters, come in."

She sniffed. "Then explain to me how you are remotely qualified to train my daughter. She would need the best of tutors for something like this, not some, some street punk."

"Mom," Claire protested.

"Oh, I'd love to hear this," Barbara said, crossing her arms and leaning back. "Tell me, Ophelia, who exactly do you think should be teaching Claire?"

The councilwoman spluttered, her hands waving in the air. "There must be some sort of wizarding grandmaster! Or a school she could attend."

Claire snorted. "If there's a wizarding grandmaster, it'd be Merlin. And he can gargle glass and die as far as I care." She shot a look at Douxie. "Sorry."

He waved off the apology. "Merlin will never again teach someone gifted in shadowmancy, not after what his first apprentice skilled in that discipline did. As to a wizarding school... sorry. That's strictly fiction."

"And how are you qualified to teach her?" Javier asked. "You are a waiter!"

"Dad!"

"No, it's a fair question," Douxie told Claire. Javier's words stung, more than he'd expected, but they weren't inaccurate. "After all, I certainly don't look like the respectable type of wizard, do I?"

"Respect is earned," she told him. "I certainly respect you a lot more than Merlin or Morgana."

Douxie faltered.

"Why are you so surprised, Teach?" Claire asked him, smiling. "You're like the only wizard I know who isn't a dick."

"Claire!" rebuked her mother.

Archie nudged him. "Accept the compliment, Douxie."

"Yes, all right," he told his familiar. "Thank you, Claire."

"I'll teach you manners yet," Archie murmured.

"If you haven't managed it in the last nine centuries, that might be a bit optimistic," Douxie told him.

"Nine centuries?" asked Javier.

Douxie smiled at him. More of a smirk, actually. The urge to lash out was strong, but he held it in check. This was Claire's father, and Douxie needed no greater reason to keep his temper and his tongue leashed. "I'm a bit older than I look."

"A lot, lot older than he looks," Claire agreed.

Ophelia's eyes narrowed. "How much older?"

"I'll be nine hundred and eighteen years old, come Beltane," Douxie told her, levelly. He could see when the number hit both Nuñezes like a bombshell. He let loose just a thread of power, not letting it show on his face. Everything in the room that wasn't nailed down started levitating, drifting up toward the ceiling like gravity had stopped working. Chairs, tables, lamps. The sofas they were all sitting on. Javier stared around them; Ophelia clutched at her husband's arm. "I stopped aging when I was nineteen and studying under Merlin," Douxie said quietly, trying to make a point. What point, he wasn't sure. He let everything stay in mid-air just a second longer, then began returning it all to its original positions. "I've been protecting this planet from occult threats since Camelot fell."

"Which was in the twelfth century," Claire put in as the sofas touched down, oh so gently, on the floor. "So, really? He kinda is qualified to teach me."