When Claire followed Jim into the woods, she felt like the heroine of every fairy tale at once.
Beauty and the Beast. Red Riding Hood. Romeo and Juliet.
(That was practically a fairy tale by now, wasn't it?)
And anything involving trolls.
But Hansel and Gretel, she decided, was probably the most accurate. Both she and Jim were so incredibly lost.
She could see it in the way he held himself. Human Jim had been comfortable in his body, slipping through high school and teenage life with the lanky casualness she had found so attractive. Even when fighting he had seemed to relax into the tension of battle. Troll Jim moved with even more loping grace, but none of that old self-assurance. He stood slightly stoop-shouldered, uncertain, drawing back into the stance of a defensive animal at the least provocation. Every movement was an apology for being alive. For being something not quite human and not quite troll. It was heartbreaking to watch.
Claire understood in a way words couldn't express. She hadn't shared that with him. It felt like one burden too many.
They'd been so close, that afternoon, to their first kiss since Jim had left his old life behind. That was another thing he was shy about-- the fact that he hadn't stopped loving her. He seemed to expect the opposite of her. Maybe that was why he had stopped her in the clearing where they lagged behind Blinky and the other trolls, and told her to go back.
"You still have a life in Arcadia, Claire." Among humans, he didn't say. "I can't take that from you."
She brushed this off. "You heard my parents. High school's just a stage. Like all the world!" She was trying to make him smile. "That stage of my life is finished, Jim."
"But there's so much more. College. Theater programs. A career...a family..."
"You're getting way ahead of yourself," she protested. "Or rather, myself. I'm not even seventeen."
Jim looked at her steadily. "I don't want you to deprive yourself of those things just because I can't..." he drew a shaky breath and looked away.
Claire's gaze hardened. She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, a feat now achievable only if she stood on tiptoe.
"I'll tackle those things when I want them, how I want them. The only thing you should worry about depriving me of is my own choice. And I made it months ago. Do you think a couple of fangs will change that?"
Jim cringed when she said it aloud, but it was barely visible. Stony skin made for stony expressions. He managed to hold her gaze, however. You would expect eyes of that deep chocolatey brown to be soft, gentle, velvet. But in Claire's, a fire burned.
She lifted her hand higher to stroke his cheek, hoping he would bend down to meet it. There was a moment when things might have been normal between them. But then he shrugged her hand off and turned away, too frightened to reveal the small spark that kindled in his own heart. "We don't have to make any decisions now."
"Then let's not hear any more nonsense," Claire said softly, catching at his hand. Never had her own seemed so small and fragile. "I'm coming with you. Someone in this ragtag group ought to display some sense, and it sure isn't going to be Blinky."
Jim cracked a smile, fangs jutting upwards. "We've got Arr. But he could probably use the support." He sobered. "I'm afraid I might not be very sensible for a while."
No, I don't imagine so.
She almost told him her own secret, then, but it felt disrespectful, almost flippant, to interrupt his mourning. So instead,
"All the more reason for me to stick around, then," she told him. "Besides, what's wrong with a gap year?"
Claire's secret wasn't that the loss of her shadow staff felt like a constant hollow ache in her side, although that was true. It was, rather, an inner change that mirrored Jim's visible one. Her soul was calling out for something. Calling it, then backing away, then stepping forward to nose at it again like an overcautious housecat. It was Morgana's magic, Claire had concluded. That taste for power, once the flood of possession had subsided, was never satiated.
She had been wrong. The magic beckoning her was far more dangerous than that.
It was her own.
She had spoken with Merlin yesterday. Both of them were conscious that it was the eve of her departure, although Jim hadn't known it yet. They had talked long into the night. Claire had always liked the brusque wizard more than the others had, but not until this last afternoon had she realized how desperately she craved his guidance. How many, many questions she was holding in.
"Is it always like this? Do many humans use magic? Why is it growing? How do I control it? Will I have a normal life? Can I learn more? Should I learn more? What if I become like Morgana? Has she...poisoned me?"
Shock, anxiety, uncertainty, and questions...Claire felt as though she were eleven again, and starting menstruation in the middle of third-period PE. Except...worse. (Traumatic as that was, it wasn't likely to kill anyone if it got out of hand.)
Merlin had displayed surprising patience as he answered her questions.
No, it wasn't Morgana's magic, it was her own. Her foray into the sorceress's head had granted Claire knowledge, not power. The power was all her own, and it had grown because she had exercised it. Yes, the shadow staff, he had said. The massive effort to open that portal for the trolls must have broken down the barriers in her mind all at once. She would progress much more quickly than the typical magic student now. Yes, she could have a normal life if she chose. The link with Morgana should have no other lasting effects. She would have to be careful, however. She would have to learn control. He gave her some breathing exercises and practice maneuvers to try. She ought to find a focus for her power as soon as possible. A new staff, perhaps. It would seek her out. She should continue to sparr and practice, or the unused energy would drive her mad. She had to be there for Jim, for Blinky. Merlin had work to do himself, eradicating the traces Morgana and Gunmar had left on the world. But he would find her when the time was right.
"How will you know when that is?" she asked.
He blinked at her benignly. "It's a thing we wizards say when we have absolutely no idea."
So here she was, on her own. Until Jim got his emotions together, anyway. Barbara had explained it to her. Troll and human feelings together. Yikes.
Maybe her magic could help...
Claire ran a finger along a tree branch, and was pleased when the rough bark erupted into a green shoot beneath her fingertip. She turned to show Jim. And realized he was standing ten paces back, staring up at the gap between two trees. Ordinarily this would have been cause for concern, but the sun had set five hours ago.
Claire backtracked and looked up. The patch of sky was velvety blue, and it glistened with stars like raindrops.
Jim closed his eyes and let the night breeze caress him.
"I was thinking," he said, "about how we felt about our chances a week ago. And how we're still here. I was thinking maybe," --for me and you-- "maybe there's still hope."