Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin was dead, to begin with.

It had proved a sad precursor to a melancholy Christmas, ten years back; but now Merlin the Second was beating his tail wildly against the linoleum, begging for scraps in a way so similar to Merlin the First that Sarah had that strange, haunting, falling sense of reordered time.

"Not," she muttered, "that anyone can do that. Ever."

She pounded the dough into the countertop with one fist. Thwack. "The world stays right-side-up." Thwack. "There are twenty-four hours in a day." Thwack. "And gravity still applies - right?" She held up the dough, then let it fall.

Plop.

"Right!" Thwack. "And nothing -" Thwack! "NOTHING I dream will ever make it otherwise!" THWACK!

"Ouch!" She had clipped a fingernail on the counter. Sarah stuck the digit in her mouth and tried not to scream.

It was the dreams. All the fault of those stupid stupid dreams that were not real but that she had been having since Christmas -

"Stupid dreams," she hissed. "You'd think that he could pile them all into one night and get them over with!"

Gritting her teeth, Sarah looked at the printout. "Knead until smooth and elastic." She glared at the dough, then rolled it into a ball with impatient fingers and snatched a bowl from the cupboard beneath the counter.

"Relax ..." she muttered, greasing the bowl. "Chill. Zone out. Zen. What is the sound of one hand clapping?"

"This!"

Sarah practically jumped out of her skin at Toby's voice.

Her younger brother stood behind her, showing his missing front teeth in a wide grin. He opened and shut one hand with a fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-

"What?" Sarah snapped.

"The sound of one hand clapping!"Fwip-fwip. Fwip. Fwip. At her glower, Toby pointed to his palm. "This!"

Fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip-

"Oh, quit it." She made a half-hearted grab for his hand; he dodged it and snatched at the dough. Sarah swatted his knuckles.

"Ouch! Sa-RAH!"

"To-BY!" she mimicked. "Don't you dare! I just finished kneading that, and you'll spoil your appetite." She scooped up the dough and threw it into the bowl.

Her brother moaned and rolled his eyes. "One little taste is not gonna matter, even if it is a fancy-schmancy restaurant -"

"Tobias Robert, don't use that tone of voice." Karen Williams stepped into the kitchen, fastening an earring. "Sarah, put on an apron. And have either of you seen my stockings?"

Sarah wiped her hands on a towel and headed for the pantry. "Which ones?"

"Grey silk, with pink embroidered rosettes - I picked them up in Antwerp, when your father and I -"

Tuning her out, Sarah grabbed an apron embroidered with a grinning lobster, and set to unpicking a knot in its strings. The tangle came out relatively quickly; she tied the apron strings around her waist, and turned just in time to see Toby scooping out a fingerful of dough -

"Toby, don't do that - there's so much egg in there that you'll give salmonella to the whole cast -"

"Salmo-what?"

"Toby!" Karen said, crossly. "Listen to your sister. And Sarah - I'll wear my heels for now, but while we're gone, would you please look for my stockings? I can't think of where they might have disappeared to -"

"Yeah," Sarah mumbled.

"Thank you, dear." Her stepmother squeezed her shoulder; Sarah smiled tightly at her as she called up the stairs. "Robert? Ro-BERT! Are you ready?"

"Getting there! But honey - have you seen my socks?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake -" Karen disappeared up the steps, and Sarah let out a sigh she didn't know she had been holding. Draping a damp cloth over the bowl, she tucked in its edges and glanced up - only to see Toby looking at her, gravely.

Sarah blinked. "What is it, dude?"

Her brother grimaced. "Are you sure you're O.K. with staying home?"

"Oh, Tobe -" she sighed, and half-laughed. "Of course. You have your play, and mom and dad want to take you out to that fancy-schmancy restaurant -" she waggled her eyebrows - "and I've got lots of stuff to do. Including -" and she brushed flour off her fingers - "finishing your cake."

Toby smiled a shy smile. "Thanks."

"No prob." Sarah shrugged. "I haven't baked for a while, so it's fun."

"But -" the boy soldiered on over her airy voice - "it just seems like you're Cinderella, if we're going to have a nice time, and Mom asked you to clean the house -"

"It's only the living room, which I did leave kind of messy, and I'm having a perfectly nice time making your cake." She grinned at him. "Besides, this way I get to eat as much dough as I want."

"Sa-rah - we need it to hide the bean -" Toby whined.

"I know, I know." She moved to the sink. "Tell me about that again, why don't you?"

Toby brightened. "So the guys down in Mardi Gras or wherever it was had this cool idea that they'd make a cake for the Twelve Days of Christmas, and they called it the King Cake, for the three wise men, and they hid a coffee bean in the cake and whoever got it would -"

"It's New Orleans. Mardi Gras is a holiday."

"- whoever got the bean would be the King, or the Queen, and would have to bring the cake next year -"

"Mm-hmm." Sarah watched the water cascade over her fingers, and only dimly registered Toby chattering away. She scrubbed away the flour, and traces of dough, and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping down the counter.

Toby was still going strong. "But what I don't get is why they don't have it up here - I mean, just because it's kind of cold in February or March or whatever doesn't mean we can't have a party, too - I mean, they get costumes and a parade and dancing and everything -"

She blinked. "Are you talking about Mardi Gras, now, or are you still on Twelfth Night?"

He shrugged, and began to carol: "On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to mee-e-e-e-e - twelve drummers drumming, 'leven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine - nine -" Toby broke off. "Dad? What's nine?"

Robert Williams had walked into the kitchen. "Nine ladies dancing, kiddo. Sarah, have you seen my socks?"

"No, Dad - sorry."

Her father ran one hand through his graying hair. "And I just got some for Christmas - I swear, I'll have to go with the ones your grandma knit -"

"Couldn't find 'em," Toby said, matter-of-fact. "Not mine, neither - but I don't care, 'cause you said Grandma would give me Everquest, and instead she gave me socks, so ... so what if I can't find 'em -"

The older man did a double take and stared at his son's bare feet. "Toby! Don't you have any socks?"

"I - couldn't - find - them -" Toby enunciated. "But I get to wear my costume for the play, and they'll have socks there." He held up one foot. "I just have my shoes - see?"

"Fine, fine - tell you what." Robert furrowed his brow. "You go practice your song, and see if you can find the socks that Grandma knit for me, O.K.?"

"Sure!" And the boy ran off. "Nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven -"

"Sarah -"

Sarah turned to look at her father. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're O.K., with staying at home?"

"FI-I-IVE - GOL-DEN - R-I-I-I-I-INGS!"

Sarah winced. "Yeah - I'm fine ... in fact, I can feel a bit of a headache coming on, so it's for the best."

"Right." The older man gave her a hug with one arm. "You're very kind, to make this cake for Toby - and I really appreciate your coming home to visit." He smiled. "Even if you do trash the living room every once in a while."

She smiled back, weakly. "Right."

"Robert -" Karen clip-clopped into the kitchen, in stiletto heels. "Are you ready?"

"Sure, I just need to grab my shoes - but honey," he gave her heels a dubious look, "Will those be all right if it snows?"

Karen sniffed. "The weather channel said only three inches tonight - and besides, we should be home before ten. They said it would pick up at midnight." She turned to her stepdaughter. "Now, Sarah, you have my cell number - and we'll be at church first, for Toby's play; and then we have reservations at eight-thirty at the Castle -"

Sarah twitched. "Yep."

Her father smiled at her again. "But we'll leave room for coffee and that great cake when we get home."

Karen cut in. "Ten-thirty at the latest."

"Sure."

And then the kitchen was full, in a bustle of people and movement, as Toby ran through trailing two socks that he had snatched from the hamper ("Robert, you are not wearing those - they're not washed!" "What other option do we have?"), and then empty, as Karen hustled them out the door ("Don't forget the living room, dear,") and then Sarah watched from the front step as Robert backed the minivan out of the driveway, through a sudden flurry of snow ("and a partri-idge in a pear treee-e-e-e-e!")

The car lights disappeared into the darkness. She shivered in the cold.

Missing socks. Strange dreams. Herself, twitching at every unexpected noise.

And - Sarah hissed in frustration. Trashing the living room? How old did her parents think she was?

She was twenty-four years old - old enough to know how to keep track of socks, to know how to greet the unexpected with calm, and to know how to throw a party without knocking over the fucking Christmas tree. No, Sarah knew what was to blame.

Who was to blame.

Goblins.

She went inside, and slammed the front door behind her.

She refused to think about the dreams.

Sarah glared down at the recipe. The dough had to rise "in a warm, draft-free place until doubled in size," the printout blandly informed her.

"Fine." She picked up the bowl, and set it on the stove with a thump. "And stay put. I mean it!" She raised her voice. "This is for my brother, and if a single thing happens to his cake, I'm going to track you down and make you pay!"

Was that a snicker?

No. Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. It couldn't be a snicker, because there was nobody else in the house. She refused to believe it.

She strode into the living room and surveyed the damage. Magazines lay strewn across the floor, the Christmas tree rested against the television set, and dirt had been tracked into the carpet. She had happened upon the mess after a trip to the post office, and had stared in disbelief, until she had heard the minivan with her stepmother and Toby in it pulling up the driveway. Sarah had made up a glib excuse on the spot, about a few friends "from way back" coming in for a snack after caroling - and who carols in the middle of the day? and twelve days after Christmas? - but Karen had bought it, and had instructed her to "clean it up, young lady," with nothing more than a disappointed shaking of her head.

Setting her jaw, Sarah went to the front closet for the vacuum cleaner.

Recycling the magazines and righting the tree took no time at all. She ran the vacuum up and down, up and down the carpet, focusing on staying calm. In and out. Breathe in, breathe out. Think Zen.

A few streaks of dirt had to be removed with cleaner, but soon enough the task was done. Sarah gave the room a quick brush with the feather duster, and then stood in place, frowning.

The house seemed quiet. Too quiet.

She resolved to make herself a nice cup of hot chocolate.

All too soon, the drink was steaming in a cheerful Christmas mug. Sarah looked into it, and sighed. She could either make herself a ridiculous garnish, or go grab the bourbon from where her father hid it in his desk. "No contest there -" She found the bourbon and poured a generous dollop into the chocolate - and then sat down on the recliner.

It was still quiet.

Almost as quiet as -

Sarah shook her head, angrily, and yelped as the hot chocolate sloshed onto her sweater. "Ouch!" She blinked back tears, and took a long sip, trying to calm down.

All of her dreams had started out so ... so quietly ...

She stared at her fingers, clenched around the cup.

They had all been frightening - for their intensity, their vivid color and shade - light and dark - each of her senses quivering as new images - tastes - sounds and scents and textures - had crept up her tightly strung nerves -

The dreams had started after that stupid block party.

Karen had invited the neighbors over the day after Christmas, and had insisted on Sarah circulating with hors d'oeuvres. "It will be so nice for you, dear, to meet some new people!"

Never mind that she had all the friends she needed, back where she belonged, in her friendly cubicle in her oh-so-friendly office job -

"Here!" Karen had gushed. "Let me introduce you to the new girls in the college house - hel-lo, ladies!" she had trilled - and a group of young women had glanced up with identical expressions of deer caught in headlights. Whoop-de-fucking-doo, Sarah had thought, sourly. They had all been younger than she was - college kids -

"And she is in graduate school, and you know that Chelsea McPherson got married, right? Well, she sang at her wedding - and when I had leaves caught in the gutter all she had to do was reach up, and -"

Graduate school, then, and older - maybe. Sarah had looked the (very) tall brunette up and down, refusing to be jolted out of her grumpy mood. The girl had returned her gaze with a look of -

Sarah had blinked. Was that - guilt?

The brunette had flicked her eyes away.

"And this young lady plays the French horn, and this young lady here does art on commission -"

"Nice to meet you," Sarah had nodded.

"And this girl is a poet, and this girl once babysat for Toby - she likes - what was it, dear?"

"Mmmnuyasha -" the girl had mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

"Inuyasha?" Sarah had asked, tiredly. "Cool."

"And these two are exchange students - one makes videos and this one studies art and she -" Karen's voice had reached a peak of ecstasy - "is from France!"

"Well." Her own voice had been blank. "Nice to meet you all, then."

"Have fun, dear!" Karen had called, from a ways away, because she "had to circulate, you know -"

Sarah had glanced at her watch. "Look, guys, I'd like to talk, but I - um -" She hadn't been able to think of a good excuse, and had settled on: "I have to go."

She surely hadn't imagined the strange tension humming through the cluster of women, all of whom had seemed somehow relieved to see her leave the room.

Staring ahead with narrowed eyes, ignoring her cooling drink, Sarah thought back. She had been nibbling on a crab cake as she had watched from the window - as the girls returned to their house on the corner, moving in a knot - having an argument?

Who knew? Sarah sighed. All she knew is that the dreams had started that night - and that one of those bitches had brought the crab cakes, and was thus to blame - since the vivid, moving-painting, oily quality of the images in her sleep could only be due to lingering food poisoning.

The worst part was ... that all the dreams had been about -

She took a gulp of hot (well, lukewarm) chocolate and swallowed past the knot in her throat, and fought past the quivering in her stomach.

Jareth.

"Oooh, I'm really scared," Sarah growled. "Jareth. Jar-eth. J-A-R-E-T-H - His Royal Majesty, King of the Fucking Goblins, who looks like the rave-party offspring of Titania and Heathcliff on heroin mixed with crack!"

She waited. Nothing happened.

"You can't scare me, featherhead."

The house was silent. Except - and Sarah stiffened. Had that been a giggle?

No - it was quiet ...

All her dreams had begun quietly. The first - she hissed in a breath. She had walked down a long hallway, somehow pulsing with light - and then she had turned a corner and had seen him blaze to life in her mind - his face as beautiful as it had ever been, yet somehow starting to burn her, even as he began to smile, and extended a hand with a silver snake coiled around it - and the air around him had caught on fire -

She had woken up gasping from that one. In fear - nothing else. Sarah shook her head, fiercely. Nothing else.

The rest had been similar in intensity.

Jareth, a black cape swirling around him like smoke, holding a crystal, his face taut with anger - ready to unleash a seething horde of red and orange-eyed goblins -

Jareth, strewn across a throne, wearing leather, his eyes rimmed in black and shining like glass as he smiled at her, lazily, through the dust filtering down through the air, as he turned a crystal into ash on his knee -

Jareth, in a cloak with a high collar, his gloved fingers clotted with jewels, caressing a crystal coffin and staring greedily at the girl in an ornate dress who lay suffocating inside -

Jareth, his face twisted with lust, holding out his hands to let two black birds fly into the air as he walked towards her where she lay caught, somehow, in a bed of thorns -

And Jareth as pale as death, his shadowed eyes gazing at her in a crystal - devouring the image of herself rail-thin and dirty, stuffing food into her mouth until she retched -

Sarah had woken up from each of those dreams gasping for air - alternately shaking, shuddering, or almost crying -

He was messing with her mind - food poisoning or no food poisoning. The bastard. He was sending the goblins to torment her. Although - and Sarah frowned - you'd think they would have better ways of doing so than messing up the living room and stealing socks -

Beep - beep – beep –

Her digital watch went off. Sarah glanced at the time, and sighed. Spending all this time woolgathering was not about to yield results -

She went to the kitchen, retrieved the bowl, and punched down the dough. She would have results. Sarah read the instructions, and began to braid the dough into a ring, her eyes narrow and her teeth set.

She'd make this cake. She'd find those socks. And she'd show the Goblin King that he could not screw around with her and hope to get away with it - dreams or no dreams.

Chapter Text

"Brush a large baking sheet with remaining butter."

Sarah brushed.

"Place braided dough on baking sheet and form into a ring."

Sarah grabbed the baking sheet. Then, rolling her eyes at her own inability to follow instructions, she gritted her teeth and awkwardly inched the braided ring onto the sheet from the counter. The ring slid meekly into place, as if sensing her ill temper.

"Press bean, doll, coin, or trinket well into dough so that it doesn't show."

Sarah held up a single coffee bean with a mock flourish and let it fall onto the ring. She looked at it narrowly, and then pressed it into the dough with one finger. Die, coffee bean, die!

The dough closed around the bean with a fwoop.

She sighed. Dreams or no dreams, goblins or no goblins (Kings or no Kings, her mind whispered) – the poor bean hadn't done her any wrong that she could think of. And it would end up ground into powder and digested before the week was out, through no fault of its own.

"Sorry."

Sarah snapped her mouth shut on the word - what the hell? "Why am I apologizing to a damn coffee bean, for crying out loud? Shit!"

She snatched at the printout. "Cover dough with damp cloth, and set aside again to rise for about 45 to 60 minutes."

"Fine ..." Sarah set the dough rather more carefully on the stove top, dusted off her hands, and tried to think of something to do. Something that didn't involve thinking about goblins.

"Sock it to me, Goblin King -" she muttered. Then – "Oh – right. Socks."

And she headed upstairs to look for them.

Forty minutes later, Sarah's apron was dusty, her elbow was bruised, and her head was beginning to pound – in time with a mental chorus of goblins singing: "No socks, no socks, nah-nah nah-nah na-aah nah!"

"Stupid socks!" she snarled. Then she kicked her parents' dresser. "Ouch! Frick on a stick!"

For she had found nothing. There was neither hide nor hair of any sock to be seen – no rayon, no silk, no wool, no polyester (one of her father's many sartorial mistakes from the sixties) – even her own nylons were missing.

"And those aren't even socks, you idiots!"

Why she was so sure goblins were responsible, she could not say. Was it intuition? Observation and deduction? Occam's Razor?

Instinct, more like. Sarah walked downstairs, glowering to herself. While socks, and pens, and crucial memos had a tendency to run off and hide around her – more often than not at the moment they were most desperately needed – she had never heard of, had never experienced, an all-consuming vortex of Murphy's Law descending on an unfortunate house and sucking up all the socks therein.

Besides ... she could have sworn that three – not one, not two, but three different voices had tittered when she had thwacked her elbow on the doorframe.

She stomped into the kitchen and set the oven to "preheat at 375 degrees." Then she took the now-puffy braid, and brushed a mixture of egg white and milk over it. It dripped down onto the baking sheet. Sarah didn't care.

The oven would take ten minutes to heat ... Sighing, Sarah decided to kill the time by making frosting. She quickly mixed "confectioners' sugar, lemon juice and 3 tablespoons of water in a deep bowl" – "God, the fucking joy of cooking –" she snarled, as the combination overflowed the Tupperware container she had tried first.

Frosting finished, she put dabs of food coloring paste into three small bowls, and dumped sugar over them. "Green, yellow, purple," she sang, pouring the colored sugar into plastic bags. "And a partridge in a fucking pear tree!" She left a vicious purple thumbprint on the crumpled printout.

Sarah froze – had that been a snicker?

She stared down at the paper. It looked oddly forlorn, crumpled and stained as it was.

Her voice gusted out in a sigh. "Why am I in such a bad mood?" Sarah tried to straighten the paper, failed, then looked around. "It's not like I don't like being at home ... and this cake is going to be fine ..." Mechanically, she opened the oven door, deposited the baking sheet inside, closed it with a thump. She set her digital watch for thirty minutes.

"The cake's going to taste great, and the living room's clean, so why am I –"

She heard a thud. A muffled sound, and a fit of giggling, also muffled – and some exaggerated shhhhhh noises –

The noises were coming from the living room.

Calmly, she placed the plastic bags of sugar into the pockets of her apron. You might need to blind them. Coolly, she slipped on her shoes. You might need to run. She padded on silent feet through the hallway, through the dining room, and around the corner –

Sarah stared.

Three dirty goblins stared back.

There was a laundry basket teetering on their heads.

"You little bastards!" Sarah screeched. She grabbed the feather duster from where she had left it on the coffee table and pelted towards them, aiming for the basket – they screeched back, and scampered away. T-shirts and underwear flew across the floor. The laundry basket flew up into the air. The house lights flickered, the Christmas tree fell over – and Merlin the Second ran into the room, barking –

- only to howl at the fireplace – the empty fireplace – through which Sarah, the goblins, the feather duster, and several pieces of dirty laundry had fallen out of the world.

The first thing she realized was that while goblins apparently bounced, humans did not.

The second thing she realized was that said goblins had not stuck around to help whoever it was making all the groaning noises, electing instead to flee, squeaking shrilly.

The third thing was that the person making the groaning noises was herself.

The fourth thing was that she was lying on smooth flagstones, which looked – she squinted – which looked to be made from marble, or granite, or something with flecks of mica in it –

"Sparkle, sparkle –" Sarah slurred. Ouch. It hurt to talk.

The fifth thing she realized –

"Oh, shut up," Sarah fumed at her mind. She sat up. Her head swam. "Crap – that hurt –"

"I should think so," said a low voice.

Sarah froze.

"Mmm. You know, that only works when you're the same color as whatever you're hiding in – and, Sarah dear, you do not match my stonework."

She blinked hard, once, twice, and reminded herself to breathe. Breathe in – nice and slow. In and out. In and out.

But her breath caught in her throat as the Goblin King – holy shit it's really him – floated forward in a soft fall of white down and grey cloth – easing out of the gloom like a ghost looking to return the cloud it had stolen for a cloak –

"– really leaves much to be desired."

Sarah gaped. He had been speaking, and she hadn't heard him – how could she not have heard his voice –

"What?"

The Goblin King tsked at her. "Your landing technique, Sarah." At her blank look, he arched an eyebrow. "The first rule of flying is: always know how to land."

"It is?"

"You must have hit your head harder than I thought. Yes, of course it is. Only slightly lesser known is this: always know where you are going. Or perhaps it is: always respect the right of airway, which is to say – yield to eagles, condors, vultures, falcons, owls, and Kings."

He trailed off, an odd expression on his face. "And from your looks, Sarah, it seems as though you knew none of these things."

Sarah closed her eyes. Her head hurt. "I had forgotten …"

His voice was closer. "Forgotten what?"

Her head was throbbing. "How much you talk. I mean –" Sarah opened her eyes a crack and felt her neck prickle as she realized how his face was closer too – how he was staring at her with birds' eyes – owl eyes – she could see them, even in the dark, although they shimmered as though they were part of a mirage. "You talk too much."

Owl eyes narrowed. "Do I?"

Sarah nodded – ouch – then croaked, "Yep."

The Goblin King stared a moment more, then shook his head. He passed one hand over his mouth – he still wears gloves, Sarah thought – and drummed his fingers against one cheekbone. Noticing her watching him, he blinked and dropped the hand to his side, and then spoke: "What are you doing here?"

His words were soft, but she had a headache. "What?"

"Let me rephrase that. What are you doing here …" he tipped his head and raised his eyebrows. "… precious thing?"

Sarah felt her eyes go wide, and then she scooted away as quickly as she could – but her back ran into a stone wall, and then she broke her fall with one hand and gasped – "Ow, thatreally hurt –"

"What is it?"

His voice was so quiet that she didn't registered a faint rustle of feathers and fabric until she looked up, into his eyes – his eyes right in front of hers from where he was kneeling down –

Sarah yelped and jerked her head back. He froze.

She held up a hand –my good hand – shit the other must be broken – in front of her face. "Don't –" she stuttered. "Don't hurt me –"

"What?" His voice cracked.

Blinking, Sarah peeked through her fingers. "Goblin King – don't hurt me – please –"

"It's Jareth," he snapped. "And why in the name of the Labyrinth would I hurt you?"

"Um." Sarah tried to think; it was difficult, with her head pounding. "Because you sent me – bad dreams –" Shit. She felt the pressure behind her eyes that always presaged a crying jag; the last thing she needed right now was to start sniffling – fuck fuck fuck, oh, here come the waterworks –

She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

But then she heard something strange – registered it as a soft sound caught in the back of Jareth's throat – and then she felt a finger without a glove – eep – trace the tear from her eye to her jaw, and –

Sarah blinked. Suddenly, her cheekbone didn't hurt. "What was that?"

Jareth looked gravely at her. "You definitely hit your head harder than I thought. I don't know the particulars –" he reached one careful hand to her forearm, circled the most painful part of it with his fingers, and she could almost hear the hurt dissolve – "but I saw enough to know that you took a header straight into my balcony."

He touched her shoulder. The pain melted away. "Oh," Sarah said, feeling dizzy. She swallowed some of the blood in her mouth – ick. "Why don't you know the particulars?"

Jareth grunted. "I was too busy untangling myself from some branches – after a certain novice –" he flicked a glance at her and placed a hand on her ankle – the hurt there evaporated – "as I was saying, after some insufferably rude person thought it would be fantastic fun to barge into my flightpath and send me to get better acquainted with an oak tree."

She smiled, and winced as she felt blood well up from her split lip. "I wish I could have seen that."

He gave her a sour look, and folded his fingers around her injured hand. "Quite." A sudden warmth spread through her knuckles; Sarah gasped. "My apologies," Jareth murmured, "This one's a bit more complicated."

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" He glanced up at her again. "Magic."

"Wow." Sarah waited until he released her hand, then held it up and flexed her fingers. "Wow. You should put this in a bottle and sell it."

"And thereby return my kingdom to solvency, and be renowned through goblin history as King Jareth the Fiscally Responsible – not that they could spell it correctly – what?" For Sarah was wincing. "What is it?"

"My head – I don't know –" Sarah squeezed her hands together and tried her best to make the two shimmering Jareths turn into one, in her vision. "My head still hurts."

"Ah." The two Jareths were looking at her, an unreadable expression in their four eyes. "Well, I can do the same thing – but I'm warning you, I have to – touch your face for it."

"Oh … Well, that's O.K." She drew her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them. "I guess."

Jareth – the Jareths – carefully held out his – their – hand – hands – whatever– Sarah looked into his eyes, and kept looking even as the four resolved into two, as she felt a tingling warmth radiate from his palm, through her temple and into her thoughts – oh –

She felt her own eyes widen. "How do did you do that?"

He did not move his hand away. "I told you – magic."

"Well," and Sarah shifted her cheek from his palm – calloused, she thought randomly – "well – so –" and all her memories came flooding back. She stiffened. "If it's that easy to make my thoughts all –tingly – then how do I know you haven't been sending me those horrible dreams?"

Jareth sat back, and draped his hand with its fellow, over his knees. "I have no power over you."

Sarah looked at him suspiciously. "Really."

His lips tightened. "Yes, really."

"Then how did I get here?"

Jareth shrugged, his eyes hooded. "Undoubtedly the same way you survived crashing into four rock-callers' worth of limestone. Blind luck."

Sarah inhaled. "But I got here – all by myself." At his nod, she felt a strange bubble of – something – in her heart – "Holy shit – you mean I can fly?"

He half-smiled. "I believe you can fly. Badly, of course – and you land even worse."

"And those dreams?"

The slight smile turned into a frown. "I'm not quite sure – although I suppose it depends on your neighbors …"

"My neighbors?"

He nodded. "If you are beginning to explore your powers, then you might be picking up on the strongest dreams of those in closest proximity to you –"

"The strongest dreams – O.K., that would explain why I'm not stuck in Macy's every night, thank God – Karen never was big on the imagination – but – but wait – powers?" Sarah realized she was babbling, but she didn't care. "Powers? If I have," and she gulped, "special powers, why are they showing up now?"

"Don't ask me to fathom how your mind works." He gave her a snide look. "You're the one that thought that denting my balcony would be a bloody fantastic idea."

"Oh, give it a rest. It can't be any worse than your castle falling down." Sarah grinned widely, ignoring his glare, but then yelped as her lip split even further. "Ouch!"

"You deserve it."

"No I don't –ouch – and … oh shit." Sarah probed a tooth with her tongue. "Oh fuckity fuck fucking hell, if that's broken I'll have to go to the damn dentist."

She looked up, only to see Jareth's eyebrows at his hairline. "Really, Sarah, such language –"

"Oh, put a sock in it – wait." Sarah inhaled slowly. "Socks. Socks." She unclenched her hands and jabbed Jareth in the chest with one finger. "Why are you sending goblins to steal my socks?"

His mouth curled up at one corner. "My dear Sarah, I have not the pleasure of understanding you."

"Don't even start, you smartass – I know they've been stealing socks, and I want to know why – Jareth?"

Sarah trailed off. The Goblin King was staring off into space, his eyes blazing.

"… Jareth?"

"They wouldn't dare…" His voice was a low hiss.

"Um, Jareth – you're kind of – well, freaking me out." Sarah spread her hand to its full extent, and laid it against his chest. "Jareth?"

He flicked his gaze back to her. "How many socks?"

"I'm not sure – quite a few, since there are four people at home and we're all having trouble finding anything for our feet that isn't shoe-related –"

Jareth set his jaw. "If you will excuse me, Sarah – I must speak to my subjects."

"What?" She pulled at his pale shirt as he made a motion to rise. "You can't just traipse off like that and leave me here –"

"And why not?"

His eyes – owl eyes – had flicked back to hers, and suddenly …

Sarah swallowed. Her head didn't hurt, and he no longer had a hand at her temple, so why –

… why did she feel …

Jareth had gone still. He sat, oddly tense, as though waiting for her to move. He blended in perfectly with the pale limestone – Sarah had a strange feeling that if reality were to shift just a bit – if he were sitting on an Escher stair, and the stair were to fall upside-down, then he would disappear.

She licked her lips, nervously, and saw his eyes flicker –

– that's it, then –

– so …what am I going to do about it?

She tried to speak in a normal voice. "I hate the dentist, Jareth. I mean – I really,really hate him."

Jareth said nothing – and only tilted his head slightly. She felt a sudden, intense rush of memory: those same eyes, fixed on her, that same head tilt, in a ballroom –

She had thought he was about to kiss her –

"The dentist is an absolute bastard, Goblin King, and I hate him with the intensity of a thousand burning suns."

He frowned. "Call me –"

"Jareth," Sarah cut him off. "Jareth …" She leaned closer to him. "Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be –"

"I'm right here."

"Shut up – you're wrecking the moment. Take this mortal hurt of mine … far away from me?" Sarah heard her voice go up into a squeak. "Please?"

Jareth looked at her, with no expression on his face at all. "You do know what you're asking?"

Not daring to speak, Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat. And nodded.

"Very well."

Jareth leaned forward – slowly, carefully – and framed her face with his hands. His long fingers smoothed her hair away from her temples; his thumbs traced her lips and she shivered as she felt the split heal –

"Before thirteen-o'-clock, please," she murmured.

And Sarah thrilled at the smile that she saw spreading across his face as he brushed his mouth over hers – and then she shut her eyes and twined her fingers through his own as they came together in a kiss that felt like a thousand hurts made whole.

Chapter Text

The twenty-first thing that Sarah realized was that a strand of Jareth's hair was tickling her forehead.

Items six through twenty had run along the lines of: Whew, he's a good kisser, and I wonder if I would see his eyes if I opened mine, and This is so nice - now I don't have to go to the dentist, and Wow, he's a great kisser, and I wonder what he'd do if I -, and Nggneek - that's a sharp tooth there - I'll have to remember that, and His breath is warm on my cheek, andHoly shit, this is the best kiss ever, and I think my brain is melting, and Ksghsplkigghligrk, and so on, and so forth.

But then her brain solidified enough (from its state of gooey bliss) to tell her that his hair was tickling her forehead. Stupid brain.

Sarah brought up one hand and gently brushed the offending strand away from her face. Then she reached out and touched his cheek with her fingers - and Number twenty-two: your fingers are trembling. Earth to Sarah - he can feel that just as much as you can -

She didn't care. Instead, she trailed up and down the smooth skin that stretched taut over the planes and angles of the side of his face ... a strange feeling clutched at her stomach when she heard him inhale and felt his jaw tighten -

Jareth tipped his head back, away from her mouth. Sarah opened her eyes, ready to protest, but her initial pang of disappointment evaporated into another thrill when he turned his lips into the palm of her hand and kissed it.

His breath slithered hot against her skin. She shivered.

Then all of her own breath stuck in her throat as his lashes flickered, and as he caught her own stare with his, out of the corner of his eyes.

Strange eyes – with a faint glow to them that she had only ever seen in cats, lying in wait in the dark for mice or men. Owl eyes. And if he were the owl, then (and she tried to gulp, but couldn't) ... well, that must make her some sort of small animal. Hopefully something fluffy. Fluffy, cute – a cute bunny, or something –

"What –" and she blinked, for his voice was rough – "By the gates of ivory and horn, what are you smiling at now?"

I guess I am smiling, because honestly … She tried to picture herself as a rabbit – wide-eyed in fear, nose twitching – and failed. Bunny, hell. Bunnies chickened and ran – bunnied and ran? – whatever. She would stand her ground.

She tilted her head to one side. "I'm smiling at your eyelashes."

Her grin widened as she felt his slight laugh puff against her hand. "I never knew they were amusing."

"Oh, it's not that they're funny, really – they're just – well, kind of different." Sarah squinted in the dim light. "You really can't miss them – I mean, they're almost white. Which is a bit odd."

And then she sucked in a breath – eeeeeep – as Jareth turned to bring his face to hers again, as quickly as a snake striking. "Anything else – odd about me, my dear?"

Besides those eyes looking at me right – now – gah – "Let me see." She was proud for not betraying nervousness in her voice. "Hmm. Magical tooth-healing powers aside – and thanks for that, by the way ... let me see ..." That was interesting – squinting up close, and practically bumping her nose against his, she could see a contrast between – well, dead-pale and slightly-darker-dead-pale – where the skin had crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Then there were slight patches of roughness on the bridge of his nose – and, of course, there was always -

"I think this is still the strangest." Sarah ran a finger up one eyebrow, stopping at the coloration that sliced across it. "I guess I thought it was makeup, before ... and this close, I can see imperfections –"

"Imperfections?" Jareth squawked –

"It's not a bad thing, Jareth, geez." She grinned. "It looks like your nose is sunburned. Or windburned. And what's this?" She tapped her fingers against a faint line of black on one cheekbone – no, both ...

Ah." He shrugged. "I had some rather long flights today. It's always best to be prepared."

"Flights …" Sarah tried to stay nonchalant, tried not to think of how he would look, sprinting to the edge of a cliff and jumping, and changing in midair, with a flare of magic and a crackof wings unfolding – "Long flights?"

He nodded.

"Where to?"

Jareth tipped back his head slightly; she felt his gaze shift from her to a point over her shoulder. "Places far away from here – other winds of other worlds. The two kingdoms of Neverwhere and Everbeen, a flight over Wall, a quick look at Pity-Me, and Venice."

"Venice?" Sarah knew that her mouth had opened slightly. She shut it with a click.

He was still staring into space. "Yes. Lovely place, but falling into the sea, as Atlantis did of old. Such a pity."

Her brain refused to absorb Atlantis – Atlantis! – so Sarah took refuge in what she had asked before.

"So, what is this?" She reached out to Jareth – and he looked back at her, and smiled. She rubbed her thumb over his skin; the black smeared.

"Sometimes kohl, sometimes grease. Lay a line of it beneath your eyes, and you get less glare from the suns." He inclined his head against her hand. "Flying rule number forty-two."

"Forty-two? Jareth, you're honestly telling me there are forty-two damned rules for something as simple as falling with style?"

"A style which you emphatically lack, dear Sarah. And there are rather more than forty-two. Witness rule number one hundred and twenty-three: the pinions are always to be preened first of any feather." He tossed a lock of hair away from his face.

Sarah groaned. "I can't believe you!"

The words hung in the air.

Silently, Jareth gazed at her. He had gone still – and she felt a sudden hideous qualm.

"Oh – oh no, no no – I'm sorry. I believe you – I believe in you – please don't evaporate or explode or melt or anything like that –"

"Mmm. Those all sound far too unpleasant. And really, Sarah ..." He edged even closer to her, and – Sarah breathed out, shakily – he laid his head on her shoulder. "Truth be told, I hardly believe in you."

"Um –" Her mouth had gone dry. "Why not?"

She heard nothing for a moment – was conscious of hardly anything more than the sip of his breath against her neck. Then he spoke, and she felt his voice vibrate through her skin into her very bones.

"I thought I had lost you." Another breath. "Forever – which, contrary to my versification, can actually be quite long indeed."

Sarah swallowed hard. "Really?"

"Yes."

Try as she might, Sarah could not manage an immediate witty retort, or even a commonplace reply. All she could think of was how soft his hair was – like down – under her cheek, and how easy it would be to bring her hand back up and trace her fingers over the black pigment – she did – and how feeling his own arms wind around her waist could set her heart crashing in her chest.

"Yes …" Jareth whispered against her neck; she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the scratchy velvet sensation of his voice. "You had vanished from my sight – you were lost to me … and then I saw you flying through the sky above the Labyrinth –"

"And then crashing into your balcony," she added, flicking his cheekbone with one finger.

She felt him grin. "I think the entire Labyrinth saw that. Or heard it …" Even with her eyes closed, she could sense his own staring at her as he lifted his head from her shoulder. "And for that matter, it would appear that your crash has addled my wits by proxy – for here I am …"

Jareth deliberately placed a finger and thumb around her chin. Sarah felt his breath against her mouth.

"Here I am … talking to you, when I could be kissing you."

She opened her mouth to reply, but that was as far as she got, as Jareth caught at her lips with his and swept his hand along her jaw to twine into her hair.

Rewind to – what was that one again? Oh yeah. Item fifteen: the melting of the brain. Ksghsplkigghligrk.

Sarah didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to breathe, didn't want to think of anything but the way his mouth moved against hers, and the way her fingers crept up his shirt to slide beneath the grey-feather cloak, over the ridges of fabric and the bumps of bone – and his scent – whether it was night air, or magic, or Venice, or something that coiled smoky tendrils around her thoughts and set them pounding in time with her heart –

Jareth pulled back, his breathing ragged. Eyes flying open in protest, she stared at him, at the taut line of his shoulders beneath their cloak – and then he touched his upper lip lightly with his tongue and her entire body prickled in reflex.

He saw her shudder, and his eyes darkened. "You taste sweet."

"Um." Sarah swallowed. "I think that's the sugar. From –" what had it been? Baking. She had been baking. "I was baking." She shook her head to clear it. "You – you taste …"

Weird, she wanted to say. Strange. Like nothing she had ever tasted before … She settled on: "Different –"

Jareth smirked. "I think that's the mice."

She had been about to say: "– in a good way." But what came out was: "Oh my God, that's disgusting! Tell me you're joking – Jareth, tell me you're not serious –"

His smirk widened. "Well, the only way to find out is to come flying and catch some of your own. Or, failing that, you could come dine off gold and drink out of diamonds with me, and then kiss me again –"

Sarah blinked. "Are you asking me over for dinner?"

"Hm." Jareth rose to his feet, and drew her up with him. "I suppose I am." He tipped his head. "What say you?"

She looked up at him – not that far; I guess I've grown – "Um. O.K."

His face split with the feline smile that she remembered. "Such eloquence."

Sarah cuffed him. "Shut up."

"And elegance – how fortunate for me, that I have this paragon of the rhetorical and social arts to dine with me this night –"

She heard a slight growling, and looked down at her stomach in embarrassed reflex. But – wait – that hadn't been her –

"Ha!" Sarah stuck out her tongue at him. "So much for manners – or do you always 'talk wi' the tum, Migh'y King?" She put on an exaggerated Cockney accent just to see him glower.

It worked. Jareth glared at her, hands on his hips. "Unlike someone who thinks a hard day's work involves smashing perfectly innocent stonework, I have flown from beyond the stars to beneath the seas, o'er miles of road and leagues of –"

"How much is a league, again? I always mix it up with a rod, and a furlong, and horsepower and all that –"

With an exasperated huff, he took her hand. "Come along." They set off walking, rather quickly. Sarah registered the winking out of the moon and stars as they made their way off the balcony, into the darkness of the castle – it was chilly, and gloomy – and the stale air held the cold scent of ancient stone.

"Why the rush?"

"My dear, I assume you would like me to stop your mouth with a sweetmeat or two before reverting to something … well, not quite as sweet but undoubtedly just as delectable –"

"One-track mind, I see." Sarah tugged at his hand to slow him down. "But could you leave off the dirty talk for a second, Goblin King, and be serious, and stop, please?"

He stopped in his tracks as they rounded a corner, so she ran into him, hard. "Oof!"

"You did ask."

Sarah rubbed at her nose, resentfully. "Yeah, but that trick got old in preschool, jackass."

"Owl," he corrected.

"Whatever. Jareth –" she tried to see into his face, but could not, so dark was the hallway. "I mean – you want me here, and that's sweet of you –" (I thought I had lost you, her memory whispered) "and – and maybe we can, um, catch up a bit after dinner –" (not quite as sweet, but undoubtedly just as – she hushed her mind) "– but, seriously: why the rush?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice flat. "It's my birthday."

Sarah felt her mouth drop. "Are you – you're serious? Well, shit, Happy Birthday, Goblin King!" She laughed. "Happy birthday to yo-o-ou, happy birthday to –"

"Shhhh!" His voice sounded panicked. "Don't start singing! Please!"

"- you – what?" Sarah broke off. "Why not? You like singing."

"Yes, but not now!"

She closed her mouth, half offended, half puzzled. As though sensing the former, Jareth sighed.

"Sarah my dear, every year my subjects see fit to celebrate my birthday with –" he hesitated. "With song." She heard a flutter, as though he had flung his owl-feather cape behind him in irritation. "Every year – every gods-forsaken year I am subjected to whatever ditties they choose, and since I do not want to hear the Labyrinth's national anthem sung off-key, again, for the umpteenth time –"

"Wait –"

" – I do not wish to draw attention to us, since here you are, and for once I have the opportunity to celebrate with someone who can string more than two words together in a sentence, and whom I lo– wait." Jareth snapped his fingers, and a few candles sputtered to life in a sconce above her head. "Wait? Wait for what?"

Sarah grinned. "The Labyrinth has a national anthem?"

His shoulders sagged. "Yes."

"What is it?"

Jareth leaned back against the stone wall opposite Sarah, and looked up, as though he were searching for patience in the ceiling. He muttered something.

"What?" She made her voice coy. "I can't hear you …"

He sighed, then said: "The Labyrinth's Really Big."

"Yeah, I know, but what's the anthem?"

"That's it."

Sarah felt her eyebrows go up. "Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"You're joking –"

"Oh, no." Jareth flopped his head back and forth in an emphatic negative. "'The Labyrinth's Really Big.' Witness verse three."

He sang:

"Our mountains are very pointy –
Our prairies are not!
The rest is kind of bumpy –
But damn, do we have a lot!"

Sarah laughed outright as Jareth mimed the steps of a dance and then fell back against the wall once more. "Et cetera. Et cetera. A room full of shrill goblins who haven't bathed in years. Thirteen glorious alternations of verse and chorus. Sung once or twice – or five or six times – and two more, just for luck. Lather, rinse, repeat. Every damned year!"

He looked down at his booted feet, brooding. "So I ask, Sarah –" and then his eyes flicked up to meet hers, and she felt her smile fade. "Is it foolish of me, to think that this one year might be different than the others?"

"This one year …" Sarah steadied her voice. "How many years have they been singing, Jareth?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Since I made the first of their kind."

She felt her brow furrow. "How many – I mean, how old are you?" Seeing his look turn bleak, she rushed to continue with: "I'd totally sing "How old are you now?" but you said you didn't want – Jareth?"

Jareth was staring at the floor again. Sarah bit her lip. "Jareth? I – I didn't mean to offend you … or – you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to …"

His mouth tightened. "I would tell you, but – it's just that –"

He exhaled in a long sigh.

"I'm afraid I don't remember."

Sarah blinked. "You don't remember?"

"How old I am," he finished. "That I have been here quite some time, I know – but I cannot say that I remember when I came to be here. Or how I came to be here. Or why …"

The words fell on her ears like lumps of lead. Shit – way to break the mood, Sarah. Damn. What now?

Maybe – lighten the mood?

"Well." She found a normal tone, and walked briskly up to him. "As long as you don't start with: 'When I was your age, I would fly uphill to school both ways, through a blizzard eachtime –'"

Jareth peeked up at her from beneath a fall of his hair, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "I do not believe one flies uphill, Sarah."

"Hmph. Smart guy. Or owl, or whatever." She tipped her head at a coy angle. "But if you're so smart, why aren't you kissing me yet?"

His eyebrows flew up.

"I mean, I'm right here, with my hands at your waist –" she placed them there – "and giving you my very best 'come hither' look –" she fluttered her lashes –

"Come whither?"

"Hither!" She glared. "Shut up and kiss me. Consider it a birthday present."

Jareth gave her a coy look of his own. "The first of how many, precious thing?"

"Don't get greedy."

He grinned, and then bent to kiss her –

But jerked back as a piece of fabric flopped onto her head.

"What?" Sarah yelped, and grabbed the offending cloth, which was –

– oh my God…

Her bra. One of her bras – one of the dirty bras she had put in the laundry basket –

A titter floated down from above them. She looked up, sharply, and saw a goblin hanging from a chandelier that twinkled with dusty crystals.

It grinned at her, and croaked: "Mistletoe."

"Oh –" Sarah drew in an outraged breath. "Oh, you little twit – that's my bra, and you stole it, and – ohmigod, the laundry basket!"

She looked wildly at Jareth – who, she was surprised to see, was not laughing at her. Instead, he looked – nervous?

What? Why would he be nervous? Unless …

"Jareth," she growled. "That's my bra. And those goblins have my laundry basket, and my feather duster, and –" memory crashed back into her brain; she gasped. "My socks! Jareth, those little bastards took every single sock in my house! And if you put them up to it, I'm going to kill you, birthday or no birthday!"

"Sarah …" He forced her name through his clenched teeth. "Why would I do any such thing?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but then caught sight of the goblin as it scuttled across the ceiling like a cockroach, cackling. "Oh! It's getting away – come back, you obnoxious little –"

Sarah took off running. She only barely heard Jareth call to her to – "Stop! Sarah, stop – you don't know what you're doing –"

"I know perfectly well what I'm doing!" she yelled. "I'm going to catch that little rat and get back every single thing stolen from me!"

Her words echoed off the stones of the passage – she ran as hard as she could, twisting and turning, her shoes pelting the floor as she kept the goblin in sight –

There!

The culprit had opened and shut a door in a flash, disappearing behind it. Sarah ran up, grabbed the large, ornate handles and flung the door and its fellow open with a crash that reverberated through the castle, drowning out Jareth's cry of despair –

And she froze at the sight that met her eyes.

Chapter Text

The first thing Sarah saw was that the room was packed with goblins. Shrieking, laughing, cackling goblins.

The second thing she saw was that the goblins were in the middle of a big dance number. A big, loud dance number.

And the third thing she saw was that every single goblin …

"Oh, no …" she whispered to herself.

Every single goblin had a pair of socks stuffed down the front of its pants.

"Oh, no. Oh, no no no …" Sarah gaped. "Oh, they're in so much trouble …"

Then the goblins burst into deafening song:

"Its size is quite astounding –
Though some say it's a sock!
Let's hear a cheer resounding
For our King's enormous –"

Sarah slammed the doors shut.

She placed her hands flat against the polished oak, and tried to catch her breath. Dimly, she registered the whoops and shrieks sounding on the other side – "Oh, shit," she gasped, torn between her fear for the goblins and her own laughter bubbling up within her. Sarah gulped: "Once he catches up, he's going to–"

The remarkable thing about owl flight, as both nature shows and exceptional authors have told us, is that it is almost completely silent. Perhaps Jareth's control was slipping; that would go a long way towards explaining the whoosh preceding his taking Sarah by the shoulders and pinning her against the doors, ignoring her gasp of surprise.

"What did you see?" he snarled.

"Jareth –" she stuttered. "Jareth, please don't –"

"What" Jareth shouted. A muscle was twitching in his face. "Tell me!"

It could have been the twitch, or the fact that he was magnificently, gloriously beautiful even in his anger – or the fact that she had raised both hands to fend him off, and in one hand she still clutched the bra, and seeing that bra made her remember – the socks –

Sarah brought her hands to her mouth as she started to giggle. "You – you have to admit, Jareth – it's – it's kind of – funny? Maybe?"

"Again. Again," he breathed. "Every year. They do this every year, but this time, I will murder them!"

"But save the socks! Won't somebody think of the socks?" At the outrage on his face, she dissolved into laughter. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, but it – you – those socks – and the song –"

Jareth's lips were compressed into a line as white as chalk. He glared at her. "Step aside."

Sarah gulped back her laugh. "Wait – Jareth, they're just playing around –"

His voice dropped into a hiss. "Do not presume to lecture me on the pastimes of my own subjects, Sarah …" He flexed his fingers on her upper arms; she shivered. "Step. Aside. Now."

Sarah swallowed hard. Then she slowly, carefully stepped to one side, and watched Jareth's profile as he looked down at the door handle. She half expected to see the worked brass melt. He flexed his fingers again, this time over the metal –

Before she could decide otherwise, she placed a hand on one of his. "Jareth …"

He stared at her, his eyes bright with fury.

"Please, Jareth – they don't really mean it …"

The Goblin King sneered. "Don't they?"

And then he eased the door open and slipped inside without a sound.

Sarah stole in behind him, and watched, her skin prickling. She watched him practically
 

float 

over to where one goblin was holding high court – prancing around with an apple in its hand, and – she choked – a feather duster perched on its head.

Other goblins surrounded it – one grinning at the fruit in its trousers – they must have run out of socks – a second gleefully stuffing – oh no, those are Karen's – a pink pair down its pants, and third preparing to do the same …

… But then the third turned around.

Sarah couldn't help herself. She bit down hard on her sleeve (it tastes sweet – shit, those sugar bags must have burst) trying to keep a hysterical laugh pent in, as she saw the goblin stare at a pair of boots, and then look up, and up, and up –

– until its eyes bulged at the sight of the Goblin King – royal face taut with anger, royal eyes flashing – Sarah gulped – royal self about three seconds away from flipping its shit like a fluffy pancake.

"I dint do it –" the goblin squeaked.

The Goblin King bared his royal teeth in a horrible smile.

"Meep!" The goblin ran.

All the other goblins turned as one, or looked up from their dancing and scuffling – and as they caught sight of Jareth, they fell silent.

Well, almost silent, Sarah thought. She heard a lot of raspy breathing, some high-pitched questions from smaller goblins wanting to know what the taller ones saw – and oblivious clucks, which meant that somewhere in the crowd were those damn chickens –

As if on cue, a black chicken burst from a knot of goblins, squawking, and flew straight at Jareth.

BANG!

The Goblin King's feather cloak billowed out behind him as he glared at the goblins, his arms upraised. The chicken was nowhere to be seen. A few black bits of fluff floated down through the air.

"One more for the Bog, my pretties," he grated. "And she will certainly need some company, so tell me …" His mouth curled up into a shark's smile. "Who's first?"

Utter silence. Even the chickens had gone quiet.

Then, every single goblin pointed at its neighbor.

Jareth sighed. "Choices, choices." Then his eyes flashed, and he swooped forward into the crowd.

Sarah saw a goblin fly up to the ceiling, and shouted: "Jareth!" She could hardly hear her own voice, loud as it was, over the pandemonium that had erupted – as goblins squealed, shrieked, clambered over each other and tried to elbow and punch, scratch and bite their way to safety.

"Jareth – stop!"

He gave no sign of having heard her – in fact, what with the squirming bodies and whirling straw, casks and pieces of armor flying everywhere, surely he could hardly see her. She could hardly see him.

Holding her arms in front of her, Sarah forced her way through the chaos to the strangely curved throne. She had caught a glimpse of this room on her way up the staircase at the end of her journey through the Labyrinth, so many years ago – except then it had been empty, and silent, and now –

Sarah reached the throne and hoisted herself into it without hesitation. She thought, then got to her knees, and then stood on her two feet to see the entire riot, seething like water boiling in a pot.

Oh shit oh shit what do I do?

She desperately wished for a light switch to flick on and off. She settled instead for yelling at the top of her lungs: "QUIET! All of you, stop fighting RIGHT NOW!"

Wow, she thought, sitting down in a rush. Guess all that babysitting really paid off –

For the goblins had all stopped their screeching, and were staring, slack-jawed, at the new occupant of the King's throne. Huh. Maybe it's the novelty … Watch out, little monsters, because I am about to blow – your – minds –

"Lady got King's chair!" one squeaked. The others tittered.

Then they scuttled away from someone cursing on the floor – cursing and sitting up –

Sarah covered her smile with one hand as Jareth tossed his head back and forth, like Merlin the Second having a good shake after a run in the rain. He looked at her. And his glower intensified.

"What," he bit out, "are you doing on my throne?"

Suddenly, she felt self-conscious, trying for a centerfold while dressed in a sweater, and jeans, and a skuzzy apron. Come on – it's all in the attitude – She shrugged, and grinned outright. "I guess I'm Queen of the Mountain."

Hissing, Jareth sprang to his feet – and before she knew it he was glaring into her eyes, his hands on the armrests. "Get. Out."

"What – Jareth –"

"Out!" the Goblin King roared. "You've had your fun, you've had a good laugh -" his voice cracked - "so take yourself off that throne and away from here – get out, fly out, fall out, however the hell you want to leave, just do it – mmmmpghrk!"

Sarah slapped a hand over his mouth mid-rant. "Goblin King!" she hissed. "Language! You're setting a horrible example!"

He could not speak, but his eye roll said volumes.

"Besides," she murmured. "Do you really want me to leave –" her stomach twisted; she ignored it – "before I give you your birthday present?"

Jareth had been looking disgustedly at the ceiling – but at her words, he broke off. He locked his eyes on hers. Their expression made the quivering in her gut intensify. Ulp. Now or never.

"There's plenty of room," she said briskly. "Up you go."

Sarah slid over on the throne, and took her hand from his mouth. He looked as though he might speak, for a moment, but then raised his chin haughtily and moved past her to sit.

She gave him ten seconds to smooth his ruffled feathers.

Then she sat down in his lap.

"What –" Jareth yelped.

"Shhhh!" Grinning, Sarah made herself comfortable, face to face with the Goblin King. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to yo-o-ou …" She tapped her fingers on his shoulders in time with the song. "Happy birthday dear Jar-eth …"

She heard some of the goblins begin to hum.

He squeezed his eyes shut – his lips quirked into a smile. "You're impossible."

"No, you're impossible," she crooned. "You're an insufferable git, but you're as beautiful as you are annoying, and you almost made me believe that you'd prefer kicking goblins to kissing me."

Before he could retort, she kissed the corner of his mouth. Jareth froze.

The goblins said: "Ooooooh …"

"Hmmm." Sarah moved her hands from his shoulders to his chest, and began to rub slow circles. She kissed along his jaw, then at the hollow beneath it, where she felt his pulse racing. "I don't know how long this will take, but you won't be kicking goblins for a while –"

"Goblins," Jareth breathed. She felt his throat work as he swallowed hard. "Sarah, you have to stop – Sarah –" she moved her hips and he gasped, "Sarah, they'll – the goblins will –"

Those same goblins were beginning to giggle and whisper. Sarah smiled at them despite herself, and then slid her mouth back to his jaw and nibbled at it, delicately. He inhaled, and -There we are, ladies and gentlemen – I was wondering just how long he would last. She shifted where she sat, again, just to make her point.

"A-ha. So … about that verse …" She flicked her glance down, then back up, and gave him a sly grin. "How about it, Goblin King: is that a crystal in a sock you've got there, or are you just happy to see me?"

He cursed under his breath, then tried obviously for control.

"Sarah ..." he began, carefully, "As irksome and stupid as my vassals undoubtedly are – yes, you, Chibble –" he swatted away a goblin who had crawled onto the armrest – "a great many of them were impressionable children at one point, and –" Jareth hissed, as Sarah moved on his lap – "they still learn – by – example – so stop before you –" he broke off, his breaths shallow. "I don't want them to –"

Sarah grinned at him. "Don't you trust me?"

Jareth glared. "I trust you as much as I do them – which is to say, about as far as I can kick you, minx –"

She fixed him with a cool look, then winked, and turned around on his lap, ignoring his wince. "O.K., everyone – quiet down –" she pitched her voice to carry through the chatter. "Listen to me, all of you."

Silence fell. Sarah looked over the motley assortment of goblins. "How many of you have actually been this close to the King?"

A confused murmur.

Jareth hissed in her ear. "If you so much dare do what I'm thinking you will, I will have you drawn, quartered, and fed to the Beast of the Bog of Stench –"

Sarah elbowed him hard; he broke off with a grunt.

"How many of you ..." she paused ... "have felt – The Sock? Raise your hands!"

"Sarah –"

Eyes widened, a wave of tittering swept the room, and Sarah felt her jaw drop as every single grubby goblin hand went into the air.

"Jareth, you pervert!"

The goblins squealed at her outraged cry, but before she could turn around to slap the Goblin King, he shouted over the din:

"Opposite Day is over, you halfwits!"

"Is not!"

"Oh yes it is! I declared it!"

"Did not!"

Jareth tilted his head and squared his shoulders in a regal pose – or, Sarah thought, as regal as he could get in what had to be a rather uncomfortable position.

"Opposite Day is over and done!" he said imperiously. "I declared it oppositely by not declaring it, on the stroke of madnight!"

"Madnight?" Sarah asked.

He brushed her ear with his mouth; she felt his hot whisper. "Thirteen o'clock."

"Oh," she breathed; then shoved at his shoulder for room, and shouted again to the shrieking goblins.

"Listen – LISTEN – all of you – this verse about the socks – this pretend – it has to stop, because it's not true."

The goblins hushed. Sarah saw some look at others, confused, and the others look at Jareth, afraid – and a few look at the chickens, fingers twitching.

"So?" a fat one rasped.

"So," Sarah said, "What you're singing about …"

She shifted, and heard Jareth snarl under his breath. "You dare, and I swear I'll –"

"The real one is even bigger."

She figured that the click in her ear was Jareth's jaw dropping.

"That's right." She moved her hips, slowly, and Jareth closed his mouth with a snap.

"It's real." She smirked. "It is not pretend – it is the genuine, definite article, and I'm telling you right now that stealing all the socks in the world won't. change. that."

"Didn't steal nuffink –" one goblin squeaked.

"Oh yes you did." Sarah glared at them. "You took all of the socks in my house, and my feather duster – and now you're lying, just like in your verse."

At their blank looks, she glared harder. "And lying and stealing are wrong."

A long pause. Then: "Why?"

Sarah felt Jareth's groan vibrate through his chest. "Bloody hell – once they start with that, they'll never stop – not unless you –"

She sat back and all his breath left him in a whoosh –

"Because I said so, that's why."

She heard Jareth inhale.

A small goblin chirped. "Who do?"

"I do."

More voices: "You do?"

"Yes!"

A ragged chorus: "Why?"

"Because …" Sarah paused for dramatic effect and tossed her hair from side to side, ignoring Jareth's reproachful cough.

Here goes nothing …

She spoke in a grand voice: "I am the Fairy of Right and Wrong."

Jareth choked.

The goblins' eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Sarah ignored the strangled noise coming from Jareth – high-pitched, sounding like his tonsils were fighting to leap out of his throat. She raised her head high, stuck one hand in her apron pocket and pulled out a fistful of sugar. "And I have brought my fairy dust with me!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jareth bite down hard on one knuckle to keep from bursting into laughter.

She tossed the sugar over the goblins; they stared, slack-jawed, as it settled on those nearest to her in a flurry of fine yellow dust. One goblin unfurled a tongue as long as its arm and gave a nearby helmet a cautious lick.

"Tastes good!"

Squealing, the sugar-free goblins fell on their luckier fellows; a free-for-all for the treat erupted and Sarah stared, aghast –

– and jumped from Jareth's lap to the ground – which was just as well, since it was becoming impossible to sit upright with him a hair's-breadth away from silent hysterics.

"Stop – STOP!" Sarah bellowed. "Or you won't get any more!"

As quickly as it had started, the fighting stopped. Sarah dug out two more handfuls of sugar and threw them into the crowd.

"There is fairy dust for all!" she proclaimed. "And, in fact –" she reached back and untied her apron – "you get the special fairy dress!"

"Ooooooooh!" Gnarled hands clawed and grabbed.

"But only -" Sarah paused, and slowly spun in a circle – "ONLY if you return all of the socks to my house!"

The goblins seemed electrified – she fought the urge to cover her ears amidst the crash and thump of armor and feet.

She caught a glimpse of Jareth doubled over, cackling, as she whirled to see a goblin tugging on the seat of her pants. Sarah bent her head. "Yes?"

"'Scuse me, fairy lady, but – wot's that?" It pointed at the apron.

"What - oh -" Her mind worked frantically as she held the sugar-crusted cloth at arms' length. "That - that -"

And inspiration hit.

She could have sworn that the faded embroidery gave a resigned sigh.

"That is a wonderful animal called -" she paused and took a deep breath; the goblins hung on her every word - "The Lobster!"

The goblins squealed.

"And the Lobster helps me with the fairy dust - and - and -"

Looking into their shining eyes, Sarah took the plunge:

"If you are very good, and helpful - and you don't sing the sock verse - next year, on this day, I, the Fairy of Right and Wrong - will bring you a Lobster of your very own!"

The goblins shrieked with joy.

"Now go!" She threw the apron to them and held both her hands high. "Return the socks to the rooms in the world from whence they came!"

The filthy horde stampeded out of the throne room, howling, carrying the apron aloft like a bizarre sacrifice.

"Socks!"

"Find the socks!"

"Lobster!"

"Fairy Lady's Lobster!"

"Get the socks - get 'em get 'em get 'em!"

Only when the last one had gone did Sarah collapse to the ground, laughing so hard she thought her ribs would break.

She knew the room was empty, except - that guffawing she heard had to be Jareth, over by his throne. Gradually, he petered to a stop, gasping for breath, and then she heard only her own laughs, and saw motes of dust and sugar floating through the air - and then rolled over as she felt something fuzzy tickle her ear.

Sarah grabbed the feather duster from Jareth, who had extended it from his sprawled-out position on the floor. He grinned at her helpless giggling, then slapped both hands over his eyes and hooted at the ceiling.

"I can't -" he wheezed. "I can't breathe -"

"Lobster!" Sarah gasped. It set them both off again.

After a long moment, she whacked him with the feather duster; he yelped. The sound changed into something almost approaching a purr, though, as Sarah rolled across the floor into his arms.

"Precious thing – you're beautiful, you're brilliant, and I adore you … but –" he breathed against her ear - she gave a delighted shiver - "Why a lobster?"

"Well, they have a bunch of chickens already ..." She inhaled carefully - in and out, in and out - and stared into his eyes, trying desperately not to laugh. "The question you're looking for, Jareth, is: why not a lobster?"

She bent and nuzzled his neck; Jareth's eyes widened. "But - but why 'why not a lobster?'"

"Because if not a lobster, they'd want an elephant."

He looked concussed. "What?"

"God, you're pretty when you're confused -" Sarah breathed. She propped herself up on her elbows and traced his cheekbones with her fingers. The last remnants of the kohl dusted her nails.

"I am?" Even bewildered, the Goblin King could preen.

"You know you are ..." And Sarah caught his jaw in her fingers, all the better to kiss his insufferably pretty lips.

The next few minutes were rather breathless.

"Mmpghgh -"

"What?"

"Witch, you're jabbing me -"

"No I'm not - that's the feather duster - and you shouldn't talk, your royal highness -"

"I didn't hear you protesting earlier; quite the contrary, if you remember."

A squeak.

"And turnabout is fair play, as I'm sure you know."

"But I never did - oh, my God you can't -"

"Can't I?"

Sarah wound her fingers through his hair and gave the room a frantic glance; second base was all well and good, but not when the diamond was a dusty, dirty stone floor with straw festooning it - not to mention chicken feathers and kitchen scraps and everything that the cat and goblin had dragged in -

Beep - beep - beep -

Jareth jerked his head back and stared at her chest. "I didn't know they could do that -"

"Idiot!" Sarah shoved him off her. "That's my watch!"

"What?"

"Shit!" She stared at the digital screen. "I have to go!"

"Go?" Jareth's brow furrowed; he swiped at a piece of straw dangling across his forehead. "Go where?"

"Back home - I have to go -" Sarah knew she was babbling - " I have to go home, because I have something in the oven – it's done baking – the time says –"

"Time?" Jareth looked imperious. "I have reordered time, Sarah - and I have done it all for -"

"Well, you didn't reorder it enough – otherwise my watch wouldn't have gone off." She bit her lip. "Please, Jareth – Jareth, please let me go –"

He sighed, and carefully sat up. "What do you mean, 'please let me go?' – you can come and go as you will." He held out a hand to her and tugged her to a sitting position as well. "Although I do wish you would stay."

Her head was spinning. "What?"

Jareth was studying her hand. "Please stay."

"Um." Sarah licked her lips, focusing, of all the absurd things, on the dusty straw tangled in his hair. "Oh Jareth, I would, but I have a cake that –"

He jerked his head up and caught her gaze with his. "A cake - a cake?" His voice was ragged. "You fall back into my kingdom like a shooting star, you give me the most wonderful kisses of my entire long existence, you ensure that the goblins will never tease me with those stupid socks again, and you're leaving for a cake?"

His intense, mismatched eyes were doing strange things to her stomach. Flip. Flop. Flip. Sarah swallowed hard. "It's – it's not just any cake."

"Oh?"

"No." She concentrated on breathing - in and out, in and out - and on not looking away. "It's a King Cake."

Jareth lifted one eyebrow. "A King Cake?"

Sarah nodded, not trusting her own voice.

A sly smile stole across his lips. "May I inquire as to the occasion?"

"Um." She tried to focus. "Tonight - um - it's Twelfth Night. Three Kings Day - or Night - or whatever - I'm not sure, but the cake's for my brother and I promised him -"

"Your brother." His smile had turned wry. "And when the contest is between that one and myself, we already know the winner, don't we?"

"Jareth ..." Feeling her heart twist in a strange way, Sarah gulped. "Jareth, it's not a contest. It's something I promised my brother - and you know," she forged ahead wildly, "I just don't know if you eat cake, for that matter -"

"Will I eat cake ... hmm ..." Jareth flicked his eyes back down to her hand, held in both of his. "I suppose this is an ingredient, is it? Your -" and he looked at her, mischief written across his face - "fairy dust?"

Sarah saw a streak of green on her palm, and began to reply, but felt her heart lurch as Jareth bent his head and licked up the sugar as carefully as a cat lapping milk.

Speaking was impossible, so she settled on a grunt.

"Nngh."

"So articulate, my lovely ..."

She wet her parched lips. "Remind me what you said about my watch, genius -"

He let his eyes fall half-shut … and just looked at her. Quietly. For a long minute.

"Um." Sarah's brain felt fused, as she stared at his glinting smile, at the green sugar smudged over one side of his mouth. "Jareth - I - I really have to go home. Um. Now."

"Remind me why?" He laid a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist; she gasped.

"I don't want the cake to burn."

"Hm. The King Cake. For Twelfth Night - or Three Kings Day - or Night -" he tipped his head - "Or whatever ..."

She could not seem to swallow; her throat was too dry. "Yeah."

"Well, on this Twelfth Night, what you will is my command." Jareth quirked another smile, and uncoiled to his feet. He took her hand and hauled her upright. "You could, of course, find your own way back, but in the interest of burning cakes and bawling baby brothers, I'll send you back myself."

"You – you will?"

Oh no …

Whatever number she was on now, what Sarah realized was this: This isn't the way it's supposed to go …

A horrible disappointment was squeezing her gut like a clammy fist wrapped tight around a bag of sugar. It felt as though someone had shoved over the sparkly Christmas tree of her heart. I don't want to go – just say you'll magic the cake so it doesn't burn – say you'll frost it – hell, reorder time all you want and I'll stay and kiss you until neither of us can breathe –

Be strong, she told herself. You just asked him to let you go; he assumes you meant it, and you'd look stupid if you reneged –

Sarah was proud, in a desolate way, of how her voice did not tremble. "Well - thanks, I guess."

"You are quite welcome." He bowed, gracefully, and held out the feather duster. She took it, mechanically.

Jareth raised his hands – and then paused.

"Does it have to be three?"

"What?"

"Does it have to be three kings?"

She knit her brow. "Three kings for what – oh." Sarah froze. "Wait – Jareth, you can't be serious –"

He winked.

And Sarah found herself back in her living room, holding a feather duster high, and staring wide-eyed at nothing as the smoke alarm began to blare.

Chapter Text

The feather duster fell from her nerveless fingers.

Beee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee–

"Three kings …" Sarah muttered to herself. "Kings. He wouldn't. He wouldn't –"

ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee–

She gulped. "Maybe he would …"

Then Sarah exhaled in a sudden, giddy rush –

He just might … a tiny voice whispered in her mind. He might.

She felt her face practically split in two with a grin. If she knew Jareth – and somehow, God help her, she felt she did – he would swan into her house and leave her parents goggling with amazement and Toby off his head with excitement – I have come, he would intone, to take Cinderella to the ball – and then he would take her hand and whisk her away to dance –

eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee–

"Wait." Sarah's grin slipped away. 'Cinderella' wasn't accurate, not at all … She hadn't been upset at missing Toby's play, or even for dinner out at the Castle … so why was she so excited about the idea of the Goblin King coming to her – flying to her –

Fly to me, Goblin King –

She inhaled. A vision flashed before her eyes: Jareth in profile, gazing down into a chasm, his wild hair and feather cloak whipped by the wind – and him deliberately smearing a line of kohl across both cheekbones before falling – falling and flying –

eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee–

Sarah blinked. She smelled smoke.

"Shit!" she yelped. "The cake!"

Running into the kitchen, she gasped and choked. Smoke was leaking out around the corners of the oven door. Sarah flung open a window, grabbed an oven mitt and ran outside with the cake, in one fell swoop. She stared out into the cold winter night, her breath puffing out in a cloud from her mouth – puffing, and mixing with the smoke –

Sarah heaved a sigh, and bent to examine the damage.

She blinked.

The smoke had cleared. It turned out that it had all come from one tiny scrap of charred egg mix – blackened where it had dripped onto the pan. The cake itself looked –

"Good enough to eat …" she murmured. "Huh."

Sarah looked out at the backyard. Snow dusted over the ground, and stars winked through the grey and white clouds scudding across the dark sky. A flurry blew past her cheek – she gasped – a feather? Or –

"Just a snowflake …"

She stared up at the sky, watching the flakes falling.

"Fly to me, Jareth …"

Another vision flashed before her eyes: an owl, shooting through the night like a pale arrow, its silhouette cut from the inky sky, an opal bird set in obsidian –

"Sarah Williams!"

She jerked out of her reverie. A neighbor had called her – a neighbor, trundling up and down his sidewalk on his automatic snow blower. Sarah waved politely.

"Hello, Mr. Starr."

A grunt. "Hello yourself. Listen – is that your smoke alarm?"

Sarah sighed. Under the chug chug chug of the snow blower, she heard eee-ooo-eee-ooo from the other side of the heavy door. "Yeah."

"Well, turn it off before the battery runs down. Letting it go on like that is a waste of power."

She faked a smile. "Sure thing!" Mr. Starr turned the snow blower around – even the lines of his winter coat were grumpy. Sarah stuck out her tongue at him. "Tidings of comfort and joy to you too, you twit." She went back inside and slammed the door behind her.

Slicing the cake from its pan took less time than turning off the alarm and airing out the kitchen. Sarah shivered in the chill from the window as she set the ring to cool. She carefully set out the frosting, and prepared new mixtures of colored sugar.

As she closed the bag, her eyes fell on her hand.

Green sugar. He had licked the green sugar off her hand and had looked up at her, and his eyes – his eyes had –

The memory of his tongue trailing over her skin made her entire body tighten. "Oh God –" Sarah backed away from the counter, her heart hammering. "O.K. Calm down. T minus –" she glanced at her watch – "I don't even know how long until he shows up, so I shouldn't be melting onto the linoleum already. Geez, Williams." She clutched her elbows with both hands. "Settle down. Put a sock in it – oh –"

Sarah breathed out in a long rush. "Those socks …"

Had the goblins obeyed – she stifled a giggle at the memory – the Fairy of Right and Wrong? "Only one way to find out," she murmured.

She took the stairs two at a time, and began by opening a drawer in Toby's dresser. There, lined up neatly, were several pairs of socks. Red, white, white with red stripes – athletic socks, dress socks, a random sandal –

Sarah felt a laugh bubbling up. She hugged herself, and ran to look in her parents' room. Gaily, she rummaged through Karen's dresser. Pink socks, white socks, white with pink strawberries, pink with white rosettes, sheer nylons, black tights, brown tights, a stray tube of lipstick, a garter, an old Valentine's Day card with a picture that fell out of it – a picture that fluttered down to rest on a dog-eared copy of The Joy of Sex – a picture of –

"Aagh!" Sarah stuffed the photo back in the card and shoved the socks back into their places. "My eyes! My eyes!" She ran from the room and clattered back down the stairs.

When she had caught her breath, she shook her head a few times, to try and banish the image from her mind. "There are some things," she said fiercely to herself, "that you just shouldn'thave to see in life, and that includes –"

"We're home!" Toby caroled as he flung open the door. "And look outside, Sarah! Look at the snow!"

Karen had been cleaning her stiletto heels with irritable jerks of a dishtowel, her father had been massaging the back of his neck, sighing, and Toby had been pouting when Sarah brought the cake to the table. Frosting it had been a cinch – her fingers had flown over the icing and the colored sugar had seemed to sprinkle itself. The coffee hadn't scorched, as hers usually did – the living room had met with Karen's blinking silence, which meant approval, and the ornaments on the Christmas tree had twinkled and spun in an invisible breeze.

And when Sarah cut the cake and handed out pieces, the bad mood which sat at the table like an unwelcome guest vanished without so much as a snippy remark.

It seemed like magic.

"Why, Sarah," Karen said, looking down at her empty plate. "This is absolutely delicious."

"You said it," mumbled her father, intent on his second piece. "Where'd you get the recipe again?"

"Online."

Her parents didn't notice her clipped tone, and Toby was happily licking icing off his fingers. Sarah looked at her watch. Eleven o'clock … He's awfully late …

"Late?" she muttered to herself. "Did he even say he was going to come?" She bit down hard on a bite of cake –

Crunch.

Mutely, Sarah fished out half a coffee bean from her mouth. She looked at it, then held it up and shrugged. "Ta-da."

"Cool, Sarah." Toby's grin turned into a yawn. "Co-ol. That means you're the Queen."

Queen … She bit her lip, and let the bean fall to her plate with a tiny clink –

CRASH –

Merlin the Second began to bark. Sarah jumped, her heart hammering. "Shit! What was that?"

"What was what?" Karen asked, smiling peaceably.

Staring, Sarah got to her feet. "You didn't hear that? It came from the living room." She backed away from the table. "Just – just stay there, O.K.? Don't move."

There was no reply. Her family sat in a contented stupor around the table. Sarah decided to worry about that later, and ran to the living room. The Christmas tree lay on its side – again – and there were two stubby legs wiggling from underneath one particularly thick branch. She heard squeaking. "'Elp'elp'elp –"

Sighing, Sarah pulled the goblin out from where it lay squashed. "Oh, it had better be good."

"Fairy Lady!" it shrilled. "Fairy Lady – King need help!"

"What?" Her heart thumped, hard. "What do you mean?"

"King stuck!" It grabbed its hat and tugged the tattered fabric down around its ears as it wailed: "King stuck down the street!"

"Where down the street?"

The goblin looked up at her, its beady eyes round. "I can has lobster?"

"No!" Sarah glared. "Not for a whole year, you idiot! Now where's the Goblin King?"

"Follow – follow – and then I can has lobster?"

She gritted her teeth. "We'll see. But we need to hurry."

The goblin scurried out ahead of her – Sarah turned in a circle and glared at the Christmas tree –

And her jaw dropped as something flashed, and the tree righted itself, shaking out its boughs – and as all the ornaments pieced themselves back together and dropped into their places.

Holy shit. Did I just do that?

"Hurry, Fairy Lady!"

"Coming!" She ducked her head into the dining room. "Guys – I'm just going to walk Merlin, O.K.?"

"Fine." Her father smiled drowsily into his coffee cup, ignoring the dog at his feet.

Sarah sprinted out the door, following the goblin –

And skidded, almost losing her footing, as a cloud of feathers fell from the sky onto her head.

"Ack!" Batting away the fuzzy down and longer quills, she coughed and coughed. "What – what the hell?"

"Follow feathers," another goblin rasped from up in a tree.

"No – no time for feathers – Fairy Lady follow me!" The first goblin scampered down the street; Sarah dashed the feathers away from her eyes and ran after it. Toby hadn't been kidding: the snow lay thick upon the ground. She flew over the drifts, though, and less than thirty seconds later, she stopped, gasping for breath, in front of the corner house – the college house, she realized. She squinted into the darkness.

"So – what's wrong? Where is he? Is this some sort of joke?"

"No joke …" A faint voice reached her ears, and she inhaled.

"Jareth?"

"The same." The voice was coming from a thicket of trees from the side of the house.

"What –" Sarah took a careful step forward. She looked at the windows – all the lights were on. "What happened?"

"It's a long story."

She reached the trees, and looked carefully. Branches, coils of grapevine dead from the winter cold, random frozen grasses, a fall of ice and one strange patch of – was that glitter?

"Jareth!" she yelped. The glitter turned out to be part of the fall of ice, which turned out to be a white-blue fold of a cloak that looked to be made of satin –

"Sarah –" He spoke urgently. "Lovely to see you, my dear, but I need your help, before it's too late –"

"What do you mean?"

The front door of the house slammed open, and she heard high-pitched voices.

"… too late …" Jareth groaned.

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "Like hell. The only thing late is you, Goblin King – late for your cake, which Toby's probably finished by now." She spun on her heel as the giggling and tromping of feet from the front yard cut off abruptly.

There were seven girls staring at her. One held a tire iron. One held a shoe. And the rest of them were carrying what looked like a volleyball net.

"What the hell is going on?" Sarah shouted.

The girls exchanged glances. "Um," said one. "Uh – none of your business?"

"You're trespassing," another said, virtuously.

"Am I?" Sarah hissed. "What's worse, that or …" she stared at the implements they held, and everything clicked into place. "Or planning to commit assault and battery?" she snarled.

Several of them giggled. "Assault?" "Hell, yes –" "Yeah, she's kinda got a point." "Did you remember to buy the chocolate sauce?"

The giggling increased. Sarah's head began to pound. They're worse than the goblins."Stop – shut up – this stops right. Now. What do you think you're doing?"

The tallest one tapped the tire iron against one gloved palm. "The person – being – who may or may not be caught in the bushes behind you owes us, big time, on an investment that we've made."

"Investment?" Young banking girls gone wild –

"An investment of our time and trouble," another voice cut in. "For adventures and epics rendered."

"Yeah!" another piped up. "It's not like we don't have lives, you know, and he just keeps on pestering, and pestering."

"I do not pester!" The Goblin King's voice rang out; the girls gasped as one, and then erupted in a chorus of squeals.

"Enough! Jareth, shut up –"

"Oh, she is so mean …" a British accent crooned. Sarah gasped to see where one of the exchange students was catching the whole thing with a video camera. "You lovely, lovely man – I'll treat you better than she ever will …"

"Me too!" another chimed in. "And me –" "And me!" "And then the oral sex!" A guffaw, and: "Would you just stop with the Monty Python already –"

"Do you all mean to say," Sarah spoke in a level voice, "that you're planning on capturing Jareth, King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth, Ruler of the Underground – and holding him prisoner – where, exactly?"

"Basement!" one chirped. "We remodeled just for him." "Yeah – velvet throws, baby –" "Rrowr!"

"And that you're planning on catching him with a volleyball net?"

"Well, we've already caught him, really." One of the girls gave her a challenging smile. "We have the power of dreams …"

The power of dreams … Sarah inhaled. Her dreams flashed before her eyes. Jareth ablaze with light, holding a silver snake – Jareth in a black cape leading a horde of goblins, Jareth enthroned in majesty, Jareth seizing her, loving her – fearing her – Jareth as her slave, Jareth as her lover, Jareth as her protector and her King … Jareth as anything and everything she had ever desired –

She staggered, her head reeling. "It was you!" she snarled. "You sent me those dreams! Those stupid, trippy dreams, like the Seven Deadly Sins meets the Twelve Days of FuckingChristmas!"

"We like a challenge." The girl with the shoe lifted her chin defiantly. "And it's only fair that you should be on the receiving end sometimes."

"All we do is put them out there. We can't control who picks 'em up," the shortest muttered.

"Like hell you can't." Sarah felt her temper blaze. "Listen up – the guy you're all enthralled with – he's mine. Not yours. You can't have him."

"Oh-h-h-h-h," the group whined. Two of them threw their share of the volleyball net to the ground.

"So sorry," Sarah sneered. "But you'll just have to grow up and get a life."

They bristled. "We have lives, you silly bint – in fact, we're really busy people," the one with the shoe said, her upper lip curling. "And since you weren't appreciating Jareth, we thought we would. After all …" and she dangled the shoe by its laces, and swung it back and forth. "We have the power of dreams."

"I'm sure. But who's more powerful, chicas, you or the Goblin King?"

The group shifted. Sarah heard mutters, and then a few voices mumbled. "The Goblin King …"

"Right. And since my will is as strong as his, and my kingdom as great – well, that makes me more powerful than you, doesn't it?"

More mumbling.

"Speak up – I can't hear you."

They glowered. "Hair-splitting, that's what that is," one grumbled.

"But it's true," Sarah countered. "So guess what, all of you: you have no power over me, and thus, you have no power over him. So go back inside before you catch cold."

The tall brunette tipped her head to one side. "I don't suppose we could vote on it?"

"Oh, get lost, already! Jareth –" Sarah turned and crashed into the thicket – reached out, found a bicep and squeezed. "Hang on – we're going!"

"What?" he squawked. "Going where?"

"Just hang on!"

"No, Sarah – don't – you haven't passed the flying test –"

Jareth didn't have time to finish – Sarah took a deep breath and channeled all of her adrenaline into willing herself home – home – home – right in the front yard –

And then they crashed into a snow bank to the right of the front steps of her house.

"Ow."

"Hm?"

Sarah rolled over, groaning. "Ouch. I think I banged my knee."

"Ah. Well, that's a considerable improvement over what you did the last time you tried to fly."

"You call that flying, Goblin King?" She swelled with pride. "I think I just teleported."

"Hmph." Jareth sat up; then his eyes widened and he fell back down. "Watch out – they're looking for where we've gone."

Sarah focused on listening – and she could hear faint voices arguing, way down the street.

The tension drained away from her in a sudden rush; she started to giggle. "How – Jareth, how on earth did you get stuck in the trees by their house?"

He sighed. "Nice to see you, too."

"Oh, of course I'm happy to see you …" She rolled onto her side, and propped her head up on one elbow, drinking him in with her eyes. The planes and angles of his face, the eyebrows raised slightly, the thin lines around his mouth quirking as he spoke.

"To answer your question," he murmured, "I merely thought to hide myself from you in the backwash around their house. I wanted it to be a surprise …"

"Backwash?"

"Magical backwash, yes. They command a faint echo of my own ability – creating dreams from dust, something from nothing – and the lot of them together have been getting up to a great deal of mischief in the past few years." He frowned. "I'm not sure how they all came to live here at once, but –" another sigh – "anyway, I didn't want you to see me."

"How could I see you?"

"Sarah, my dear …" His eyes hooded. "I followed your path here as easily as I might follow a star in the sky. You shine. And I've been told I do the same."

She stared at him – at his eyebrows set off with a dusting of glittering blue crystal. His white-blue satin cloak that glittered in the moonlight. His ornamented brocade vest that also glittered in the moonlight. His hair that … Sarah frowned.

"You're really doing more glittering than shining at the moment, Goblin King."

He rolled his eyes. "Hair-splitting."

"So how did they keep you from flying away, my glittery friend?" Sarah reached out and nudged his shoulder with one hand, playfully.

"I'm not sure." His mouth thinned. "They lie about my pestering them, that is certain – as if I would do anything of the sort. I'll have to look into it, as this state of affairs cannot continue." He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. "One thing I am sure of, however: I am quite excessively happy that you showed up, precious thing. Otherwise, who knows what my fate might have been?"

"I think one of them mentioned chocolate sauce."

Jareth looked thoughtful. "Really? Perhaps I should pay them a visit after all."

She swatted him. "I don't think so – you have to come inside and have cake." Sarah sat up and brushed the snow from his cloak. "Although … I don't suppose you can change your clothes? I don't want you to freak out my parents too much."

"Anything for you," he said, gallantly. Then Jareth's forehead creased, and he reached out to brush feathers from her hair. "Where did you acquire these?"

"Oh – oh, a goblin dumped them on me. And if they're yours, Jareth – well, I'm a little worried. Can owls get mange?"

"No," he snipped. "Bugwittle had specific instructions: to release one feather every two minutes, the better for them to waft past your window and build a mood of ominous anticipation. I should have known better than to assume he could count that high."

Sarah grinned at his exasperated expression. "Speaking of …" She raised her voice. "Guys? Guys – are you there?"

The bushes around them rustled. Then two goblins crept out. "Iss?" one lisped.

Jareth fixed them with a look. "Home you go, lads – work's over."

The one with a burlap bag dusted with down – Bugwittle – gazed with hope at the Goblin King. "Lobster?"

"We can has lobster?" the other squeaked.

"Not yet," Jareth growled. "It has not yet been a day, let alone a year, foolish creatures."

They looked imploringly at Sarah. She bit back a laugh. "Go on home, O.K.? I promise I'll bring you a lobster like I said I would."

The two fell into a pout, but winked out of existence in a flash.

Jareth sighed. "I won't have a moment's peace. 'Lobster' this, 'lobster' that – they started as soon as you left and I'm sure they won't stop, since it's too much to hope that they all forget about it simultaneously."

"Poor you …" Sarah smiled. "Would you rather they sing about our king's enormous –"

"No." He stood up, helped her to his side, and brushed the remaining feathers from her shoulders. "You have done me a great service, pretty thing, but I would advise you not to push your luck."

"Have you forgotten how we left each other, pretty King?" Sarah murmured in his ear. He froze where he stood. "It's not your luck I want to push …"

From where she stood, she heard the faint sound of his breathing. It seemed to be picking up speed. "Sarah … Sarah, Sarah –" He spun to face her, in one flickering motion – she gasped to have his face only scant inches from her own. "Another piece of advice, precious …" His eyes flicked to her lips, and back up. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"I have every intention of finishing, Goblin King," she whispered back. "And here's a piece of advice for you …" She bent to his ear, and felt rather than heard him swallow. "Lobster tank."

A pause. Then: "What?" he growled.

Sarah pirouetted away from him, beaming. "Have your goblins build a lobster tank – a big one. Hell, have them build a hundred. That ought to keep them busy for a year or so."

"Terrible waste of resources," he muttered, following her as she skipped up the front steps.

She gave him a sweet smile. "This, from a man who dresses in several bank accounts' worth of silk and leather on an off day."

Sarah reached for the doorknob, then jumped as his hand landed on hers. She turned, only to find herself pinned against the door, his arms firm and unyielding at her sides. So close … Swallowing hard, Sarah realized that all she had to do was lean forward and she could press into the heat of his body –

At her swallow, Jareth smirked. "What – no more advice, Sarah?"

"I –" She bit her lower lip; he saw it, and his eyes darkened. "I think you need to change your – your clothes – Jareth …"

"Mmm." He bent his head and nuzzled at her hair, inhaling her scent. "So I won't … freak out your parents … that's the phrase you used, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she squeaked.

"Do you think they'd freak out if they saw – this?"

And Jareth slammed her into the door as his mouth landed on hers – he kissed her forcefully, and her mind went into shock – a good shock – oh god oh god don't stop oh god – as he reached down, tugged up her sweatshirt and coasted gloved hands up her body and – so close – she whimpered into his open mouth as the cold air hit her skin, and he responded by timing a flick of his tongue with unfolding his fingers across her breasts –

Her elbow hit the doorbell, and her eyes flew open at the sound of footsteps. "Jareth –" she gasped. "They'll see!"

"I don't care," he growled against her mouth – but just before he could kiss her again, the door swung open behind them.

Sarah cursed as she fell – damn and blast that Goblin King for a horny bastard –

"Do come in!" her stepmother fluted. "And may I ask your name, young man?"

She picked herself up off the floor and gaped at Jareth. Jareth, wearing a long grey coat, an ordinary suit, and with perfectly ordinary hair - head tilted to one side, smirking at her.

Then his gaze flicked to Karen, and the smirk turned into a smile. "Jareth King – I'm an acquaintance of your daughter's."

Karen took his coat and gloves, twittering, and traipsed off into the dining room. Jareth straightened his tie, smoothed the lines of his suit, and caught Sarah by the elbow. "Graceful as ever."

She bared her teeth. "Obnoxious man."

Jareth glanced at her from behind a tuft of his short haircut, then turned to face her … and the look in his eyes made her stomach quiver. He traced her lips with the fingers of his free hand, and bent close to whisper in her ear. "I'm not a man, precious thing."

Sarah swallowed.

A puff of laughter warmed her cheek. "But let's not tell your parents that quite yet, hmm?"

Karen had draped Jareth's coat over a chair, and urged him to sit. She slid the last piece of cake onto a plate and poured him a cup of coffee. Jareth made desultory chat with her father and Toby and scratched Merlin the Second behind the ears.

Sarah traced patterns in the tablecloth with the tines of a dessert fork. She could feel his stare burning into her bent head. How did I think this would be him just sweeping me off my feet?she thought, frantically.

"I have come to take Cinderella to the ball," she whispered to herself. "More like: I've come to make Cinderella melt into a puddle under the table, after her toes curl up and her insides combust –"

"I beg your pardon, Sarah?"

She raised her eyes to meet his; a mistake, since behind their amused gleam lurked something predatory –

"Nothing."

"Ah." Jareth turned to Toby. "Is your sister always this shy, young man?"

The boy laughed. "She'd better not be, now – now that she gets to be the Queen!"

Robert's chuckle covered the beat of silence that lasted until Jareth spoke quietly. "Does she?"

"Yeah!" Toby said, yawning. "She got the coffee bean, so that means –" he yawned again - "that means –"

"That she gets to be Queen," her stepmother finished, "and that you get to go to bed."

Toby gave only token protest, and Karen followed him upstairs. Sarah looked up from her plate again, cautiously, to see her father smiling into space, and Jareth taking his first bite of cake.

His fork fell with a clatter.

"Don't you like it?" Sarah asked, anxious despite herself.

"Yes …" Jareth breathed. "I must say, I like it very much."

And Sarah gulped as he pushed back from the table and shot to his feet, in one lightning-fast move. "Wait – what are you –" For he was striding to her place, and then he dropped his hands on her shoulders and bent and – Sarah gasped – licked her ear.

"It's so sweet, precious thing ..."

"Jareth –" she hissed, as he pulled her out of her chair and laid a passionate kiss on her neck. "My father is right across the goddamned table! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm becoming more comfortable in your home." He grinned and tossed his head; Sarah gaped as a strange flickering made him blur in her sight for a moment, and then he was dressed in leather and half-rotted armor, a black cloak and leather gauntlets. She threw a desperate glance at her father, who was –

Sarah felt as though someone had hit her head. Why on earth was her father amiably chewing a mouthful of cake – like nothing was happening?

"Really, my dear," Jareth murmured. "There's enough magic in that cake of yours to set off a spontaneous unicorn orgy. Your loving parents are so thoroughly enthralled that I could do the most outrageous thing I can think of and they wouldn't bat an eyelash. In fact …" his teeth glinted in a sly smile. "Mr. Williams?"

Sarah could only watch, as her father blinked. "Yeah, Gerry?"

"It's Jareth." The smile curled into something more animal. "And I think it only polite to inform you, my good man, that I plan to sweep your daughter away to my castle and to my bed and make passionate love with her until we collapse from either exhaustion or dehydration. Or both. In fact," he caught Sarah around the waist; she squeaked, "I'll start by laying her on this very table and licking every inch of her body until she screams the house down. What do you say to that?"

Robert smiled vaguely. "Won't that be nice."

Sarah yelped as the Goblin King spun her to face him. "Father knows best, dearest." He dashed the cutlery from the table with a crash and clatter, and swept her onto it.

"What – wait – hey, you nitwit, that was the good china! I – oof –" Her breath left her all at once as Jareth pinned her to the table with his upper body and planted his lips on her neck.

One long, hot and breathless minute later, he looked up at her, eyes gleaming. "You were saying?"

Sarah felt her mouth opening and closing. And the Oscar for Best Portrayal of a Goldfish in a Supporting Role goes to –

"I –" she began, and then gasped as her stepmother came into view behind Jareth's shoulder.

"I'll just clear, shall I?" Karen said brightly, reaching over the Goblin King to pick up a plate that had somehow managed to stay on the table. "Sarah, dear, tell me when you first met!"

Sarah tried to turn her head, but Jareth dropped a kiss on the base of her throat and she found her jaw tilting up, up up so he could trace his tongue across her pulse. "Oh god just like that –"

"Really? Well, your father and I met at the firm's Christmas party, after the Sam Masters case was finally closed –"

"Close your eyes," the Goblin King husked in her ear. "I want you to close your eyes and just think of where my tongue will go next."

"Shit – don't say it like that – ah!" Instinct made her back arch as he pulled back her shirt and kissed her shoulder.

"Hm. Interesting. What, exactly, is my voice doing to you, Sarah?" Would you like me to continue in a somewhat more … candid fashion? I wonder what your reaction would be if you heard me say –" and his breath was hot at her ear – "I want to do things to you that I've only read about. I have had only an eternity, my dear – eternity, a raging libido and an extensive library. To start, I want to take your legs, and –"

"– And when we realized that they hadn't a leg to stand on," Karen was still chattering, "it was only a matter of filing a motion to dismiss the case –"

The Goblin King's voice – crooning what sounded like "Selections from the Kama Sutra, arranged for Scratchy Baritone and Teasing Fingers" – set nerves on fire where Sarah hadn't known she had them. Her stepmother's words were background noise.

"– and then, Sarah, you'll be in my lap and we'll finish what you started in that throne room – and make it last all – night – long. Fairy –" he bit her earlobe and she whimpered – "myFairy of Right and Wrong, I'll turn your world upside down – like you have done mine –"

"Hey, Jordan, want to watch the game?"

Her heart racing, Sarah took in a shaky breath and laughed, helplessly, as the Goblin King straightened his back and turned, his expression thunderous. "It's Jareth!" he snarled.

"And, Dad …" She sat up on the table, carefully. "It's almost midnight – no game is on this late."

Robert Williams looked puzzled. "That's not what the little people in the TV told me."

"What?" She stared. "What little people?"

A crash came from the living room, followed by excited gibbering.

"I might have known." Jareth glowered. "They won't leave off finding a lobster, the halfwits. I'll take care of this, and you –" he fixed her with a hot look – "don't move."

Sarah smirked, and undid a button at the top of her shirt. "Not even to … change into something more comfortable?"

She could see, of all things, the cumbersome shoulder plates of his ragtag armor rise and fall more quickly. He saw her staring, and his eyes darkened.

"Well, precious thing … I suppose that, by 'don't move,' I mean 'move as much as you please … if …"

"If?"

A feral smile. "If, by 'more comfortable,' you mean 'more …naked.'"

She swallowed, and felt her skin prickle. "Naked?"

Jareth gave her one last, lingering look, and nodded – even as he turned and swept out of the dining room in a swirl of black cloak and bright glitter.

Sarah exhaled. "Woof."

"Gesundheit, dear." Karen beamed at her. "Such a nice young man you've brought home."

Robert nodded amiably. "Mm-hm. What was his name again?"

Before Sarah could laugh, she heard a high-pitched voice from behind her. "What's going on?"

The three of them turned to see Toby, standing in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen, blinking. "I heard this big crash, and I thought it might be robbers – whoa." He stared. "Who broke all the plates?"

"Really, sweetie," Karen fussed, "the plates are fine, and you need to get to bed!"

"No they're not!" he said, firmly. "They're broken, on the floor, and if you did it, Sarah, you need to be grounded like I was when I dropped the glass from the –" He stopped, his eyes going wide.

"Look again, my fine lad." Jareth's smooth voice rolled through the room from the opposite doorway; he made an overwrought flourish with one hand to take attention from the other, busy plucking a crystal out of thin air behind his back. Sarah saw him drop the crystal to the ground and kick it towards the shards of china.

He missed.

A poof – and Merlin the Second, hiding beneath the table, turned a shocking shade of pink, and sneezed.

Toby gasped. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated – "fix it, fix it, fix it – Merlin goes back to normal and the dining room cleans itself up, and Toby's sleepwalking, go go go!"

With a lurch of nausea and dizziness, she opened her eyes again. The table? Pristine. Merlin? An ordinary sheepdog. Father, stepmother, Toby? All smiling, sleepily. Jareth?

She shivered. Jareth was smiling at her as well – but with a strange, soft expression in his eyes that she had never seen before ... He stepped into place behind her and intertwined his fingers with hers, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Outstanding," he whispered.

"Who are you?" Toby yawned.

Sarah felt rather than saw the Goblin King grin. "The name's Jareth – some call me King – and I'm a friend of your sister's from a city far away."

Her brother's eyes went wide. "A king?" he squeaked. "For Three Kings Day? Really?"

Jareth inclined his head. "Really and truly."

"Wait …" Toby frowned. "How do I know you're really a king?"

"Well, for starters, I've brought you a gift."

Sarah stiffened. Jareth felt it, enclosed as she was in his arms; he brushed a kiss across the nape of her neck. His voice was quiet. "No fears, precious thing …"

Toby had darted over to the coat Jareth had draped on a chair – (guess he forgot to magic that back, Sarah thought, and – he must be distracted) – and was rummaging through the pockets. The Goblin King watched indulgently for a moment or two, and then said: "The red is for your father and the silver for your mother. The third is for you."

"What paper?" Sarah murmured, as Toby deposited a red box and a silver one on the table.

"I'm sure I don't know –" he whispered. "The goblins picked it."

She snorted as Toby fished out a misshapen gift, wrapped in what looked like a map and fastened with – Sarah stared. Were those clothespins?

"Socks, bras, clothespins … They should just start a laundromat and call it a day."

Jareth made a wordless noise of agreement in her ear; and Sarah felt her throat close up as Toby tore open the present and squealed. "Everquest! Awesome! Thank you thank you thankyou!" He ran up to them and beamed. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess, I suppose," the Goblin King said.

"Really?" Sarah asked, as Toby ran from the room, an echoing 'thank you-u-u-u' the only mark of his passage upstairs.

"Hmm. Well, I opened the Beeping Room to the goblins and told them to find something suitable."

"The Beeping Room?"

"You don't think they limit themselves to stealing socks, do you?" Jareth nuzzled her cheek. "I have oodles of games and scads of electronica enshrined within those walls – including more versions of Pong than I thought existed."

"Oh god, Pong? The King of the Goblins, playing Pong?"

He nodded. "On many a cold winter evening. Anything to pass the time … although I must say –" and he feathered a kiss across her ear. "I recently came up with a new idea to liven up winter nights. And summer nights. All the nights of the year, for that matter …"

"Did you?"

"Yes indeed. Shortly before I asked a lovely acquaintance of mine to – 'get naked', I believe is the phrase …" Jareth grinned as Sarah swallowed hard, and kept on in his low murmur: "You cannot imagine my disappointment when I realized that her little brother had wrecked the moment."

"Yeah, because screwing on a heap of broken glass is so comfortable and romantic, Goblin King –" she hissed, and broke off with a gasp as he tightened his arms around her.

"Where would be more comfortable for you, precious thing?"

"Um. Wait – let me think –"

"Where?" he rasped. "Tell me, and I will have us there in the blink of an eye, and we can fall to, my beauty, without any further ado –" he laid an open-mouthed kiss on her neck, hot and damp, and Sarah whimpered.

"Jareth –"

"Yes … say my name, Sarah –" his breath scorched her ear; she felt as though she would faint. "Precious thing … say my name –"

"Jareth –" she moaned.

He caught her lips in a kiss, and it was fiery and melting at the same time – as though they were standing on the sun-burnt hill overlooking the Labyrinth instead of in the ordinary dining room of her ordinary house, with her ordinary parents watching them –

"Jareth! That's it." Robert Williams smiled beatifically. "I knew I'd remember."

Sarah felt the Goblin King growl; she slipped her tongue back out of his mouth and withdrew slightly, cracking open her eyes to peer at him. From so close, she could not only feel each puff of his breath on her lips, but could see the lines carved where he would smile or frown – could see the faint beading of sweat on the curve of his chin.

"My dear …" His whisper was rough.

"Mmm?" She didn't trust herself to form words – not from less than an inch away.

"My own dear one – as fond as I'm sure I will become of your esteemed parents, might I suggest that we make a graceful exit?" Jareth brushed his mouth across hers. "Hm?"

"Oh – yes," Sarah blurted. She darted her eyes away from his grin, and spoke louder. "Dad, Karen, the presents on the table are for you. Jareth and I are going to go on a walk." Even if it is almost midnight –

"Stay warm – it's pretty cold outside," Robert said in a placid voice.

"Yes." Karen smiled at them. "I would choose the path between the Starr's –"

Sarah choked.

" – and the McPherson's," the older woman finished. "You know, the Starrs keep their sidewalks clear no matter what the weather."

"Yeah – I saw him with the snow blower, earlier." Sarah managed. "So. Great. We'll see you around."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Jareth bowed to them both, and straightened with a flourish and a smile. "And now, dear Sarah –" he held out a gloved hand – "to the path between the Starr's. And the McPherson's."

Sarah rolled her eyes and strode out of the dining room ahead of him, pulling the coat he had forgotten about from the chair. She picked up her pace in the front hallway, and then dashed out of the warm house into the winter night with a jangle of bells from where they twined around the doorknob.

She stared at the picture-perfect snow, and jumped from the stairs into the midst of it. One step, then another – and then she was running, practically skipping with excess energy and glee – with the even more excited knowledge that Jareth would not be left behind for long.

Another jangle split the winter air.

Sarah resisted the urge to turn around. Skin prickling with anticipation, she focused on jumping from drift to drift, watching the steam of her breath spiral out in front of her.

Was that the squeak of boots on ice? Or the pad of feet in looser snow?

Something feather-light brushed her cheek. Sarah started, then half-turned to look. All she saw behind her was the rich maroon of the door, firmly shut, glowing in lamplight and flecked with ice.

It was only a snowflake …

She reached the gnarled chestnut that marked the edge of her family's yard – there was the Starr's prim two-level house, and there was the larger McPherson place, which she had to squint to see, in the dark …

A twig snapped. Sarah jumped. Whirling, she stared out into the blue-lit winter night – glossy mounds of snow shining where they lay, pine trees laden with icicles, other trees thrusting their stark and bare branches into the sky. She looked up, uneasily. The moon was full – even though she could have sworn it had been a sliver only an hour ago.

Sarah looked back down. "Come on, Goblin King," she whispered, half-laughing. "The suspense is killing me."

"Such a pity …"

She gasped at the sound of the silken voice, whipping her head from side to side to see where he was –

"Where are you?"

A low murmur. "Patience, lovely one. It was quite rude of you to fly into the night without me … but I will be generous, rather than cruel …"

"What?" she hissed.

"Generous." The voice was sly. "Generous, beautiful, scintillating intelligence, overwhelming craftiness, a fine flyer with a finer fashion sense – I give you, Sarah … Jareth the Goblin King."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but then stopped, her mouth falling open.

For the wind had blown a flurry of snow off a tree branch, and each crystalline flake revolved in mid-fall – spinning round and round before expanding and growing down through the cold air. Larger, they looked like feathers – soft and white – and then she saw a hand reach up through the whirling mass and push back a fold of what was suddenly a feather cape, and Jareth was smiling at her, as pale and beautiful as the moonlight.

"Wow ..."

His smile turned smug. "Yes, I thought so myself." He bowed to her, with a flourish of the cape.

"I only wish I had a pair of cymbals to crash for you."

"Oh, your dumbfounded awe will do quite well, thank you very much." he said airily. Then he peeked over his shoulder and smoothed some of the feathers. "I rather thought this one your favorite, and I am pleased to see that, as always, I am right."

"Right –" Sarah laughed. "How many costume changes does that make tonight, anyway?"

"Sarah, dear, this is nothing." Jareth clasped his hands behind his back and strolled towards her. "Remind me to tell you about the time I gifted – hm, I forget the name – Sundime, or some such – ah … the time I gifted him with such a dream. A whole cast of characters, comprising eighteen costume changes, two-score musical numbers, and so many meat pies that my goblins gorged themselves on the leavings for a week afterwards." He tilted his brow. "And poor Labyrinth has never really recovered from an excess of cobbled streets."

"Dreams …" she sighed, hugging herself. "You fly to Atlantis, and you give people dreams – why hasn't someone snatched you up before now?"

"Probably because I do the snatching, Sarah." He feigned a haughty look for a moment, but then it turned wry. "And probably because the other powers see me as nothing but a mountebank."

"What?" She felt a prick of anger on his behalf.

"Too true. When I do pay formal visits to other kingdoms, it's usually with a painted cart, my harp and flute, and those goblins who remember how to juggle." Jareth smiled into her eyes, from where he stood – so close …

"Then they don't know what they're missing." She twined her arms around his neck.

He murmured in appreciation at the way her lips trailed across his jaw. "Well … I am poor by their standards, yes, and overlord merely to the flotsam and jetsam they exile … but they know better than to underestimate me." His mouth brushed her ear. "For I have the power of dreams …"

Sarah shivered as he kissed her temple.

"Yes …" he whispered. "The power of dreams, and such a generous nature – and such an outstanding figure –"

"Oh, for crying out loud – Jareth!"

"Hm?"

"Stop going on and on about how great you are, and kiss me."

He breathed out a laugh against her ear. "Your wish is my command." Then he darted his mouth to hers, and flicked his tongue over her lower lip.

Item number forty-two: when brain has melted, bring from simmer to a boil, then add two cups of oh my god I want to tear his clothes off and do  him in the middle of the Starr's sidewalk, and he feels the same way, because I can feel  it –

Sarah broke the kiss, panting. Jareth was breathing just as heavily as she, and – she felt her insides knot and twist at his expression. His eyes burned with that which could politely be called desire, but truthfully called hunger – intense hunger – ravenous hunger –

"You taste all the more delectable each time I kiss you, my dear …"

"Right back at you."

He smirked. "Although I prefer that coat of mine to anything else you have worn before – and do you know why?"

Sarah fought to slow her breathing; his voice was making every single nerve in her body vibrate. "Why's that?"

"Only because I will reclaim it, eventually – hopefully in my castle, undoubtedly after I kiss you, and most certainly when you are wearing absolutely nothing underneath it."

Oh, god – "Right." Sarah was proud of the way her voice didn't tremble. "But I think it only fair that I get to fly in through your windows, just like you did."

"Hm …" Jareth slid his hands to her waist and raised one eyebrow. "I'm not sure if I want such a spectacular scene to be copied."

"Yeah, well, somehow I think you've done every single grand entrance known to mankind, so forgive me if I steal one."

"True … too, too true …" He drew her to him and smiled a heated smile. "I am quite fond of grand entrances, Sarah. Of … all varieties."

He punctuated that last with a subtle thrust of his hips that she couldn't miss, giving how she tightly she was pressed against his body. She opened her mouth to retort, but something seemed to have stolen her breath away. Jareth's hands slid up her back; she could feel the heat of them through the coat's thick weave. He kissed her pulse, and she whimpered. "God …"

"If you say so," he murmured. "Though I will be just as happy when you name me: 'Please don't stop.'"

"One-track mind," she gasped. "I might have known – just like any other man – oh –"

"Not quite like any other man, my sweet. I have a one-flight mind – I'm an owl, not a locomotive."

"I once –" Sarah fought for breath as Jareth kissed along her jaw. "I once got a train for Christmas, and it was the biggest disappointment of my life –"

He paused, with his lips hovering over hers; she felt each separate sip of his warm breath. When the Goblin King spoke, it was in a voice that slid over her skin like crushed velvet. "Sarah … I give you my word that you will not be disappointed."

She could hardly think. Something rattled through her mind, something from earlier that night that echoed with the distant – bong – bong – she heard of the church clock tolling midnight.

"Midnight," she hummed. "Midnight – and now it's the thirteenth day of Christmas, so –" She felt giddy, and half-spoke, half-sang: "On the thirteenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me … thirteen double entendres –"

Jareth had gone still. "What did you say?"

She grinned up at him, her head spinning. "Double entendres. What you said earlier. You know."

His eyes were intent upon hers. "I can do better than that."

"Really?" Sarah knew that her grin must be approaching the ridiculous, but she didn't care. "O.K. – it's the thirteenth day of Christmas, Goblin King. What have you brought me?"

Jareth took a few steps back, twined his fingers with hers and spun her around in a circle. He sang: "On the thirteenth day of Christmas, I thought to give to thee … Thirteen goblins squabbling."

She swallowed. "That's it?"

"Well, you know the rest of the song, don't you?" A wry smile. "Thirteen goblins squabbling, an assortment of other oddities that will undoubtedly bankrupt my kingdom … and my heart."

Sarah's breath caught."What?"

He spun on. "Thirteen goblins squabbling - and you must see that the Fairy of Right and Wrong at my side as Goblin Queen would be an immense propaganda victory, even for a being as inoffensive as myself. And even if she required twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a'leaping -"

"Jareth -" she interrupted. She focused on the fall of his hair - the way it floated on the wind. "The last part of - of your gift. Say it again?" Her voice went higher. "Please?"

Jareth stopped, and twisted where he stood until she stumbled to a halt. His eyes were distant, somehow – owl's eyes – and fixed upon her.

"My heart."

Sarah breathed – in and out, in and out, just stay calm – and tried with all her might to keep her voice steady. "What do you mean?"

The wind plucked at the Goblin King's hair, pulling pale strands loose and mingling them with the feathers at his shoulders – all a wash of white-grey-gold against the dark, star-strewn sky. When he spoke, his tone was quiet, and grave.

"My heart, precious thing – is yours." He bowed from the waist, his eyes never leaving hers. "To do with as you please. Although …" and the feathers fluttered, in what might have been a shrug, or a shake, or the wind … "I would request that you treat it gently."

"Oh …"

Sarah could hardly speak. She gulped against the lump in her throat. "Oh, Jareth – I didn't think that –"

"But you said – wait. Didn't think what?" He sounded uneasy.

"I didn't think that I could ever love you – that I would ever –"

His face turned bleak. "Shhh –" he breathed, moving toward her as the wind might – one slide over the snow at their feet and his lips were at her own. "Don't say it." He kissed her, and she heard what might have been a whimper escape her throat. "Leave me something – anything – Sarah …"

Jareth stopped, breathing hard; she opened her eyes and saw how he was biting his lower lip, his own eyes closed. Then he spoke again, in a rush. "Precious thing. Do not ask me to leave my heart here, amidst the winter's ice and cold. Not after I saw you fly like a shining star above my Labyrinth. Not after I thought I had lost you, forever …"

"No."

Sarah felt the word falling, like a chip of ice – and she placed her fingers at his lips, feeling his warm breath coast over them. "No, Jareth … that's not what I meant."

"What –" His voice was rough. Her fingertips rose and fell, as she felt him swallow. "What did you mean, then?"

"Only …" she tried. Blinked back a sudden haze clouding her vision – where did that come from? – "Only that … oh, dammit, say it again!"

Jareth started as she took a stride back, away from him. "Say what, Sarah?"

"Just – just listen."

Sarah shivered, breathing hard, as she returned his stare – his arms extended, his fingers stretched out on empty air. She had the sudden, dizzying sensation of being poised at the edge of a cliff … ready to fall.

Or to fly.

"Goblin King." She saw his face stiffen, and continued in a rush. "Jareth – tell me what you told me before – long ago. Tell me what you told my brother – when you told me not to worry – 'no fears, precious thing,' you said …"

Words could only take her so far.

"Tell me, Jareth."

And Sarah fell silent.

It only remained for the hard, frozen lines of his face to soften, to melt into understanding – as she saw him flourish one hand, through the shimmer in her eyes – saw him extend a crystal to her and murmur:

"I've brought you a gift."

"All this time …" Sarah's voice was thick – something was clotting her throat – she wouldn't admit it was tears. "All this time, Jareth – I never asked you – why?"

He inclined his head. "You know why."

"Tell me."

"Sarah …"

The sigh of the wind was his voice, and the snowflakes settling on her eyelashes were the strands of his hair, ever more defined as he stepped closer.

"I've brought you a gift."

She blinked the snow from her eyes. Snow – not tears. "Why?"

"Because …"

Sarah held her breath.

Jareth spoke quietly.

"Because I love you."

Sarah's eyes stung, and her heart began to pound. Oh. Oh, wow – it's true – it's true, and why isn't there romantic music playing right now, because damn, it feels as though I could jump into the air and fly to the moon –

The wind had picked up. It whipped Jareth's hair away from his face – his eyes bored into hers, and his skin looked horribly white, even for him –

"Say something," he whispered.

Sarah took in a deep breath, a gulp, and felt her throat close and tears spill down her cheeks.

Jareth's eyes widened in consternation. He took a careful step closer. "Sarah – love – why are you crying?"

A crack caught her attention. She stared at the death grip the Goblin King had on the crystal – a faint line now bisected it. Jareth followed her gaze and loosened his fingers, spinning the sphere on his palm. "My gift – does it not please you? I promise – I can try prisms." He peeked to see if she were laughing, then bit his lip. "I can change. I'll do anything for you –anything –just –"

"No!" Her voice was ragged. "Don't change – don't change anything about yourself. You're perfect as you are."

Jareth went still.

"You're perfect – you're perfect, you're wonderful, and I love you."

His jaw sagged. "Then why – why are you crying?"

"No …" Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes, then sniffled, smiling, as the Goblin King caught up one corner of his owl-feather cloak and dried her face with it. "The question I'm looking for, Jareth, is: why aren't you crying?"

She looked into his face, so close to her own. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not sure if owls have tear ducts." He tipped his head. "My love."

Sarah laughed out loud, even as Jareth pulled her into his arms and slanted his mouth across hers.

Item I'm-not-quite-sure-of-the-number-anymore: Even a giggly kiss with the Goblin King feels like – feels like –

Working her fingers into the feathers and down of the cape, Sarah focused on the sensations of his lips on hers, his arms circling her back – the hot line of his body catching her in its warmth in the winter cold – the winter cold that she felt as snow squeaked beneath her boots.

I'm standing on the ground, I'm being held so close that I'm not going anywhere – but still –

I'm flying …

When they broke apart, after what felt like forever – not long at all, not long enough – Jareth took a deep breath, then another, and framed her face in his hands. "My own dear one …"

Sarah looked at him, closely, saw his eyes shining diamond-bright, and saw where snowflakes had melted on his cheekbones, streaking the kohl –

Wait. That's not snow.

"My love." He reached down to take one of her hands, and brought it to his lips. "My Sarah … why weep, when we can do so many other things?"

"Oh, Jareth," she began; he cut her off with a laugh.

"No, not that, at least not yet." His eyes glittered. "Do we have a one-flight mind, precious thing?"

"No." Sarah sputtered. "It's just that I can't help it when you kiss my hand – when you – when you say things like – like –" She glared at his heated smile."Oh, just say what you mean, birdbrain!"

"Birdbrain. Birdbrain." Jareth shook out his cape with a rustle and flap, gazing off down the street in a mock-insulted manner, and brushed imaginary feathers from his sleeves. "Very well. I shall use words even you can understand, Sarah …"

His eyes flicked back to hers. "My Sarah …"

And then she felt something take hold of her from the inside, take hold and set her alight, like the Goblin King might do to an ordinary crystal ball –

There's nothing ordinary about this.

I feel like I could fly.

"My love." He was looking at her dead on – Sarah could not break away from his stare if she tried. "Fly with me."

She felt her lips part – but no words came to her. No words were possible.

The Goblin King spoke in a low voice – hypnotizing, mesmerizing …

"The moon is full, Sarah – I placed it in the sky for you, to make room in your heart for me. The moon is full, and it is the magic hour, between midnight and madnight – when the world turns upside down and time dances with eternity …"

He took both her hands in his own.

"Fly with me, Sarah. Dance with me, until the clock strikes thirteen." Jareth's eyes shone like stars in the night. "Love me, as I love you."

Sarah exhaled. "Yes." She saw him smile, and she spoke in a rush. "I love you –" She gripped his fingers fiercely in her own. "I love you, and I'll dance with you through madnight and – and –"

Jareth's smile widened. "And?"

Her heart in her mouth, Sarah said: "And I'll fly with you – I'll fly with you anywhere. Everywhere."

She saw his eyes flash and darted forward herself – Sarah caught him in her arms and pressed her mouth against his in a kiss that began in warmth, escalated to heat and then exploded into what felt like the world falling down.

Sarah could have sworn that the moon had moved across the sky when she finally tipped her head back to look into Jareth's face. Either that or the earth moved –

"And …" she breathed.

Jareth looked as happily dazed as herself. "And?"

"And I'll treat you to lobster whenever you want."

"The Fairy Lady's Lobsters. Such threats to my authority and majesty ..." A dazed raised eyebrow was no less effective, "How could they ever be a treat, my sweet?"

"They're edible." Sarah grinned. "Happy birthday."

There was a beat of silence as the Goblin King stared – but then he threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing over the frozen street and rebounding off the houses shrouded in snow. Then Jareth placed a hand at her waist, and Sarah took him by the shoulder, and they whirled into a dance. His cloak spun out in a white arc, like her own dress, so long ago – but this was in the open air, not in a crystal ballroom, and the dark night had no hope of holding them to the ground.

They danced up the street, Sarah and the Goblin King, in and out of pools of lamplight, over ice and drifts and under the moon. And if you, or I, could reorder time to madnight, put the world into a crystal, turn it upside down and shake it, we would see them there, arms around each other, twined in an embrace, in a kiss – dancing between snowflakes that shone like pale jewels against the winter sky.