Sarah flexed her fingers on the wheel, eyes searching the road and the area around it. In weather like this, it was never easy to tell just what other cars were going to do. People seemed to forget how to drive, or didn't bother turning their lights on, or waited until it would blind everyone around them to turn on their emergency flashers.

At least the rain had stopped. The roadside was still basically a swamp — all tall, straight trees and thick brambles shooting up out of gray water — and every so often, water ran along the highway in rippling sheets.

Beside her, John Corlew looked out the window at the passing Virginia countryside. "That downpour seemed like something right out of Rocky Horror, huh?"

"Pretty sure it was voodoo," Sarah replied. She kept her tone carefully dry and resolved to have a few words with the Goblin King about interfering with her plans to introduce her latest boyfriend to her family.

So he'd been well-behaved during his little drop in visits for the past few years. So they were basically something like friends. That didn't mean he got to mess around with the weather and affect her relationship.

Whatever she thought of how it was going.

John chuckled agreeably. He was very good at being agreeable. In point of fact, he was the single most tractable, considerate man she'd ever dated. A complete change from what had been her usual type — distant, irritable blonds.

"Didn't the weather report say it would be sunny all week?"

"I even called Dad and he checked the paper. But you know meteorologists."

Sarah changed lanes and slowed down for their exit. After living in New York, she could see why her mother had hated the tiny Virginia town she'd grown up in. Thing was, after living in New York for four years, Sarah had a brand new appreciation for the old brick buildings with their white columns.

It was a town full of clean, white paint. At some points the paved roads turned to cobblestone; at others, the pavement just seemed old, like a bunch of rubble had been ground together until it was flat.

John whistled. "That's your childhood home?"

The driveway seemed insanely long. The lawn was shaded by ancient oak trees. The house itself was a white Victorian affair, two stories and yet seeming somehow huge.

"Home sweet home," Sarah said. She put the car in park and unbuckled her seat belt.

Thunder cracked and the rain started up again. Or, rather, down. It came pouring out of the gray sky in a great, drenching torrent.

Sarah resisted the urge to rest her forehead against her steering wheel.

Sarah grabbed their bags and slammed the trunk closed. Good thing she'd taken one look at the sky outside and packed Toby's presents away in one of her suitcases.

She led John up the steps and checked the front door. Unlocked. Perfect.

Inside, the foyer hadn't changed much in seven years. Robert and Irene hadn't changed the golden floral print paper or pulled out any of the wood furniture. A few of the knicknacks and vases had been boxed away in the attic, replaced with photographs of Toby and Sarah. They were brief, easily-overlooked and yet still obviously important chronicles of the Williams children growing up.

At some point, either Irene or Robert had replaced the picture of Sarah holding Toby on her hip at her high school graduation with one of her holding Toby's hand at her college graduation. She'd still been wearing cap, gown, and radiant smile in both photographs.

"Dad, Irene, we're here!"

But neither her father nor Irene came pounding down the main stairs. Instead, Toby came in from the garage with a half-soaked Merlin following him.

Sarah had twenty seconds to be surprised at how dark Toby's hair was, how big he'd grown since Christmas, before she had a suddenly-Velcro little brother clinging to her knees.

"Hey, Tobes. Are Dad and Irene in?"

"You're really here just for my birthday?"

"I promised, didn't I?" She ruffled his hair. "Your mom would never have left you all alone. So come on, where is everybody?"

"Mom's fixing up your boyfriend's bedroom. Dad's in the attic looking for something." Toby infused the word 'boyfriend' with all the disdain of romance a soon-to-be-eight year old could muster.

Sarah looked helplessly back at John. But John only smiled sweetly. He stepped forward and bent down slightly to introduce himself.

"You must be Toby. She's told me a lot about you."

Toby looked at Sarah, then told John, "Then she must love me more because she never tells me anything about you."

Sarah felt herself flush bright red, but John only laughed. "She probably does," he said over a few chuckles. "That's how sisters are."

However John felt or didn't feel about being on the receiving end of cutting remarks from an almost-eight year old, Sarah wasn't going to have it.

Fortunately, Irene's voice interrupted. "Sarah?" Irene called down from the upper floor. "Did I hear what I thought I heard?

"You heard what you thought you heard," Sarah replied. She looked up at the second landing. Irene was wearing a chunky necklace with a pink wedge at its center and was looking down on them with a stern expression.

"Toby, be more polite to our guest. And John, please don't hesitate to correct him if he gets that rude again."

"Of course, ma'am," John said.

Sarah didn't snort. John was about as likely to offer correction as he was to don tight pants, pointy boots, and spirit children away to a fairy world.

"Come on up, I've got your rooms ready. Sarah, your father is up in the attic looking for something. I think it's one of your old scrapbooks."

Sarah stifled a laugh at the thought of ever making a scrapbook again. Or touching one of her old ones. She'd taken her time figuring out how to move past her mother's obvious preference of her acting career above her family, but she'd done it.

Irene thought a moment and then said, with a hint of the impish smile Sarah hadn't seen until after her adventure in the Labyrinth, "Actually, it might have been one of our old photo albums. Exercising the right to show your boyfriends embarrassing baby pictures, that sort of thing."

"I can't wait," John called. "Did she fall asleep in her food a lot, Mrs. Williams? Do I get to see cute pictures of baby Sarah trying to eat cake?"

"Call me Irene, and I really wouldn't know. We didn't meet until Sarah was thirteen. Now come on up, I'll show you where you're sleeping."

Sarah and John took the steps up. She looked back to see Toby watching them. He rolled his eyes when John took her hand for a moment.

Eight year olds, she thought.

Sarah tossed John's bag onto the floor of his room. It was the house's main guest room — though they had one other — and had a large, four poster bed just like every other room. A huge wardrobe dominated one wall; a chest of drawers dominated the other. He was on the side of the house away from the trees, so hopefully no owls would glare balefully at him him all night.

Sarah put thoughts of the Goblin King out of her mind and turned to hug Irene.

Then, knowing what Irene expected, she made the introductions: "Irene, this is John Corlew, the guy with the tripod. John, my stepmother, Irene Williams."

"A pleasure," Irene said, easily reaching forward to shake hands. "Sarah mentioned you were a photographer?"

John laughed again. It was a nice laugh, rich and full-throated. "Yes. I do freelance news photography, mostly for niche magazines. Small market stuff."

"Are you working for any particular magazine at the moment?"

"Uncharted World," John said. He scratched the back of his neck. "They're paying very nice money for spooky landscapes and abandoned urban spaces. Things that look haunted or otherworldly."

"No wonder Sarah likes you," Irene said. Her tone was dry. She shot Sarah a look that very clearly said, 'Remember what you were still doing when you were fifteen?'

Sarah felt herself flush again.

Toby, bless him, had an eight year old's priorities. "So you go into haunted houses and take pictures?"

"More like I go into rusty, broken-down factories that look like they might be haunted."

"You've never seen a ghost?"

John thought about that for a minute. "No, I don't think I ever have."

"Can you juggle? Sing? Do magic tricks?"

"Toby!" Sarah couldn't quite keep the exasperated tone out of her voice. "John's my boyfriend, not a circus dog or something."

John just waved a hand and knelt. "I only know the kind of magic you'll have to learn for yourself when you're older. And I definitely don't sing or juggle. Or dance."

Sarah leaned in close to him. "Your cats think you're magic."

John put his arms around her waist (eliciting another ew romance eyeroll from Toby) and said, "Yes, but they don't have opposable thumbs."

Dinner actually wound up going smoothly. Toby finally stopped with the ridiculous expectations on John. John was charming with Irene and polite, bordering on terrified, with her father. She thought it was a bit ridiculous, really. Her father was about as threatening as a toasted marshmallow, and Sarah had already proven how little real input Robert and Irene Williams had on her life.

But there was no arguing with John. Not because he was stubborn: he just didn't argue. She'd been dating him for a year now and they'd had maybe two confrontations, both of which she'd started. He hadn't raised his voice or even really debated much in either of them. He'd only stood quietly and listened a lot, and then made thoughtful remarks, as if he weren't invested in the confrontation's outcome.

Things didn't actually get weird until after dinner. Irene banned Toby from going to play outside what with the rain, so he took refuge up in his room. Sarah, John, and her parents all lingered downstairs over coffee for a while. Merlin sat by her chair, tail thumping against the ground every so often and a little harder when Sarah reached down to scratch him behind the ears.

God, would Merlin really be nine soon? It was hard to credit.

Her father spared her the horror of the baby photo album, instead showing John some old remodeling projects and quizzing him about photography.

Eventually, Sarah yawned and stretched. "I had like seven hours of driving," she said. "I'm going to head upstairs. Night all."

Her father smiled indulgently.

And Sarah headed upstairs. She passed by Toby's room on the way to her own.

What she heard, she didn't like.

Toby's young voice asked: "But he's not even interesting! Why can't you just make him go away?"

"There are rules," an older man replied.

"Can I wish him away to you?"

"What on or under Earth would I do with a very boring photographer in my Labyrinth? Shall I give him a camera that sucks out souls?"

"At least that'd be kind of cool."

"He'd never use it. He'd point it at people and say, 'Oh, sorry, I suppose you need your soul. Move along,then.'"

Toby's voice turned sly. "You didn't say I couldn't."

"Oh, you can, clever boy. But the Labyrinth would simply spit him right back out for being a tasteless, texture-less, featureless lump. Don't bother wishing him away to me; I don't want him."

"Sarah likes him."

Before the Goblin King could answer, Sarah knocked on the thick wooden door. "Toby? Is someone in there with you? Who are you talking to?"

Not that she didn't know damned well who Toby was talking to. But it was probably wise to pretend she hadn't thought about the Goblin King since the last time she'd seen him. And it was definitely wise to pretend she hadn't overheard as much as she had.

"I'm uh, talking to —"

Sarah opened the door and stepped inside. She crossed her arms.

Toby's room looked pretty normal. He had posters of the solar system up on the walls. Books on such disparate subjects as dinosaurs, stage magic, and Grimm's fairy tales littered his nightstand. On one wall he had a poster of a woman in a tuxedo vest and fishnets; on the opposite wall she saw a poster of a stage magician in a tuxedo. In his top hat was the bloody carcass of a rabbit. Dozens of dead rabbits lay at his feet.

Sarah wondered how and why Irene had allowed such a horrifying image into her son's bedroom.

"That's Giovanni Zatara from The Books Of Magic," Toby said. "It's a special poster. Mom and Dad can't see it."

"Did the Goblin King give it to you?"

Toby shrugged.

Sarah turned to look at the Goblin King. He looked much the same as he ever had, though he'd toned down on the glitter a bit. Probably to keep up with Toby's terminal inability to be impressed.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Featureless lump, Goblin King?"

"Do you deny that he's milk-mild and very bland?"

"I'm not interested in contesting with an ego the size of Texas or walking my significant others through enough baggage and issues for an airport."

The Goblin King's mouth curled into a thin, sharp smile. "That isn't a denial, precious thing."

It wasn't a denial, Sarah realized. And yeah, John was a little boring. But that wasn't a bad thing, was it? He was affectionate, considerate, had an eye for the spooky, and they got along. He was proficient in bed — not particularly imaginative or passionate, but he got her off pretty consistently.

The sharp smile turned into a smirk. Almost as if the Goblin King knew what she'd been thinking.

"Go home, Jareth," Sarah sighed. "I draw the line at talking about wishing people away."

"Sarah," the Goblin King murmured. He said her name as if it hurt him, but his mouth caressed the shape of the word as if it were precious regardless. "Sarah, Sarah."

"What?"

"In this place, at this time, the line is not yours to draw. This is no longer your home. You have no power over me."

Well, shit. Sarah rocked back, suddenly wondering if he'd hated those words as much as she hated hearing them right now.

"Toby, send him away for the rest of the night."

"But —"

"He can come back tomorrow, but for tonight he's done. And don't you dare wish John away to the goblins."

Toby gave her a long, searching look. It combined well with his puppy-dog eyes. But when Sarah didn't uncross her arms or soften her expression, the boy sighed and turned to the Goblin King.

"I guess you'd better go now."

Jareth gave Sarah an equally searching look. His eyes seemed intent on her, making his gaze seem heated. Sarah could feel herself turn pink under the dry, scorching scrutiny, but she stood her ground.

The Goblin King bowed and vanished.

There was a barn owl lingering on the tree outside her window. Sarah closed her curtains to change into her pajamas. She flung the curtains back open the minute she was done, though. After a moment's hesitation, she opened her window and leaned out.

The owl shifted restlessly on its branch.

Sarah continued to ignore it, swinging onto the window ledge, then wedging her foot on the trellis right next to her window. She climbed it up just as she had when she'd been fifteen and feeling particularly dramatic. The trellis and ivy were damp and rain slick, but she made her way unerringly to the roof.

The moon was almost full. She leaned back on the slippery shingles and stared up at it.

The owl flapped onto the roof. It hopped awkwardly toward her, until at last she had an abnormally large barn owl sitting next to her on the roof of her father's house.

After a moment, the Goblin King said, "Toby is right. He's boring. You deserve better. He certainly isn't worthy of you."

"People aren't objects or achievements. We're all worth too much for any one person to be 'worthy' or 'deserving' of us."

"Learned that in your very fascinating Women's Studies class?"

That old argument again. Jareth hadn't understood the concept of Women's Studies at first. It wasn't like she needed advice on being female, he'd said. She did that admirably on her own.

Sarah ignored the flush that spread across her cheeks at the remembered conversation.

"Extrapolated on the fact that my brother is an individual with hopes, dreams, potential, and the right to determine his own fate. Not an inconvenience for me to wish away."

The Goblin King's mouth curved into a smile for a moment. "You've gotten better at matching wits, at least."

She felt a frisson of satisfaction at getting a genuine compliment out of him that didn't involve the words 'for a mortal.' "Seven years will do that."

"Toby says you studied the science of politics?"

"Political science, yeah." Sarah found herself slanting a lopsided smile at the Goblin King. He was sure to appreciate this one. "It's basically a study of power. How political power works, and who it goes to. That sort of thing. I mostly studied public administration."

"Sounds dry as dust." He flicked his gaze up to the sky.

Sarah bit back a nasty remark. She'd expected him to be interested. It stung as much as all the times John just didn't seem to care enough to argue.

She tried to explain.

"Well, it wasn't for me. I did a lot of courses in public relations and media management. I've got a few offers to help run some really important political campaigns."

Jareth looked at her quizzically for a moment. Despite his apparent lack of interest in a topic she'd found fascinating enough to spend four years studying, his lopsided eyes gleamed. He was evaluating, gearing up to score a point in their friendly debate.

She'd wondered sometimes if their debates were something more than friendly. Were they trying to get to know each other for some other purpose, or just for amusement? Was he still in love with her?

"At last, I see where you and John fit together: mortal ambition. The desire to earn more and wield more power in your respective fields."

"You say that like you disapprove of ambition."

"Ambition is natural. All things strive. But you could reach so much higher than these mortal aspirations you speak of."

"I'm mortal." She sighed.

Jareth turned to face her. The pupil of his right eye was wide. Either his magic or weird fae physiology made his eyes seem to shine a bit like a cat's (or an owl's) as he stared at her. His gaze on her was intent again, intense and warm.

He leaned in toward her.

Her breath caught. She didn't lean away.

And, down below, back in the room she'd just climbed out of, somebody knocked on her door. When she didn't answer, they knocked again, and then she heard the door creak open. It closed and locked with a soft click.

"Sarah?" John whispered.

Jareth launched himself off the roof. Feathers drifted on the wind. A barn owl soared away. His wings beat the air hard; he could have been flying to the moon, or the distant mountains, or another world entirely. She spent a moment imagining that other world, imagining what it would be like to become a bird just by thinking about it.

Then she climbed back down into her room and tried to ignore the sweet ache that suffused her bones.

"God, you're soaked through. And freezing." John rubbed his hands along her shoulders. After a long moment of hesitation, he murmured, "Let's get you out of those clothes and into something warm."

Jareth would have made that offer imply wonderful, filthy promises. But John just sounded… nice.

She shucked her shirt and kissed him. John smiled against her lips.

Sarah woke at three in the morning to find the owl back outside her window, and John snoring lightly next to her. The owl gave her a baleful look. She stuck her tongue out at it, food for a conversation with Jareth later, and sent John back to the guest room. Her parents didn't check on her in the night anymore, but it was probably a good idea to at least pretend nobody had spent the night in anybody else's room.

He took one of her pillows with him, sleep mussed and gray eyes fever-bright in the darkness.

Sarah thought about going back to bed. But like hell was she going to let the Goblin King get away with glaring at her when she should have been in post-coital bliss. Watching was creepy, and the resentful look wasn't much better.

She climbed out of her window and made her way to the owl's branch. The owl didn't move. It just kept staring at her bedroom. So she reached out to poke it. It snapped at her.

Not actually the Goblin King, then.

She sighed, climbed back into her room, and slammed the window shut. She pulled the curtains closed, just for good measure, and tossed and turned until seven, when the sun rose and Toby came bounding into her room.

"Sarah! Sarah! Sarah! It's my birthday!"

"Happy birthday," she groaned. Then she rolled over and pulled the pillows back over her head.

Four minutes later, she pulled her pajama pants back on and put on an actual tee shirt, then headed downstairs. She found Toby bounding around the ground floor excitedly, while John tried simultaneously to keep Toby under control and squeeze orange juice for the family breakfast.

He wasn't having any luck. And from the way Toby reacted every time John opened his mouth, he wouldn't have any better luck if he wasn't attached to a juicer. Quite frankly, Sarah doubted John could have intimidated or occupied Toby if he'd wielded an electric carving knife and a really scary look.

Family breakfast was nice. John was nice to her parents, and he cleared the table and did the dishes. She helped him while Toby ran around outside.

"When's the party again?" John watched Toby through the kitchen window. An amused, indulgent smile lingered on his lips.

He didn't look at all like he'd been rousted out of his girlfriend's bed at three AM. In fact, he looked perfectly presentable, and not like he'd been having very gentle, very methodical — no, thorough sex with his girlfriend the night before.

"Four," Sarah replied. "I think I need some coffee."

She grabbed her mug, rinsed it out, and poured more coffee into it. She added sugar and a dollop of chocolate syrup. Her parents were kind enough to leave it by the coffee pot when she was home.

"Do you usually sit on the roof right after it's been raining? Isn't that dangerous?"

Sarah thought about the desperate dash away from the Cleaners, begging and praying for a door to open so she wouldn't be cut to ribbons.

"It's not a thirty-foot fall," she replied. "I might break a few bones, but —"

John shut off the tap with a jerk. His voice, when he spoke, was flat. "Break a few bones."

"Well, yeah, I mean, it's fifteen or twenty feet. I definitely wouldn't just be able to walk it off."

"So you know that you could get very badly hurt," he said, voice very quiet, "but you do it anyway."

"I've been doing it since I was a kid. I've never fallen, not even on foggy or windy nights. I'll be perfectly safe."

For once, John looked like he wanted to say something. He even opened his mouth to argue. Sarah waited, almost hoping he would. Her rooftop habits weren't actually up for debate, but a debate about anything from him would have been nice.

Then he sighed and said, "Well, I have no right to stop you. But I wish you wouldn't climb on the roof."

"Sorry," she said in a cheerful tone. "But, you know, if wishes were fishes." Her smile felt stretched.

"Sarah, there's balloons and stuff in the park. Do you think Jareth did it?!" Toby was barreling in from the garage when he spoke. "Ooh, are you guys arguing? Lemme guess, he started it and you're finishing it."

"Just a conversation, Toby," John said. His tone was calm, even a little bright, but his eyes never left Sarah. Either he was pissed that she wasn't going to give up the roof thing, or he was finally pissed at the way Toby talked about him.

Sarah saw John's mouth twist into a frown. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Toby's just insecure. He's used to being my number one priority."

John tilted his head to kiss her on the mouth, then he stepped back and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You mind if I take the car into town?"

"Take it with my blessing," she said. "I won't even torture you and ask you to be back by four."

"I wouldn't dream of missing Toby's party."

She watched him go, and couldn't help the feeling of disquiet that John hadn't asked who the hell Jareth was and why he would set up balloons in the park.

John didn't come back for the party. At first Sarah worried he'd gotten lost. Then she worried there might be more water on the roads.

Then she worried Toby had wished for something stupid or awful. So she headed up to her room, closed and locked the door, and said, "Jareth?"

"I'm here, precious." His voice came from a few paces behind her. She turned. He was leaning against the far wall, for once in something like normal clothing. Actually, to be fair, he'd dropped the fairy tale glam rocker look for straight up grunge.

Sarah refused to let herself be distracted. "Jareth, where's John?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Am I your lover's keeper?"

"Has Toby made some sort of stupid wish, or —"

Jareth strode toward her. He reached out, grabbing her hands. The touch was electric. Sarah drew in a breath.

"Toby has not wished him away to me, nor made any wish regarding your present lover. I have not seen him. I thought we left that false villain-heroine dichotomy behind four years ago."

"Then where could he possibly —"

Sarah cut off. Jareth opened his mouth, probably gathering steam to point out that the mantle of protection he'd offered her family didn't extend to her boyfriends.

They were saved by Irene's call of, "Sarah! It's time to cut the cake!"

So Sarah went downstairs. Jareth followed her. She stopped to ask him what the hell he was doing, but her father clapped Jareth on the shoulder.

"Good to see you, Jay," he said. "How'd you make it? I heard the road to this part of town got flooded. Sarah, John's stuck out there. I'd say we should stage a rescue, but I think we'd need a boat."

"Poor chap," Jareth said. He sounded only mildly sympathetic. "I guess I must have managed to make it in before the roads closed."

"You've got some luck," her father said, shaking his head. "Alright, I'd better get downstairs and distract the ravening horde. A history of unsettling birthday wishes, large amounts of sugar, and twelve eight-year-old boys are not a good combination."

With that he passed them on the stairs and headed down toward the dining room.

"Birthday wish?" Jareth looked to her. He raised an eyebrow.

The gleam in his eye gave her the impression of an excited child. As if he were asking permission to do something that genuinely excited him.

Sarah sighed. "If you want to go granting wishes, just… promise me one thing."

"Only one? Name it, and I will consider."

"He's eight years old today. No price tags, no classic faerie careful-what-you-wish-for literal genie consequences."

Jareth's face shuttered closed. "I'm not without mercy, Sarah."

"No, you're not," she admitted. "But you're a trickster archetype if I've ever met one. Please, promise me?"

Jareth bowed without breaking eye contact. "You have my word: I will interpret all wishes in the most lenient manner possible and will constrain all consequences to their mildest possibilities."

She sighed in relief.

"Happy birthday dear Toby," eleven eight year olds, her parents, and Sarah sang. She didn't hear Jareth's voice, but he was clearly out of his depth as far as mortal birthday customs went. "Happy birthday to you~"

"Alright, blow out your candles and make a wish," Irene said. She was smiling. She had a cake shaped like a top hat in her hands.

Toby thought for a moment, then murmured, "I wish Sarah and Jareth were my mom and dad."

He took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks —

Eight candles glittered on a cake shaped like a top hat. Eleven boys, Dad, Irene, and Sarah were all gathered around.

Even Jareth joined in.

"Happy birthday dear Toby~ happy birthday to you~"

Irene smiled. "Alright, blow out your candles and make a wish!"

Toby was silent for a moment. He looked down at his candles, then whispered, "I wish Jareth and Sarah could be my parents."

He puffed up his cheeks and blew. One of the candles winked, flickered, and —

"Blow out your candles and make a wish!"

Toby turned to look at Jareth and Sarah. Sarah blinked to realize that Jareth was standing near her. So near she could feel his body heat. When had he moved to be next to her?

"I wish Jareth and Sarah —"

The flickering candlelight froze.

And then resumed.

"—were my parents."

Toby puffed his cheeks. The candles guttered out. The world went dark.