Author's Notes: this is a complete retelling. This opening sequence is based more around the movie's beginning than the book. I am in a rather dark mood.

I

"Karen, you cannot be serious!"

"I am. I know you don't like it, but this has to happen."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I knew you would have objected."

The spacious master bedroom of the Williams house might as well have been the boxing ring for an infamous champ match. Robert Williams was looking at his wife with such animosity, one would question if all the love he had vowed to her on their wedding day was gone. Karen Williams looked just as savage though, unrelenting in her position, neck muscle tight and eyes wide. Both of them dressed in fashionable attire, ready for an evening out, made the scene even more off kilter.

"Well of course I would have!" Robert shouted.

Mr. Williams was a man of simple yet refined taste. He liked order and predictability: bath rob folded over his side chair; meals at exact hours; the sort of man who orders the same dish at his favorite restaurant at least once a week. It was one of the traits that had drawn him towards Karen: a neat and tidy female version of himself. Unlike his ex-wife. She had been an actress. Tempting and alluring at first in the opposites-attract-fatal-attraction sort of way, but ultimately flighty and unreliable.

For him to yell at Karen was a sign that things were undoubtedly, strikingly out of order.

"It's done, Robert," replied Karen with a quiet resolve. Her cheeks were crimson from the strain of control. "There's no changing it now. And tonight's the night." She stood up from her vanity.

Robert's shout had disturbed the baby in the crib. The young boy had been playing happily with a stuffed teddy bear. At the sound of his father's loud voice though he had begun to fuss. Karen picked the baby up, trying to sooth him.

"This is madness," said Robert. "I mean I knew that you…" His voice trailed. The look that passed between them spoke of an understanding that certain things were never discussed. Karen's talents were unique and best left alone. They had potential for chaos. "I always assumed though that you were careful," he snapped.

Karen gently swayed, hoping to calm the agitated baby. "Of course I'm careful. Robert this whole arrangement was done very carefully. It won't hurt her."

"But," he insisted. "she's just a child."

"Would you rather me offer our son back? Negate on the arrangement?" Her tone was sardonic.

Robert ran a hand through his hair. Something told him deep in his gut that to do so would cost him both of his children. "How will it be afterwards? I mean, will we remember? Will she remember?"

"He said that he would see to those finer details."

He grasped at his last concern. "And she'll be safe?"

Karen nodded. "I have his solemn oath. Now here, take Toby and finish getting him ready for bed. It's getting late and I haven't heard Sarah come home yet. Oh dear it's raining," she commented as she passed their balcony windows. "She'll be soaked through. And we'll be the last arriving at tonight's get together. That girl!" She grabbed her hand bag and bustled from the room.

Robert watched his wife go. In his arms the baby boy wiggled and fussed. Robert's simpleness was also his weakness. A simple man is not a man of action. A simple man does not bode change well. Robert was simple and also spineless. As angry as he was, he knew he would not raise a finger to alter his wife's plans. Coward, coward, coward, he berated himself.

He left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. Toby needed a snack before bed. Food would help ease his fussiness. Gently he stroked the blonde head. In the kitchen he sat the boy in his high chair and opened a fresh container of pureed baby food. For a moment Robert saw the infant version of his daughter- her dark hair in place of the blond; her green eyes instead of his blue. They were both his children. How could he give up either one of them? Toby barely ate, but continued to fuss. He would have to cry it out in the crib. Sarah wouldn't coddle him. He wondered how much Karen had influenced the lack of sibling affection.

He heard the front door open. Karen and Sarah were at it immediately. Karen complaining about her tardiness. Sarah complaining about the expectation of being responsible for her brother. It occurred to Robert that this was a corner stone of their relationship: arguing. It will be more peaceful when she's gone, he thought and then scowled. How could he think such callous things? Sarah was his daughter! Sure she was a bit more like Linda than he liked; her flare for drama was annoying; not to mention how her dark hair and pale skin favored his ex. He stifled a groan.

Coward, he thought again.

Putting Toby to bed, leaving the house, and arriving at the party- all these things were a bit of a blur to him. There was a vague recollection of telling Sarah that they would be back around midnight, his tone light, and then her shouting something melodramatic. He had driven the family volkswagen, maneuvered through traffic and pulled up to the large reception hall without being mentally present. He glanced at the dashboard clock: it was a quarter to eight. Would Sarah have said the right words? Had he arrived? Was the cursed deed done?

"Smile Robert," chastised Karen checking her lips in the rear view mirror. "The president of the company is here tonight. He needs to see you. More importantly I need to see him. We'll get you that promotion tonight."

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Karen dropped her lipstick back in her purse and snapped it shut. With a practised sweetness she said, "It certainly does matter. You like our life, as do I, and we shall continue to pursue our goals of success and recognition. Don't make a spectacle of yourself. I swear Sarah gets her flare for the dramatic just as much from you," she commented opening the passenger side door.

Robert straightened his tie and got out of the car. He'd let his wife lead. She always did. She was a force in her perfectly coiffed hair, flattering yet practical outfits. The reception hall was alive with light, the sound of voices, and the clinking of service. She would ensure this promotion. He had little doubt that her special talent would work again. Though he wondered: was it his wife's skills as a witch that had led to his success these past few years or had it been this deal with the devil? He felt Karen's hand slip under his arm. It felt cold. He might be a coward, but he knew he could no longer love this woman.

II

Arriving home at just about midnight, Robert hesitated in the car. Next to him Karen chattered on about how successful the evening had gone, how his next promotion was a sure thing. After all the president had asked for a meeting to be set up between him and Robert on Monday morning. Sitting in the driveway, he glanced through the driver's side window, up towards the second floor of his split level home: the lights were off in their master bedroom. Down stairs he could make out some faint illumination from perhaps the kitchen light.

An owl suddenly swooping across the porch startled him to the point that he gasped out loud, felt his heart thump maddeningly in his chest.

"Goodness Robert," said Karen touching his shoulder. "Come on." She urged him to cut the engine and go inside the house.

He could still remember every detail of his daughter. Her long dark brown hair that skimmed her waist. Her green eyes that reminded him of Linda. The faint spattering of freckles across her nose. He hadn't forgotten her. Now what could that mean? Was that part of the consequences of the arrangement, this contract? He would remember her always though her existence had been blotted out?

The front door unlocked they came in. Karen hung up her coat. Perhaps out of some small hope, or habit, Robert called out, "Sarah?"

Karen eyed him with annoyed glance.

He ignored her. "Sarah are you home?" he asked, and then held his breath.

"Yes," came the reply. Loud and clear- it was Sarah's voice. "Yes, I'm home."

Karen's hand went to her neck in a clear show of panic. Robert's shoulders actually relaxed. She hadn't left! The plan hadn't worked! But the man, the arrangement… He suspected they were not safe yet. "How much trouble are we in?" he asked his wife.

"I-I-I don't know. This wasn't supposed to happen this way!" Her eyes wandered up the length of the stairs.

"What will he do?" His wife continued to stare, focused on the landing above. "Karen!" he exclaimed sternly finally gaining her attention. "What will the Goblin King do to us?" When she stood silent, in either ignorance or simple refusal to answer, he turned and strode into the living room. Clicking on a lamp, he made for the wet bar on the far side. Karen asked him what he was doing. "I need a drink," he stated reaching for the brandy. His hand shook.

This night had already been too surreal. His wife, this woman who was supposed to be his better half, had struck a deal with the Goblin King. He took a mouth full of the liquor and poured more. There were bits he still didn't quite understand, but the gist of the contract was a child for a child. Particularly a female child for a male child. This second marriage had come later in life for both of them. Karen, from the moment he met her, had expressed a near unrelenting desire to have children. The better part of her younger years had been given over to her craft, and now with a year of courtship behind them and wedded bliss achieved she wanted to start a family. And they had. Toby. A son. His male ego couldn't have been more pleased.

But the cost.

He had merely assumed that his daughter's distemper was due to the fact that her world, her own familiar, safe world, had been ripped from her. It was common for preteens to act out during or after a divorce. Or so every counselor had told him. In light of current revelations though he wondered how much his daughter had been purposefully guided into this temperament. How much goading his wife had participated in. He took another drink.

"We shouldn't rush into any conclusions," he heard Karen say.

He turned and glared at her. "I'm going to check on my children," he stated. He made it to the entry way before the lights went out. In the sudden, unnatural dark, Robert was reminded why he stayed out of his wife's personal work. Magic was too temperamental. It was too dramatic. Unpredictable. And quite frankly, scary. He swallowed again, tasting the brandy on his tongue.

"Yes, Robert, you do that," said a man's voice. It was cultured and smooth. Like a viper."For it'll be the last time you shall do so."

Slowly Robert turned around. Standing between him and his wife was a tall figure draped in shadows. Fair hair reflected what little light penetrated the darkness. The man swayed slightly, a cape rustling. The air tasted like ozone and there was a crackling of electricity.

The man spoke again, "I am due certain payments for services rendered. In light of current circumstances, my cost has just doubled."

"No." Robert heard himself say. He surprised himself. He should be a crumbled mess, cowering. But he had been given a second chance to rectify his wife's hurtful actions.

The man took several steps near him. The light refused to show Robert his face. Instead it was just the rustling again. "You have no say in this," he replied. "My contract is with," he paused and turned. "your wife."

Strangely Robert could see Karen's face quite clearly. She licked her lips. "I did exactly what I was supposed to do," she said raising her chin. "Encouraged her to learn about the Fae. Even made darn sure that book made it into her hands."

"Yet she refused me," returned the man.

"Hardly my fault," she quipped. "I practically gift wrapped her for you."

Robert felt his heart drop. His wife had orchestrated Sarah's destructive behavior.

"Curious that," said the man. "She was marked to be my payment. Your daughter should back in the Underground, instead she is up stairs."

"She's not," interjected Robert. His small courage was growing.

"What?" snapped the man his head turning.

"She's not her daughter," explained Robert. "Sarah is my daughter."

A moment of intense crackling passed. Robert felt it int he way the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had just revealed a very crucial bit of information. Something that could alter the contract. He was sure of it.

"Serves me right for making a contract with a witch," said the man. He addressed Karen, "You bargained with another's child?"

"The agreement was a female child, for a male child. There was no stipulation how that first child came about," replied Karen defensively. "Robert," she walked towards him with that practised sacran sweet tone. "we wanted to start our own family. Sarah only reminded you of Linda."

When she reached for his arm, he jerked away. "Not her daughter," he stated again. "Does this change the contract?"

"Yes." A false pause. "And no. I still gave you a son. I still need payment."

"She's just a child," said Robert raising his voice.

The man came close. Robert was finally able to make out some facial details: he had eyes that swept up and away in a most nonhuman way. And their color. Robert had heard of heterochromia iridium that resulted in two different colors of the iris, but never had he seen it so strikingly before. This man had one blue and one green eye.

"Well, Robert, that's precisely why I want her."

Robert's little bit of courage blossomed into full blown anger. He had dropped his brandy glass and raised his fist to strike before he had even considered the consequences. "You disgusting, pervert!" he bellowed. The man side stepped without flinching. Robert stumbled into an empty space.

"Don't apply human reasoning to matters you don't comprehend," said the man tersely.

Robert felt a pang of embarrassment at his sloppy attempt to defend his daughter's honor. "The contract is void!" he insisted. "She wasn't Karen's to bargain with!"

"True," agreed the man. He adjusted his cape. "But such facts do not void the contract. I gave you a son. Perhaps I'm feeling a tad generous this evening. I will let you keep your daughter," he said.

Robert righted himself. His mouth gaped. "Oh thank you!"

"For now," added the man. He moved to the wet bar and raised the decanter, sniffing its contents. With smooth movements, he arranged three glasses and poured the brandy into each tumbler. "I believe eighteen is the going age for adulthood these days." Suddenly Robert and Karen found their hands occupied with their own drinks. The man raised his own as if proposing a toast. "To eighteen," he said and clinked the lips of their glasses. "Do stop gaping," he then added. "It's not like you really have a choice."