II
Wishing and Wine
At least the room was poorly lit in order to attempt a romantic mood. That way it was very difficult to see the strained look on Sarah's face. She twirled the stem of her wineglass between trembling fingers and watched the noisy party before her.
As tradition, the small "ballroom" in the local hotel had been reserved for the celebrating actors. They ate, drank, danced, and laughed(loudly) all over the place. Sarah had always thought the location a little upscale for their shenanigans, but it didn't matter. When you were paid well, you could spend your riches in an elaborate fashion. She slumped in her seat, the only sitting figure in the room, and stared moodily into the scarlet liquid before her.
He could be anywhere-he could be here right now. Her body tensed, palpitations drumming mercilessly in her chest. What was he going to do to her? The girl who beat him, broke him down, his enemy-the Goblin King was going to slaughter a certain Sarah Williams, she was sure of it. But that note...had an almost pleading edge to it. A desperate, if somewhat formal, hint for help. That puzzled her to no end. Why would a revengeful villain require her aid unless...a trap. Of course. Wasn't that what Jareth was known for? Deceit and trickery for his amusement at the expense of others. That thought sent her blood boiling. How DARE he use her this way. How DARE he cause her the pain of remembering those trials. As much as Sarah missed her old friends, her saviors on that quest, and the breathtaking world of her fantasy, the real world was dispassionately ignorant of the Underground's existence, and she believed herself(now that she remembered the truth) to be better off that way as well. Now how could she function in everyday life, knowing she was being stalked by a chimerical antagonist of dreams? Instantly the girl knew that she could not rest while paranoid with the thought of an inevitable visit from the Goblin King. Although it had not revealed any information on when or where, the letter had claimed he would seek her out to expound on the issue. "Well, he better," Sarah groused to the tablecloth. "He has a LOT of explaining to do, the dirty ba-"
"Sarah, darling, come and dance!" Mrs. Lowry shuffled over, rather bright spots on her cheeks. A champagne glass, nearly empty, tipped precariously toward a passing couple. Sarah giggled despite herself-it probably wasn't her first taste that evening. A sympathetic look wondered over the older woman's features. "Still got a headache, m'dear?" She nodded without waiting for an answer and patted Sarah's shoulder. "Jus' rest then. I'll be back soon!" and she swung back into the crowd.
Headache indeed, but for entirely different reasons that her teacher believed. It was better than the whole truth, certainly. What was she supposed to do when the worried woman found Sarah clutching her head in the dressing room, flowers littering the floor? Breathing like she'd run a marathon, shaking like she'd seen a ghost... Which, she thought, she had. In a sense. Something told her the tall, ethereal figure hiding in the shadows of box number three that evening was not from the spirit world, but haunted her nonetheless.
The bitter thoughts of anger turned quickly to annoyance. It was strange, when she thought about it. Sure, he had terrified her all those years ago, and still did while his motive for visiting was unknown. She had won, defeated him and saved Toby from life as a goblin. So what business could he possibly have with her now? She did not know if she could stand to see his cruel eyes again, the way they read her, played with her mind. But presently it would be better than suffering in silence, waiting...
Sarah shivered involuntarily and took a sip of the wine. Just a sip. She could not afford to lose herself in the alcohol's forgetfulness, however much she wanted just that. She needed her wits about her, just in case-
"Excuse me, miss-"
"Ah!" She jumped nearly out of her chair, barely keeping the wine inside the fragile container. A hand fluttered over her mouth to still the outburst.
The poor busboy cocked an eyebrow, reached out to remove the plate in front of her, and backed away without a word.
Sarah groaned quite audibly and put the glass as far from her reach as possible. She slumped her head onto the place where her plate had been moments before, food barely touched, and closed her eyes.
"Dammit, Jareth," she thought aloud. She had only ever heard that name uttered in an eerily similar fashion by a distraught dwarf. "I'm going to go mad-if there's something you need to say to me, I wish you could just get it over with!"
Panic overcame her, stomach twisting painfully. She wrenched her mouth open, jerking her head up off the table, which only added to her increasing sense of vertigo. "Oh, no..."
"You would have thought that after your little incident, the words 'I wish' would cease to exist in your vocabulary."
She closed her eyes again. There had been no glitter. No gust of air. No movement withing ten feet of her. And yet he was in the chair beside her. She could feel him there, even if she could not bring herself to look. Nimble fingers found the discarded glass and she emptied the contents in one gulp.
Had her eyes been open, Sarah would have seen the newcomer arch a delicate blond eyebrow at her crude behavior. She also would have seen the cruel smirk on his lips, the way his fingers were laced patiently in his lap, and how his legs were crossed as he leaned back in his seat. Bored. Like he owned the bloody hotel.
After a steadying breath she set the glass down, a little more forcefully than was intended, and rounded on him before she had time to regret the decision. "You-"
"Yes?" His lips barely moved, but his eyes sparkled dangerously, form half hidden by shadows.
Sarah tried to shape words, but nothing came out. Finally she narrowed her eyes and hissed, "Explain. Yourself."
"Of course. I have every intention of doing so. Too bad, I thought since you've grown up you could afford some manners..." He shrugged.
"Now," she said a little louder, snarl marring her beautiful face. What a pity.
"Now, now, Sarah. Rudeness will get you nowhere." Wide eyed, she watched as he uncrossed his legs, only to prop two booted feet on the table. She returned a raised eyebrow of her own. He did nothing.
Jareth really hated doing this to her, but felt it was absolutely necessary. He was a king, and would not resign himself to begging quite yet. No, it was best to administer a healthy dose of uncertainty...let her know he was still powerful. Never mind that she had bested him. While that thought certainly amazed him, intrigued him, even, he could not let that weakness show. Not yet. His pride could not deal with the idea of Sarah having the upper hand, even though that was certainly the truth. Besides, he really loved the way she looked when caught. Confusion flickered there for a moment, then a brilliant spark in her eyes. Sarah stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair, and darted for the exit.
He sighed heavily, sinking into the seat. Why did she have to be so difficult about it? With a snap of his fingers he was gone.
Her breath was nonexistent-as she reached the door she chanced a look over her shoulder. He had disappeared. But that one moment of weakness was instantly regretted when she smacked into an unseen object in the dark. In her surprise Sarah almost tumbled to the floor, and the long skirts of her best black dress were tangling around her ankles-she could not move. Strong arms wound around her from the dark and she righted herself reflexively. Cold mismatched eyes met her own.
"Let go of me!" She struggled against his iron embrace hysterically, to no avail.
Jareth sighed and looked at the ceiling, but did not budge. Quickly she gave up her escape attempt and managed a cold stare. "Sarah, I am not going to hurt you." His tone held something like extreme patience, an unusual characteristic to his past demeanor.
"Then why the hell are you here?" she hissed back, aware that sooner or later the rest of the cast was going to notice her in the arms of Mystery Man. She was still pushing with a fair amount of force at his chest to widen the distance between them. However little effect it actually held, Sarah did it instinctively because at least she was doing something. ANYTHING. No way was this going anywhere without a fight.
"Because," he drawled. "You called me."
That shut her up.
"I was going to come in the morning, but you are impatient, as always." Carefully he pressed his gloved hand into the small of her back, guiding her back inside. She mildly protested, but there was no real effort behind it. His other arm was draped snugly over her shoulders-no escape. She tried heading back to her chair, safety in solitude, but he shook his head and swung her onto the dance floor. Her heart was in her mouth, the entire room was looking-
And then they weren't. She frowned. The Goblin King was in their midst, and they didn't even notice?! That was when she looked. Really looked. Yes, he was the same cruel king, smirk and all. But his hair was different, pushed back from his face like he'd run his hands through it, and fell just past the jawbone. There was no makeup, no glitter. Only a dark pair of slacks, crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and...leather vest. Some things never change.
Of course he took advantage of Sarah's confusion. Jareth swept a hand around her waist and cradled her fingers in the other as if she was breakable. She noticed, coming out of her reverie, that they were dancing. Slowly. He chuckled when her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Been a while since we danced, hmm?" He was towering over her, too close.
It was wrong, so wrong-didn't he understand how this was affecting her? It was like taking that peach-induced illusion, the heart of her childhood, and openly mocking it in a poor replication via adult life. Like comparing Broadway to that one high school play where everyone forgot their lines. But she couldn't let him see that. Deftly she avoided the question with one of her own. "What was with your little display of roses, Goblin King?"
His smile widened ever so slightly, and Sarah was marginally upset that he had not given a more melancholy reaction, something akin to her own feelings. "The most exquisite bouquet receives the most attention. It was my way of getting the message to you as quickly as possible...express mail, of sorts. Besides, I'm sure you enjoyed them."
Sarah frowned as they continued to dance, remembering that she had, indeed, enjoyed them. Even now, she could not help the tingling in the air between them. Damn. "Why the hurry?" she choked out.
"All in good time. This may not be the most appropriate place..." he mused, gaze wondering around to the couples beside them.
She opened her mouth to protest but a glove finger pressed against them. "Not here." How was he pulling off those gloves?! "Let's make a more...subtle retreat than last time, shall we?" For a moment she wondered if he meant her recent flight or the past masquerade. The music was slowing, coming to a wavering halt. Another song-bright, fast, heated, electric-was on, and people were jumping, literally, onto the dance floor. Without a second thought Sarah began yanking the Goblin King through the crowd. She never let go of his hand, not even once they were beyond the masses, but tugged him with such force toward the exit that they both nearly landed in a heap.
They stumbled outside, down the steps, Sarah practically running now. He could have stopped her whenever he pleased, but thought it better to give her some measure of control for the moment. Especially after that look in her eyes-fear, perhaps? Or mistrust? Jareth felt a twinge of regret for making her unnecessarily suspicious...he might have played up the villain complex a little too much. But, something whispered inside, this was better than her absolute rejection. His self confidence in the matter was startling overrated, he realized. They would get nowhere this way. She was gripping his fingers almost painfully, as if he would disappear if she dropped his hand.
Her brain was in overdrive, and somehow her racing thoughts sped up her feet. Maybe it was because walking sedately down the crowded street with Jareth's hand in her own would be more than awkward, but running with it seemed absolutely alright. Pulling him after was similar enough to putting him behind, out of the way where she did not have to address the issue immediately. Surely he would vanish again if she released him, and that could NOT happen. Sarah wanted answers, and the sudden urgency to get them was acutely painful. But not until they were somewhere else-so she dashed through the hordes of people winding in and out of the street shops, alone with her thoughts for the moment and the heady effects of that wine.
Several long minutes later, just when she thought herself done in with running, they came to a small house on the outskirts of town. Actually, the word cottage was a more appropriate term for the dwelling-small, snug, safe. The brick was a deep red and little shuttered windows adorned the sides, with a stone walk leading to the front door. As soon as she reached it Sarah dropped Jareth's hand like it was made of fire and dove to the welcome mat. After fumbling clumsily and extracting the spare key, she opened the door and stomped over the threshold.
Jereth came in a bit more calmly and shut the door behind him, a strangely human gesture of politeness. He surveyed the short dark hallway and room beyond in a large sweeping circle, coming to a halt at Sarah's back. She had stopped still, stuck, hand poised to turn on the lamp beside her. It was already lit, although she had turned it off before she left...
Her skin took on an extreme white and her hands went limp. The tiny silver key clutched in her palm fell, bouncing on the wooden floor with a musical ping.
Without warning her breath hitched, heart skipped, and Jareth watched as she fainted dead away.
