A/N: Thanks for the reviews c.a.s.1404, 8-trackwonderbot and Roxy87!

Chapter 6

"Are you ready to accept defeat?" Marak Wolfang fell into step beside Aganir Melanur as he retreated from Helen's home.

"Defeat?" The elf took off his green mask and began tossing it about. "In case you missed it, I just achieved a great victory in our little battle."

"I must have missed it," Marak agreed. "What I did manage to see was Helen refusing to dance with you, even in what she thought was a dream. She doesn't dance, you see. She strikes me as much too serious for that nonsense."

"You goblins..." Aganir shook his head sympathetically. "You're such simple creatures. You can only see what's on the outside. You can never manage to look beyond at the subtly within."

"And this 'subtly' said what, exactly?"

"She wants to dance. Specifically, she wants to dance with me, but she is afraid. Possibly of embarrassment. Possibly of something else. What's important is, Helen will wake up regretting her timidity and will be ready to dance with me tomorrow night."

"Really?" Wolfang asked, skeptically.

"Or the night after," Melanur conceded. "You see, you've attracted Helen with books. I've attracted her with myself. It isn't a mystery which attraction holds the most appeal for a young girl, soon to be a woman."

"Wolfang shook his head, remembering his tutor's lessons on elves and their large supply of optimism.

Helen awoke that morning, still feeling the tingle from where he dream version of Mr. Aganir's breath brushed against her cheek when he whispered in her ear. That dream felt so real. If it weren't for the absurdity of a stranger she barely knew and thoroughly insulted, appearing in her bedroom, she might question whether it really did happen or not.

"What exactly do we know about Mr. Aganir?" Helen asked at the breakfast table with her family.

"Not much more than we saw last night," Aunt Vivian replied, before stuffing eggs into her mouth. "He's a rich foreigner."

"I heard from Pete Richardson that he's probably a monster," Robert said, matter-of-factly. "There's stories about creatures who live in the forests and only come out at night and who steal girls."

"Are you talking about the goblins?" Helen asked.

"So they're real, are they?" the boy asked, rather excitedly.

"Of course not," she said. "They're just folktales. But what do those stories have to do with Mr. Aganir?"

"He never comes out during the day, he held a masked ball to hide his face, and no one has seen him except for that night," Robert listed off. "He is a goblin. It's the only explanation."

"Rubbish," Helen said.

"Yeah, it's rubbish, until they come and drag you away in the night." The barred his teeth and let out a growl.

The young woman rolled her eyes.

"Robert, that is enough," Vivian said. "I'll have no more of that talk."

The boy focused in on his eggs again. "Why do you want to know about Aganir anyway? Do you fancy him?"

"Don't be absurd," Helen said, though her face burned.

The more Helen thought about it, the more she couldn't get those folktales out of her mind. Mr. Aganir certainly wasn't a goblin. But there was something strange, almost otherworldly about him: the musical quality of his voice when he spoke o laughed, the grace of his movements, the mystery surrounding him. There was just something not right.

Helen continued puzzling over the masked man while she volunteered at the hospital and even when she went to visit Mr. Marak's library.

"You're not looking at your usual medical books," the bandaged man observed as Helen ran her fingers down the rows of fairytales.

"My brother's been talking about local folktales," Helen explained. "He's got some mad notion that Mel Aganir is a goblin."

Marak let out such a booming laugh that he startled her.

"That was fairly close to my response as well," she said smiling at him. "I can't imagine anyone else less likely to be some ugly, little goblin than Mr. Aganir."

Helen laughed softly herself at the idea, remembering the lush, black curls that crowned his head and those lips that curved into a flawless smile.

A few moments passed before she realized Marak wasn't laughing anymore. She looked up to find his gold eyes studying her from behind the bandages. Helen knew she must be mistaken, but she thought she saw concern brewing in those eyes.

"Do you know anything about those folktales or have a book on them, perhaps?" the girl asked.

"I know a lot about those stories," Marak said, still studying her. "And I have countless books on the subject."

"Really?" Helen turned back to the bookcase. "Which ones are they?"

"They're not here," he said. "They're kept in my ancestrial home. But I can tell you about them, if you like. But we should sit down first; it's a very long story."