This has not been beta-read. I just thought I should warn you.
Sarah had a vague idea about what her new house probably looked like. Irene loved Victorian architecture. Having grown up in a bland, crowded New York City brownstone, she craved color and age. So it was safe to assume that their new house would be something like their old house. In some ways it was, but for the most part, it wasn't.
"Is that our home?" Toby mumbled to Sarah as the station wagon rumbled up Painted Gable Avenue. Their house was the last on the street, right at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was as if every other house was afraid to go near it. Its wrought iron fence seemed more like a cage than a decorative accent. A Sugar Maple tree, with leaves painted red by autumnal artists, dominated the front yard, casting eerie shadows on the front yard.
"Maybe," Sarah whispered back as Irene pulled into the driveway. There weren't enough words in the English language to actually describe the house. It was everything and nothing American Queen Anne houses had ever been, ripping off every cliché in the history of Victorian Architecture. Just as Irene insisted, it was a painted lady, meaning it was painted with at least three different colors. The wooden, fish-scaled roof was a deep maroon, while the clapboard siding was painted myrtle green. All of the trim was painted was painted marigold yellow, except for the wrap-around porch, which was just stained in order to highlight the beauty of the oak floorboards.
The garish color scheme was only half of it. The house was massive, two stories tall with what looked like a finished attic, at least from the outside. There were turrets on every corner, a balcony on the second floor (that must've been the master bedroom), and even a square tower!
As soon as the car came to complete stop, Sarah and Toby bolted out, dashing into the front yard to get a better look at the massive building.
"Dibs on the tower bedroom!" Sarah called out before it even occurred to Toby. Like a true five-year-old, he immediately protested, arguing the picking bedrooms went from oldest to youngest, but both Irene and Robert sided with their oldest daughter.
"Your bedroom is on the first floor, buddy," Robert sighed, a clear indication that he had no say in who got what bedroom. He and Irene started hauling out the bags of apples, which were still crisp and cool, despite the nine hour drive.
Gazing up at the tower bedroom, Sarah saw smoky purple walls offset with white crown molding through the massive bay window. She could even see a trap door on the ceiling, meaning that her bedroom had its own attic. 'Awesome.'
"I hope a ghost lives in your closet," the towheaded boy grumbled unhappily as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him, happy to be arguing over simple things.
"It's quite possible," a lovely voice floated towards them on the wind. Sarah peered over her shoulder, surprised by the sudden appearance of what had to be one of their neighbors. She looked quite witchy, dressed head to toe in black. A swishy peasant skirt swung round her ankles, with a copper coined belt slung low on her hips. Over a simple black camisole, she wore a long-sleeved, rose-patterned lace shirt that clung to her lean frame like a second skin. She was barefoot, but her toes were painted a blinding shade of neon pink.
To top things off, in her long, lean arms, she was carrying what had to be the prettiest cat Sarah had ever seen. It was thin and sleek, with fur that shone bronze, golden, and even sage green in the dying sunlight. Black stripes and spots made it look like a cross between a tiger and a cheetah. But it was those eyes that made it a proper witch's familiar. One was brown, and the other was blue.
"That house is over one-hundred years old," she continued, pausing briefly to scratch beneath the cat's chin. It hissed and flattened its ears against its head, as cats were wont to do. Cats didn't have owners, after all. They had staff.
"How do you know that?" Toby cried as he ran over to the fence, with the eagerness of a young child who saw something furry and cute. The cat looked less than pleased by the boy's sudden approach.
"Did anyone die in it?" he asked with just a bit too much enthusiasm. He was staring at the cat with the lust of a dieter set loose in a candy shop. The cat stared at Toby with open disdain. From what she knew of cats, they weren't fond of small, clumsy children.
Deeply amuse by the cat's arrogance, but fearing for Toby all the same, Sarah tucked her hands in the pockets of her sweater and walked over to her brother. She was hoping to prevent a potential feline smack-down. Putting on her best 'new neighbor' smile, she gently placed a warning hand on Toby's shoulder
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am." Actually, Sarah wasn't sure if the woman was a miss or a ma'am. Her hair was brown with no color variation, and her face wasn't wrinkled or sagging. But her eyes were so wise they had to be ancient. When they traveled over Sarah's body, she could literally feel the lingering once-over. It left her feeling feverish and flushed, much like Jareth's eyes did – but in a very different way. She felt that this woman knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets just by looking at her.
"I'm Morgan Lafferty. I live next door," the woman, Morgan, intoned airily. She tilted her head to the right, indicating that the Victorian farmhouse just next door belonged to her. It was smaller, quainter, but even more colorful. Morgan's house was barn red with a black roof and white trim, but her front yard was awash in color. Instead of grass, there was an English flower garden. There were marigolds, lavender, daisies and other flowers Sarah had no names for.
Rose bushes, pregnant with hundreds of pink blossoms, covered her white picket fence. The arbor covering her patio was so choked with yellow jasmine, not an inch of wood was visible. There was a flagstone stepping path meandered through the garden, ending at a bubbling fountain, where a granite Grecian goddess poured water out of a pitcher into the pool beneath her. Next to it was a little stone bench, barely big enough for two people.
"Your yard is beautiful," Sarah marveled. She didn't know much about plants, but she was pretty sure that they didn't bloom so late in the year. "Did you plant all of those flowers?"
Both Morgan and the cat cast a quick glance at the flourishing garden. Morgan smile. The cat rolled its eyes.
"Every last bloom." Pride and joy colored Morgan's clean American accent, making Sarah's smile widen. The cat tilted its head at her, a slight purr rumbling up at its throat.
For a brief moment, the cat's eyes bewitched Sarah, the two-toned gaze drawing her in. Just as she was about to get lost, she shook her head free of the fuzzy feeling surrounding it.
"I'm sorry. My name's Sarah, and this is Toby. We just moved in." Sarah's smile flickered as she winced. 'Well, duh we just moved in! There's a big ass moving truck parked out front!'
"Oh? Where from? Somewhere exciting?"
Laughing slightly, Sarah shook her head. "Watertown, New York, and exciting is the last thing it'll ever be."
"Oh, I've heard of that town!" Morgan giggled. Her laughter tinkled like wind chimes. "Harry Chapin wrote a song about it, um… 'A Better Place to Be'."
Toby, sensing that he was not allowed to pet the cat, went off to the car to get Merlin's tennis ball. Sarah had a feeling several windows were going to be broken if they played fetch.
"I've never heard of Harry Chapin," she admitted sheepishly, slightly embarrassed by her ignorance. This elegant giraffe of a woman (she was just so tall!) probably knew everything and then some, if her aura was anything to go by. She just radiated knowledge, much like the goddess Athena.
"He said he spent a week there one afternoon," Morgan replied, obviously referring to Watertown as she scratched the cat's ears. It seemed utterly offended by the condescending touch. "That's what he said, but it was also his favorite song to perform."
The green eyed girl just smiled that polite, distant smile. She didn't care much for New York anymore, so any insults against the state were wasted on her. Morgan seemed unperturbed by her silence.
"Let me see if I remember the lyrics." The cat sighed impatiently, its eyes closing. Sarah knew cats were clever, primeval things, but this one was positively human.
"It was an early morning barroom, and the place just opened up. And the little man come in so fast and started at his cup," Morgan began to sing. Her voice was husky, but sweet and enchanting. Sarah felt blessed just to listen. "And the broad who served the whisky, she was a big old friendly girl. And she tried to fight her empty nights, by smilin' at the world."
At that, the cat was done. It hissed and started writhing in Morgan's grasp, its very sharp claws popping out. Morgan hissed and dropped the cat, but being a cat, it just landed casually on its feet. A very angry noise, a cross between a meow and a growl, sounded from its throat as it wove its way between the fence posts, careful not to touch the iron. Then it rubbed its cheek against her denim clad legs, butting its forehead against her shins over and over again. It purred so loudly that she thought a car was starting.
"It seems Albert de Beaufort von Tiddlywinks has taken quite the liking to you!" Morgan remarked with a knowing smile. Sarah chuckled bending over to run a hand over the cats back. He licked her fingers before they could get close to his fur. The rough tongue scratched her fingers painfully, but Sarah was deeply honored. Cats were such particular creatures, and for him to like her was quite surprising.
"I know it's quite the title, but I haven't come up with a nickname yet," she admitted as Sarah crouched down beside the beautiful feline.
"That's okay," came Sarah's distracted response. The cat was bewitching her with its eyes again. "Cats don't need names to tell each other apart."
Morgan was silent for a moment.
"I suppose they don't." There was wonder in her voice, and Sarah knew right then, that she at least knew one thing her neighbor didn't. Again, Sarah felt honored. "Well then, what do you think he should be called?"
The cat stared at her, and Sarah stared right back. He had a curious little 'M' marking on his forehead, just above his brow ridge. With the tip of her index finger, she traced the lines, a small but genuine smile tipping her lips when the cat swatted gently at her wrist with one paw.
"'M' is for Mau," she heard Morgan say. "He's an Egyptian Mau."
"You're like a Ferrari," Sarah cooed to the cat. "All style and good looks."
Pushing his shoulders back, the cat politely bowed his head, and then left without a meow. He sauntered into Morgan's front yard, disappearing through an open window.
"Well, I'm sure he'll seek you out no matter what you call him," Morgan chuckled. "I'm afraid I must be going, Sarah. It was a pleasure meeting you." The tall brunette smiled one last time, but as she was turning to go, she asked one more question.
"How old are you?"
"I turn eighteen pretty soon," Sarah said with a shrug.
Morgan smiled one of those secretive smiles again.
"Then we'll be seeing each other again. I teach humanities at the high school. Well, goodbye Sarah." With that, Morgan walked back to her house, leaving Sarah alone. She had just a moment to ponder the strange encounter before Irene was shouting for her to come and help.
"What a beautiful woman," she muttered before jogging over to the moving truck.
'And what a pretty cat.'
She knew what she wanted to call the cat, but there was only one Jareth, and no one, not even the most beautiful Egyptian Mau in the world, could replace him.
"Albert de Beaufort von Tiddlywinks? Are you inebriated?" Jareth demanded the moment Morgaine reentered the house. He was waiting for her in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters as if he owned it – much like a cat would.
"I couldn't very well call you Jareth," Morgaine said dismissively, looking down her nose at her stepson. Since Morgaine had to adopt a more human appearance, so did Jareth. Even though he was only able to leave her house as a cat, he still preferred his natural form. But since Morgaine loved the sun, her windows had neither blinds nor drapes, just sheer ivory panels. Anyone who wanted to look in could, and seeing a wild-haired Fae king lounging around would be too strange, even for Salem.
His hair was still wheat blonde, but the longer strands were cut, and the rest of it now fell naturally instead of standing on end. Jareth's usual flyway, uneven style was incredibly popular amongst Seelie fae, but not in Massachusetts. Morgaine had clipped it fairly short in the back, but the rest of it still swept softly along his ears and forehead. The make-up was gone as well, but his pale skin and odd eyes were still magical and beguiling. Morgaine looked human enough, just as Jareth did. There was no getting around his true nature. Even in slim-fitting dark jeans and an indigo-colored oxford shirt (which was only partially buttoned), he looked otherworldly.
"Your bride is unbelievably wise," his stepmother continued as her false American accent disappeared. Her posh British accent reappeared, and it only refined her beauty further. "It makes sense, you know, what she said about cats. Of course the guardians of the underworld wouldn't need names to tell each other apart."
Although he was deeply angered by Morgaine's name for him, he couldn't help but be thrilled by the feel of Sarah's hands against him. If only there hadn't been fur in the way. If only they were intimately tangled on a fur rug in front of a fireplace, or wrapped around each other in bed.
"Humanities?" Jareth said after a moment, chasing away thoughts of Sarah's warm, bare skin. "Of course you would pick a class revolving around art. I take it you miss your harem?"
Morgaine was busy putting a bouquet together, her sink full of daisies, carnations and tea roses. With a knife, she clipped the tips and thorns, laying each finished flower atop a butcher block. There must've been fifty individual blossoms awaiting her loving touch.
"It's the one subject Sarah is sure to enjoy, even more so than literature. And, unlike her literature professor, I won't teach anything that has to do with theatre. My class will be a reprieve for her."
"Sarah loves the theatre," Jareth quipped angrily. "Why wouldn't you include it?"
"She does not love the theatre. In fact, she fairly hates it." Her talented fingers plucked at limp petals, making every bloom look young and flawless.
"How can you tell?"
Morgaine stared at him flatly.
"Right, of course. You're a witch." Jareth felt slightly idiotic as he forgot his stepmother's origins. "But why?"
"I think it has something to do with her mother. What, I can't be sure. Only God can see the entirety of her mind."
Rolling his eyes, Jareth snatched up a rose, fingering the yellow petals slowly. They were pink-tipped and soft as velvet. Focusing on their texture soothed his mind.
He was so close to Sarah, but so far away. The only way to attain her affections was to purr and play with yarn. But he would take anything he could get. It was the first time he'd been so close to her in nearly three years. And even though he had to watch from those uncomfortable steel bands Morgaine called arms, he could easily assess Sarah's face, and the changes it had gone through.
It was definitely thinner, too thin for his tastes and her health. As he knew, her figure was meant to be softer. Her full breasts were a testament to that. But the tightness of her waist and the thinness of her biceps came from a poor diet, not a high metabolism. She wasn't eating. That would have to change.
But it was her nose that was the real drastic transformation. It was thinner now, and had it been on anyone else's face, it would've been generic. Hence, it must've been changed by artificial means. Why though? The girl who ran his labyrinth was stunning. Her beauty hadn't lessened, but now it was different. Sarah was different.
He had a feeling that difference was more than just skin deep.
Oh look, delicious reviews served with butter and jam! Yum!
Kiruya: Try luna de faeries' 'Bad Blood' next. Well, after you review. It has yummy, fluffy Jareth in it.
GeeAnnaB: A mafia assassin can always recognize one of their own.
Labyrinth Lover: We'll get there! I promise.
Mai Sensai: Trust me. I'd walk right past my stories as well, but thank you so much! Jareth is soooooo hard to write. I've seen the movie a million times, and I just read the book (which isn't very good), but he changes so much. Some writers prefer villain-Jareth, others prefer misunderstood-Jareth, while some go straight for BDSM-Jareth. In the book, he tries to kiss Sarah, which kind of confirms his suspected feelings for her. There's also a line which provides insight into Jareth's mind as he finds out Sarah has infiltrated the Goblin City.
"A goblin came running into the chamber, tripped on a chicken carcass, fell flat on his face, and from there delivered his message. "Your Highness! The girl!"
Jareth glanced up laconically. "What?"
The goblin was picking himself up. "The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything?"
"Yes, yes," Jareth said testily. As though he had had more than one girl on his mind lately. "What of her?""
While it tells us that he's faithful to her (sort of), it doesn't tell us if he's a villain, or just pretending. I like to think that Jareth is so much in love with Sarah, that he will be whatever she wants and/or needs to him to be, so that's how I tend to write him.
Oh, and can anything involving Jareth really be called torture? I think he's too hot for it.
HazlgrnLizzy: Thanks for reviewing three chapters in a row!
Helikesitheymikey: I cannot answer all of your questions, as I honestly haven't thought that far ahead – I'm just taking it one chapter at a time. However, I can assure you that there will be more Toby/Sarah goodness, as well as Jareth/Sarah/Toby family lovey-dovey goodness.
Okay folks, review, review, review! I'll keep on responding if you keep on reviewing.
Seeya later!