Sarah

7

One minute after he left, Sarah regretted it. She should not have gotten so angry. There had been so much she had wanted to ask him, so much she had wanted to discuss. Instead one little probing question had sent her spiraling out of control.

Not that he had helped set the proper tone for a discussion. Coming at her like some bat out of hell, accusing her of tampering with his job, threatening her with his crystals. Just so like him to set her on edge. She should have just been blatantly honest.

Yes, she thought, just told him that you still think about his offer five years on; that you some times day dream about what might have been; and that you harbored some small hope that he'd appear one day and tell you that yes, he had given you this one last gift. And together you both will help save the innocent, like two superheroes….

His ego would have loved that. Sarah rolled her eyes.

Five years. Everything had changed after that night. Not just the way she treated her brother, they were close now like two best friends, but more in how she reacted to the world. Suddenly it was a richer place with depths that suggested dimensions upon dimensions. Richer in wonder as well as in terror. It had started out small at first: rescuing strays, being on a first name basis with the local pet shelter. It had seemed very natural to care these unwanted animals. Then there was the runaway. That sense had started her senior year of high school: a junior girl had gone missing, something about being bullied. Sarah had seen her plain as day, riding a bus to the next major city over. But all inside her head. Unnerved by the strong mental image, Sarah had called in an anonymous tip and watched it all play out from the safety of the sidelines. It had only grown stronger from there.

Now post high school she used the pull to aid local law enforcement. They called her a psychic. She would all of the sudden call in or show up demanding one of the officers follow her. So many children. So much despair.

It had also proved to be decently lucrative. She paid her rent, groceries, and all necessities with rewards, donations, and the occasional actual payment for services rendered.

All and this and more she could have, perhaps should have explained to Jareth. No, instead she had offered him fried eggs.

She grabbed the sides of her head, frustrated. Bringing it up would only drag that night back out, front and center. The wish, the Labyrinth, the confrontations. His offer. Her rejection. So much that she wasn't ready to deal with. Keeping it tucked away, layered in a small day dream was so much easier.

Instead she had confided in her friends throughout the years: Hoggle and Sir Dydimus both knew the extent of her gift. Though neither could really explain it. Hoggle always seemed suspicious that the king had done something to her, slipped her something while in the Labyrinth. "How?" she usually asked when these accusations came up. "I never ate anything while there." Hoggle would shrug, mumble something and usually wander off.

As if his ears were burning, Sarah heard the hum of her oval mirror.

"Whew! You're alive!" he breathed when she answered his call. "Is he, uh, still around?"

Sarah smiled, a practiced patient smile when it came to the dwarf's shortcomings. "No, he's gone. For now."

"He's a'coming back?"

Sarah looked over her shoulder at her now empty couch. "We agreed there were some things that needed to be talked about. But…we're giving each other some time to think."

"So no ideas about the fire, eh?"

"No. I'm thinking of asking around, maybe calling the local precinct, see if anything unusual was reported. And to," she paused, taking a deep breath, a realization settling in the pit of her stomach. "to see if there was a child."

Hoggle rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "You didn't actually find one?"

She shook her head. "Look I should get going."

"Sarah." Hoggle's voice was quiet. "Be careful. You know I'm here, if you need me…" His voice trailed off. When he spoke again it his voice was all concern, "Just promise me that you won'ts do or take or eat anything you're not sure about. There's magic about alls this."

"I know. I feel it too. Thanks Hoggle." She touched the mirror and he faded.

Sarah sat on her bed and mulled things over. The safe and responsible thing would be to pick up the phone, call one of the detectives whom she trusted, and rest. But no. She wanted to see the building herself, examine it now without panic clouding her judgment. She slipped into a light jacket to protect her from the rain that still drizzled. Into her messenger bag along with her ID, wallet and emergency cell phone, she also put a pill box filled with sea salt and her knife. That last item felt odd. She had never traveled with it before. Grabbing her keys she went out into the day.

The storm was still lingering. Rain that should have been refreshing, now felt soggy. Tree boughs hung low. Any blooms that had been present were now matted, their soft petals collapsing in on themselves. Driving in her car, Sarah tried not to let the weather give her any false premonitions.

Finding her way back to the building required some guess work. In the throws of responding to the summons she had blindly followed the pull. Once at the gas station she had stopped at with Jareth, she took several wrong turns before she found the correct street. The building was there, or rather what was left of the building. Nearly all of the top stories had collapsed down. Yellow police tape surrounded nearly the entire block.

Parking by the curb Sarah studied the street. Most of the buildings were old businesses, half of which were not even operational. There wasn't a condo, an apartment, or anything resembling a hovel. Not a place one would expect to find anybody living. Yet this was where the pull had brought her. From her glove box, she pulled out a flash light. Time to get a closer look.

Walking down a side alley she found the place where her and Jareth had landed in a heap. She half expected to see bloodied owl feathers scattered around. There was nothing out of the ordinary though: a trash bin, some soggy boxes. Checking to make sure no one was paying attention she ducked under the police tape, and went in through an opening. Aside from the collapsed rubble, she noticed immediately how charred everything was. The fire had been incredibly hot. And fast. One moment she had been mounting the stairs, hardly noticing any smoke, and then -whoosh- everything had gone up in flames.

If there had been anyone else in the building, they would not have survived.

Sarah shuddered.

There had been one other time when she had not arrived soon enough. One other time, when confused by her gift, she had not been there for a child. One time. And the grief, the loss had been almost unbearable. She had trouble sleeping for a week. She closed her eyes and tried to forgive herself again. The guilt she carried from that night never really left her alone. The possibility of being too late once again nearly brought her to tears.

With a resigned sigh she brought herself back to the present.

The gray day made the shadows deeper. She clicked on the flash light. She passed what was left of the staircase. Aside from the building material- support beams, plaster, wiring, the usual- there was hardly any indication that the place had been furnished. It gave one the impression the place had been empty, perhaps even condemned before the fire. When she saw the markings on a piece of dry wall she at first assumed it was graffiti.

"Odd," she murmured running her flash light over it.

It was the same mark over and over again: triangles in neat little rows. She moved her flash light further down, past a badly burned section, and found the pattern again. As far as she could tell the triangles bordered most of the ground level.

Taking another step her foot knocked over something glass. Picking it up she saw it was a small corked bottle, empty now, and its label badly burned. Curious she examined the ground in front of her. Nothing. At least there aren't any chalk outlines, she thought putting the bottle in her messenger bag. She stared at the wall again, committing the pattern to memory, and went out the way she came.

Back at her apartment she called the local precinct and asked for one of the officers she knew, Peter Goldsmith. They had worked together before. Her calling would not be viewed as out of the ordinary. When she asked about the fire, he said it had probably been an insurance scam. "So there wasn't anyone inside?" she asked.

"Our guys went over the whole building. No one. Why? Do you think otherwise?"

"I," she paused choosing her words carefully. Her reputation had to be considered. "I wanted to be sure. Thank you Officer Goldsmith."

"Any time Miss Williams." She hung up.

The following two days were a welcome quiet. Sarah got it into her head that her entire apartment needed to be cleaned. When she found herself flipping her mattress she wondered if she were having a premonition of company. She knew that Jareth could very well make himself known at any moment, but this wasn't for him. No. This wasn't for any one person. Yellow cleaning gloves on, she tackled her bathroom, even cleaning the dust that had settled behind the toilet. No this was for herself.

Hoggle had mentioned magic. Sarah didn't doubt its presence. She had enough experience around the fae to know when something felt different, when the air seemed thin or smells were richer. For the most part she accepted it. It existed, plain and simple. But so far in her experience she had only come into contact with Seelie magic: typically harmless though very mischievous. This time though, this magic felt different, heavier. Pausing in the middle of the living room, vacuum in hand, Sarah wondered if black magic was at work. What was the other court referred to as? The Unseelie.

She turned off the vacuum, unnerved by this thought. Clean girl, she told herself shaking her head and turning the machine back on, get rid of the bad mojo.

That night she fell asleep with the scents of lemon and disinfectant heavy in the air. Outside the rain had finally ceased, a steady drip from the ledge of the roof lulled her eyes closed. One moment she'd be on the verge of a dream, the next she would rise to the surface of consciousness too warm in her tshirt and shorts. She'd kick blindly at the sheet and roll over. Moments later she'd find herself struggling to pull the sheet back up as her skin would break out in goose bumps from a cold draft.

The pull of a child came upon her as if someone had knocked her in the stomach. Dazed she sat up, sleep hanging about her like a spider's web. Get up, she told her self, put some pants on, shoes. You've got to hurry. Get to the child!

Pants. A pair of flip-flops. Messenger bag. She opened the front door and felt it jerk out of her hand. The dead bolt engaged by its self. "Uh?" She yanked again.

"You're not going out tonight," said a voice behind her.

She spun around, her eyes struggling to focus. Light through the curtains barely illuminated a blonde head and two shiny obsidian iris. "Dang it! Jareth!" she exclaimed, letting out a rough breath. "Let me out."

"Not tonight," he replied.

"But I have to! There's a child,"

"I know."

"Then you know what I need to do." She tried the handle. "Stop it!"

"Listen to me," he said coming near. "This one, doesn't it feel similar to the other night?"

Sarah huffed. "I don't care. The child- I have to go!"

He reached for her arm and sternly said her name. "Calm down and examine yourself," he ordered her. "In the pit of your stomach. Deep."

The pull was near over whelming. Desperate. She struggled against it, past the initial feeling. Too incessant. Almost as if the child was dying and reviving over and over again; swallowing blackness, only to awake to fight off the blackness. It was the same as before. She felt Jareth's hand flex on her arm. "Still a child," she said. She met his eyes. "I can't just ignore it."

He shook his head. "Neither can I. Only one of us need go. You will stay here and wait for me to return."

She gaped in surprise. "I don't think so. I'm going with you."

"And put both of us in possible danger? I just finished healing, I'd rather not take such risks so soon."

She grabbed a fist full of cloak. Her eyebrows crossed in what she hoped was an intimidating fashion. She'd rather not harm him, flash her knife at him. But if he insisted on being so stubborn, she'd do it. "You don't know anything about the risks I've taken. By myself. Now, I'm coming too."

He regarded her for a moment. Glancing down at her fist he said, "Very well. But we do this my way. We travel by magic."

His hand on her arm. Her hand wrapped in his cloak. They were standing close together. So close that Sarah could tell he wore a sort of armor beneath his cape. Something like an inverted cycle was on his chest. It stirred a memory. That night five years ago he had worn an outfit so very similar. She relaxed her hold and took a small step back. "How do we travel by magic?"

He inclined his head. She definitely saw him smile. "Like so."

His cloak came to life and wrapped her in its dark fabric. She felt herself folded against him. It happened quick. Instinctively her arms went around him as she felt her body shift, preparing herself for what felt like a fall. Then her breath was taken away as she felt her feet leave the ground and a wind blow over her. She blinked in surprise. A dark shadow passed in front of her eyes, followed by a haphazard succession of colors. She blinked again. The colors changed from horizontal to vertical. Some where buried under the blur she felt the tug of the summons. Their bodies seemed to shift through space, following the invisible tether.

As soon as it started, it came to a stop. She blinked a third time and stared wide eyed at the cityscape where her apartment had been moments before.

"Careful," she heard Jareth say, his mouth close to her head. "We are precariously high up."

They were on a ledge of a building. There was a stream of steady traffic below, head lights and traffic lights putting on a show. She heard the honk of a horn.

Her knees felt weak. She held onto him. Felt his hands on her waist. His cloak fell over both of them as if they were peering out through shadowed curtains. A fully rejuvenated fae was fascinating. "That," she took a deep breath, "was amazing!"

He chuckled. He helped her turn so she could see better. "You still feel the pull?"

She nodded.

"Do you see it?"

Her eyes looked over the buildings, adjusting to the light. She spotted something hazy, an astral trail that shimmied through a thoroughfare further along. "There." She pointed. Had she always been able to see it? No. It had always been a feeling, a pull at her being. Not this visible trail.

The cloak gathered around them again and the air moved. She tensed expecting the cacophony of colors. Only this time they levitated and began a descent to a lower building. The night moving around her was beautiful. She wished that matters weren't pressing, that she could enjoy this sensation. Her feet touched a roof top. She felt his hands leave her waist.

Jareth stepped near the ledge and knelt. He beckoned her near. At his side she followed his gaze: there were flashlights dancing inside a building. The astral trail went right through the front door. Sarah began to stand. Roughly Jareth pulled her down.

"But, this child," she started to protest.

This close to him she could see his stern expression, his two toned pupils alive and bright. "The trail is still active. Remember I can feel it too. I would like nothing more than to swoop down and make sure this innocent life is safe, but," he paused and nodded to the building below. He shook his head. "This isn't right."

"Alright. What do we do?"

She watched as the beams of light came together in one room in particular. Next to her Jareth sniffed. His body weight shifted and he inhaled deeply. "What is that?" he murmured.

Sarah looked over at him. "What? Did something change?"

"There's a smell. I-," He stopped. His eyes darted around as if he were searching through his thoughts. Sarah watched, fascinated by the expressions fleeting across his face.

Without warning he suddenly leaped forward, over the ledge, and out into the air. Sarah clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out. She watched as his cloak took on the shape of giant wings. In two beats, the cloak was feathers, and Jareth was an owl. He was no longer a black force moving through the night, but a beautiful bird of gold and white. She watched him glide towards the building and disappear around a corner. Panicked at being left alone, she thought about standing, only to crouch back down in indecision.

When she remembered her cellular phone in her bag and was praying she could find reception, she saw him returning. The bird circled around behind her. In the blink of an eye, Jareth was back and moving towards her quickly. Without a word of explanation, he yanked her to her feet, threw his cloak around both of them, and pulled them both through the plains.