For a long moment Sarah glared at the map. Her father was gone. Gone where? Streets, buildings, parks, restaurants- so many places to hide just within the city. Her eyes wandered back to the building that had held everyone's attention earlier in the day: the coven's residence. Karen disappeared every time she came near that place. That was where she needed to go. That was where she would find her father.

The skin on her back prickled and she shivered. The chill of the room was getting to her. She needed her clothes and then she needed to get going. Turning towards the bed she demanded to know where her things were. "My clothes!" she exclaimed to Jareth when he didn't answer as prompt as she wanted. Then she added, "We need to go."

From his place on the bed Jareth asked, "Go where?"

Sarah glanced near the foot of the bed. "To the coven of course," she said as if it were obvious. "They know what's going on. We will demand they return my father."

"We. So you still want my help?"

The lighting in the room had grown darker. Sarah stopped searching for the tunic or pants around the edge of the bed, unable to determine much in the gloom. She looked up at Jareth: he hadn't moved from the bed. The darkness, the shadows, she realized were responding to him. She had seen this demonstration before. "Of course I do," she replied. For a moment she considered coddling him, stroking his ego with extra attention to get him motivated. She couldn't bring herself to behave that way though. He needed to know that while she wanted his help, his recent choices were unacceptable. "Quit the dramatics and get me something to wear," she said.

From his side of the bed he made two robes appear. He handed her one. "Here."

Sarah put it on. "Not exactly the sort of thing one would wear to battle," she commented, then moving back to the desk she pulled her long hair over her shoulder and began braiding the strands.

Jareth joined her securing his own robe. "What is with you and suggesting violent things before breakfast?"

"It's no where near morning," she replied.

"True," Jareth admitted. "It's actually quite late at night."

For a few moments the two of them simply searched the map, their eyes avoiding the other. Sarah let the implications of Jareth's actions sink in: he had withheld information from her again; had seen fit not to trust her with the truth. Quite frankly, he had panicked.

As Monty Jones it had been so much easier to trust him. And why? Because she had assumed that Monty was genuine, that he had no ulterior motives. He had been a compassionate listener and concerned for her safety. But he's the same man, she thought to herself shifting on her cold feet. As both personas he had seen fit to hide things from her. While it helped reconcile the two, it certainly did not add points to his character.

You're no saint either, came the thought. Sarah was uncertain if it came from the warmth she carried with her or her conscious. Who goes to a dance with another man? Who disregards sound advice and runs off into a potentially dangerous situation without protection? Regardless of whether it was Monty or Jareth you did things without consulting his feelings, without regard to how it might affect him. And now you've gone and slept with him because you just-wanted-something-to-go-right. That's a real mature reason. Sarah decided they both sucked at this relationship.

She glanced at Jareth across the desk. But if they both wanted to make it work… She had also told him that she loved him. That despite his shortcomings, as a man, as someone who peaked her interest, as someone she felt she could lose control with, she loved him. She cleared her throat. "What do we do?" she asked.

He held her eyes for a moment. "My counsel would be to do nothing, for the moment," he added. "While I agree that the coven is the prime suspect, we must proceed with a degree of caution. One rogue witch does not signify a complete breakdown of ancient customs."

Sarah sighed frustrated that she did not know or comprehend all the ins and outs of this new world. "I thought fae were superior to witches," she said remembering something he had said to one of his goblins earlier. "Is that just a matter of magic or is it a class thing as well?"

"I see where your logic is headed," he replied. "We do not lord over or govern any of those who practice witchcraft."

"So it's a matter of ego?"

Jareth scowled.

Sarah raised her hands apologetically. "I'm just trying to get a feel for how things are. They could have my dad Jareth," she then added distressed.

"My ilk have always considered ourselves superior," he explained. "Natural energies, our bodies and nature working in communion- we like the way we operate. There is something unsettling about requesting help from a demonic force in order to achieve a spell. Even those that claim to do good magic, must ask of it from something else."

Once Mr. Proodle had been in charge of restoring a copy of the Bible which held several reliefs depicting events therein. One had been a man supposedly possessed by a demon who called himself Legion: the man's face had been one of torment, eyes rolling back in his head; the demon, or demons as the name suggested, was distorted and twisted, reveling in the man's torture. Nearly a Rossetti goblin forcing fruit on a young girl. Sarah swallowed hard. "And you were aware of all of this when you made the contract with Karen?"

Jareth cleared his throat. "Perhaps it was not the most prudent decision," he admitted. Sarah saw him cock his head to one side regarding her in the soft light. "But I'd gladly take the risk again to see you thus bathed in moon light."

A flush spread over her chest. "I believe we're digressing from the matter at hand," said Sarah, not wanting to be distracted from finding her father. "How do we proceed?"

Jareth twirled a finger in the air and a crystal appeared. Sarah felt her breath catch- he had not shown her his crystals since reentering her life. She had nearly forgotten about them. He set it in the air, floating on its invisible supports, and peered at it: a clock face was visible. "A quarter to eleven," he commented. "I'm expecting Alistair back at any moment. I should want his report before moving forward. Come." And he turned from the desk and moved towards the washroom and closet.

"What are you doing?"

"I for one have no desire to appear half naked in front of our old acquaintance. What we do with each others bodies ought to remain between us only- don't you agree?" He was through the doorway before she could say anything more.

Sarah followed. "And that's another thing: who is Alistair? You told me that he didn't work for you." She paused at the vanity unsure where he had gone: she could hear water sloshing. Turning towards the right she entered the washroom: Jareth was already waist deep in the recessed tub, splashing the water over his arms.

"Alistair," he began his reply. "does not work for me. He is what you would call a volunteer." He descended further and submerged his head. When he emerged again, he regarded Sarah standing at the edge of water through his wet strands of hair. "You really should join me," he suggested.

Sarah's body was greatly tempted to do just that. But her mind and her libido were at odds again. She edged the tub, moving away from the descending steps. "What exactly did he volunteer for?" she asked.

"Protection duty. Alistair learned of your whereabouts and your impending return to the Underground, and volunteered to keep an eye on you."

"My honor guard," said Sarah.

"A self-appointed, self-imposed one. Alistair was adamant that you be watched over. In the end I am grateful for that fastidious little man's dedication to you. We both owe him and that nose of his our gratitude for sniffing out the clay man."

All right, so he hadn't lied about the connection between him and Alistair. But he had stayed true to his brand of truth: only revealing what he thought necessary. How could he admire her stubbornness and strength one moment and then not think her qualified to handle stark truths the next?

Jareth moved to edge of the tub and gazed up at her. He managed an expression that was some how both contrite and adoring. Puppy dog eyes, thought Sarah in a moment of weakness. He cajoled her again about getting in the water. She simply refused to answer. He was feeling far too playful to suit her current mood. This time she was prepared for one of his swift movements, so when his hand darted out to snatch at her robe, she dodged him. He was going to have to learn that he couldn't just beguile her whenever she caught him in a half truth or called him out on being too controlling.

"Sarah," he hissed from the water.

"I shouldn't want Alistair to walk in on us," she said over her shoulder as she walked away. "Oh and I expect some practical clothing to wear as well."

Dressed in bluejeans and her tank top once more, Sarah felt a bit more grounded. Letting go of all control and giving herself over to Jareth had been freeing: her mind had calmed and cleared at the climax. It had also been an escape. She had purposefully allowed herself to get lost in his body, his scent, and given herself over to his intentions and desires. Now with the contract fulfilled the two of them would have, she supposed, an eternity of physical encounters. But choosing to concentrate on her father, instead of reveling in their bodies, just made sense.

Not for the first time- what with the "boyfriend" Jareth had said she should try to get proving to be him in disguise and the sex, the magic and goblins, her stepmother being a witch and quite possibly holding her dad hostage- Sarah thought how far from normal her life was.

She rubbed at her eyes, they were tired and dry. Jareth joined her at the desk and the map dressed in a combination of Underground and Above attire. There was a knock at the door.

"You may find Alistair a bit altered," he said with care.

Sarah looked towards the door. The first thing she noticed was Alistair had shrunk in stature and then immediately after that the amount of hair covering his body. Her boss had always been meticulous about his grooming habits- every facial hair trimmed and waxed; every follicle on his head in its place. Everything about his current appearance was in a word: bushy. Part of her was relieved to find him still in a waist coat and his watch chain gleaming as it dangled. That and his mustache was indeed still stiffly waxed.

And through all the shock of his altered appearance Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that she should know him; that on her previous visit they had crossed paths. "Alistair?" she asked, curious.

"My lady," he answered and bowed.

She moved towards him. One of his eyes was covered with a black eye patch. "No," she corrected herself. "Dydimus."

"Sir Alistair Dydimus," he said with a faint smile. "Do you recall me Sarah, my dear?" There was hope in his voice; a longing that she did indeed know him as both the book keeper and the knight who had stormed the castle with her. "Proodle is only my human name."

His arms lifted tentatively in greeting and Sarah found herself fiercely hugging him. It felt so different! For one she had to kneel down and then all the extra fur made him softer. "I am so glad it's you," Sarah told him.

"Let me look at you. You are very much all in one piece." He patted her arms and allowed her to stand up. "This heart of mine have been given one too many scares here as of late."

"Alistair," came Jareth's voice.

"Jareth," he returned the greeting. "I see you wasted very little time in securing Sarah in the Underground." His eye drifted over the room.

Sarah followed his gaze and realized with a sudden flush that the bed across the room was still unmade and rumpled. That Jareth's hair was still drying and her own appearance was haphazard. It was more than apparent what the two of them had done very recently. She heard Jareth chuckled.

"To the matter at hand," said Jareth turning towards the map. "What have you to report Alistair?"

Alistair sniffed. "Very little I'm afraid. Whatever is in that corner building, it's occupants do not want anyone snooping. Even their drainage system had protection spells."

"But not fae magic?" pressed Jareth.

"No. I'm afraid I am not entirely sure what it smells like," admitted Alistair twirling a tip of his mustache.

Sarah caught Jareth's eye and they both nodded. "As tempted as I am to ask how you can smell the difference in magic, I must admit your discovery comes as little surprise," said Sarah. "We have good reason to suspect it is a coven."

"A witches' gathering?" asked Alistair. "The combined magic of several practitioners would explain why we lose the witch there. I don't like it," he then said.

"I can't say any of us are thrilled about it," agreed Jareth. "It seems I am going to have to pay a formal visit." After catching Sarah's eye again, he corrected himself, "We will make the visit."

Alistair bristled. "No. I don't want Sarah going any where near that place. Twice now she has been compromised because of this Karen Williams. I will not just allow her to walk into their midst."

Jareth raised an eyebrow and nodded to show his sympathies. "But she has also proven that she can handle herself. She snapped Alistair."

"I don't care what sort of awareness she has come into," returned Alistair his voice raising. "I don't want,"

"...I believe I am capable," interrupted Jareth.

"...More than once now you have,"

"That's an unfair example,"

For a moment Sarah listened to them argue: it was rather satisfying to hear someone else challenge Jareth. But they were discussing her and what she was capable of, right in front of her. "Hey!" she exclaimed gaining their attention. "I think I know myself well enough to know what I can and can't handle. Now, I know how tricky and quite frankly scary Karen can be, but," she took a deep breath. "She keeps threatening my family and I want to put an end to it all. Surely there's some precautions that can be taken to help everyone involved be safe?"

"Sarah my dear," began Alistair, his tone perturbed. "after everything- the contract, the clay man, and being kidnapped- you really want to just walk into her lair?"

"It's not like I'm going in alone," said Sarah. "She has always tried to separate me from you or from Jareth; she tried to do the same to my family."

She was not broken. She was not weak. She had run a Labyrinth. She had faced a fae king. This witch was not going to intimidate her. She looked at Alistair and then she looked at Jareth.

"We do this together," she added. "Because we trust each other."

Jareth mentioned using the shadows when necessary and Alistair insisted she wear an adder stone. This latter element was infused with a protective charm that would prevent Sarah from leaving the human plane. "I'm not taking any chances with someone who can call on a demon," Alistair had insisted, his whiskers twitching.

The final touch was from Jareth: he had told her to hang the adder stone under her sweater, and then added an additional leather strap that held a smaller, daintier version of his crescent moon pendant. "They should think twice before messing with this royal symbol," he had said, his fingers caressing the shape. He had then nodded and smiled. His own pendant was clearly visible with his leather jacket unzipped.

Sarah felt the cool, smooth surface of the adder stone resting against her bare chest, and then occasional thump of the heavier pendant as it moved with every step she took. The street she walked was gray in the early morning light. She could already hear people beginning their work day- trash cans clanging, delivery trucks with their backup warnings beeping, and the occasional objecting meow of an alley cat being shooed away. The kitchen of the Indian food cafe was already bustling with preparations- Sarah caught the faint smell of familiar spices.

The building on the corner was just as nondescript as she remembered it being. Before approaching the door, Jareth stopped her and pointed up at the apex of the arch that surrounded the entrance where a five pointed star was carved. "That's certainly not the Star of David," he commented. "Though for some reason most humans simply assume the number of points. Perhaps it's far less disconcerting to assume it's benign."

Witches, clay man, and goblins- oh my! Thought Sarah sardonically as Jareth reached for the door.

She wasn't sure what exactly she should be bracing herself for: cobwebs and cauldrons? Women in pointy hats and men in long robes with obscured faces? No. It couldn't possibly be so cliche. Still Sarah was expecting at least something moody in blacks and reds, and was surprised to find a room done minimally with white padded chairs and a reception desk made out of glass. A woman in a brightly floral dress looked up from a computer. "Good morning. May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. We need to speak with your boss," said Jareth amiably.

"Do you have an appointment?" Her fingers were already poised over the keys of computer, ready to pull up the calendar application.

"No."

"Then I'm sorry, but Ms. Colette cannot see anyone without an appointment. She's booked several weeks out," the woman's fingers punched several keys.

Jareth cleared his throat. "Magicae," he said and that word alone stopped any further objections from the receptionist.

She stood up from the desk. "Your calling card." She held out her hand expectantly. Jareth ran a hand over his pendant and then produced a white business card with a printed rendition of the half moon design. "Excuse me one moment." And she left through a side door.

Sarah leaned near. "What was that about?" she asked.

"Magicae- it's the Latin word for magic. Rather like a password to gain access to the club."

The receptionist reappeared and told them to follow her through the side door. They went down a short hallway, just as business and sterile as the reception room, and ended up outside two pine doors. "In here," she said ushering them into the office space.

A woman in a blush pink pant suit and short cropped red hair looked up expectantly as they entered. She dismissed the receptionist. In her hand she held the white card. "A member of the crescent house hold," she commented. "I am Ms. Angela Colette, head mistress here. Who exactly am I addressing?"

"The Goblin King and his consort." He inclined his head in greeting.

At her desk Angela Colette's eyebrows rose up in brief surprise. Sarah felt her gaze shift to her own person, as if expecting something, a reaction or some word spoken. Sarah resisted the ridiculous urge to curtsy and nodded her head as Jareth had done. "Please sit," Ms. Colette offered.

"Does the name Williams mean anything to you?" asked Jareth as he took a seat in chair near the desk.

"Perhaps."

"I have reason to believe that she is known here."

"What of it?"

"I need to know her whereabouts."

Ms. Colette scoffed. "I am not about to reveal the whereabouts of any of my members, to a fairy no less."

Jareth's eyes regarded the floor for a solid thirty seconds before he focused on the woman at the desk again. "Karen Williams was rejected from the fold at least two years ago. I would hardly call her a member."

The white card twitched back and forth between her fingers. When she spoke her voice was low and terse, "How does any of this concern you?"

"Were you aware that this Williams- Karen Williams- had made a contract with a fae king?" He pressed on before she could respond, "That this contract did not go as she planned, and as a result she has been seeking out some twisted form of retribution? A desire to extract revenge upon those who she holds responsible for the change in her life style."

Ms. Colette snapped the white card against the top of her desk. "Let me guess: you are that fae king?"

Jareth smiled, humorless and thin.

Ms. Colette sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Williams has always been ambitious," she admitted. "To a fault." There was a hint of annoyance as if she had been exercising a good deal of forbearance when it came to Karen. "It is true that about two years ago I dismissed her from our number. She had become erratic and obsessed with this contract of hers. Care to share exactly what she has done to you?"

"Threatened the life of my payment and attempted to harm those under my protection," explained Jareth and watched as she scowled and sighed. "Care to share exactly how she plans to rejoin the fold again?"

shook her head. "I have no idea."

Sarah exclaimed, "Now hold on: we know she has been here."

Ms. Colette's eyes again evaluated her as if she expected something more. Her eyes moved from her face to the pendent and back again. "I admit she has been in some contact, but I have made no offers of reconciliation. If she's doing anything, she's doing so of her own accord."

"I need to know where she is," said Jareth.

"No," answered Ms. Colette.

"She has broken several sacred codes, Angela," said Jareth his voice rising. "I will not tolerate such hostile actions."

"She still a sister, a fellow witch and we deal with our own in our house. Give me specifics and I will investigate."

Jareth stood and reaching a finger out, tapped the white card. "I need to know if she is holding this man."

"Her ex-husband?" she asked surprised.

"I want him found."

From her seat Sarah added, "Alive."

Jareth towered over the desk. "You will find him Angela. I don't think we want our superiors involved in this ordeal."

Back out on the sidewalk again Sarah breathed easier. She had to admit though that leaving everything, the fate of her father, in the hands of the coven absolutely rackled her nerves. Plus she was fairly certain that that Angela Colette knew more than she had revealed. Like knowing precisely where Karen was. "So that's it?" she asked Jareth as she hurried to keep up with him. "We just leave it to them? Trust that Colette will find Karen and my father?"

"Of course not." He stopped at a street corner and allowed her to catch up. "Angela Colette may tend her own house, but the outside," He let the sentence hang in the air. "I will make this right Sarah," he then told her. He leaned forward and kissed her.