Chapter 11: Silent Victories and Unknown Victors

The victorious smile lingered when Sarah remained sprawled on the floor for some seconds, mouth agape and breathing ragged. She imagined now, with her wordless admission of attraction – because there was no denying that's what it was - his grin would remain even when she turned her focus towards finding her footing. Any moment now. She'd stand and hold him to his promise to get her out. She'd figure out what to do about the rest…later. After she regained some semblance of rationality. Soon, she hoped, her pulse would slow. The rush of blood to her head and the pounding in her ears would settle. And whatever he'd done to rend her usual good sense would fade. She was human. He was…not, but he was a male. It was purely hormonal.

The smile still hadn't fallen.

Purely hormonal, but highly irrational. With that look, kissing the Goblin King was too dangerous to be rational. Give an inch, and he was certain to take a mile.

Unfortunately, however, the door was open. She was a pitiful, breathless mess on the floor. And there was nothing she could do to wipe the smirk off Jareth's face before he sauntered through the doorway where he hovered above her, hands on his hips, for another long moment. Just...staring. Like the self-proclaimed collector of rare things that he was. But there was a glint in his eyes that she'd never seen before, and it screamed that he was relishing the sight of her flushed and wordless underneath him. An even more dangerous position, on her end. She was confident the sudden flecks of darkness in his eyes were him imagining her sprawled across a softer surface. She wondered what hers told him. Irrational things, assuredly.

Damn. With a huff, she pushed herself up on her palms.

It was a start, but had Sarah been wiser, she would have also stood immediately. Or at least attempted to stand. If she had, she would have realized the bonds in the hall had been imagined. She could have spun to look at her surroundings and seen the expanse of red and faded gold, and presented her own question to the king-without-a-spoken-question instead of remaining sprawled across the library floor. But the sight of him standing above her, eyes inching closer to midnight, snatched any remaining wisdom away. He was still grinning.

Until he wasn't.

Jareth pulled up Sarah just as his eyes widened and before she could catch her breath or feet. Dizziness overtook the pounding in her head as he pinned her against him and in an instant, her feet found worn Berber carpet. The sight of pasty plastered walls, however, did little to steady her pulse as he kept her tight to him. The warmth of his body and his hands on her waist and back and the scents of spice and sandalwood were beating back her rational side again and she felt her eyes flutter in memory. But then, he let her go, stepping back only slightly and mirroring his former victorious look so well that she wondered for a moment if she had imagined the brief panic in his eyes.

But, no. It had been sudden and unexpected, but unimagined. And as seemed always to be the case with him, something about his actions wasn't right. "What…the hell…was that?" she asked, needing to catch her breath between words.

"A bargain kept."

"I don't remember…answering any questions." That also explained nothing about their abrupt departure.

She was certain his smirk was now permanently burned into her mind. It stayed as he tilted his head slightly, joined now by the precarious lift of a brow. "Didn't you?"

She scowled at him, knowing there was little she could say that would dispel the impression her responsiveness had given. Arrogant bastard. At the moment, it seemed wiser to ignore it, however. Even if she knew how to address their (plainly, mutual) attraction with him, it was certain to be an arduous and complicated conversation. And they had other places to be and kidnappers to catch. Her irrational attraction would have to wait. When after a moment, she remained silent, she saw him tilt on his heels, still holding his amusement like a cloak. And then, he nodded towards the door.

"You mentioned that your authorities wished to speak with us?"

It appeared he too was willing to put the kiss aside. With him, the reprieve was sure only to be temporary, but she'd take whatever she could at the moment. Processing took time. "Yes. They said they had something to show us."

He frowned. "Let's hope it's nothing as troubling as the book."

It ended up being immensely more troubling. And of course, it still involved the book.

Jareth had reverted into the not-so version of himself, replete with an even brighter sheen that made Sarah squint when she stared at him out of the corner of her eye. It was obvious that whatever ability she'd gained to see through his glamour was strengthening. While the unknown reason for the change was mildly concerning, she did appreciate the idea that she had some defenses to whatever magic he was wielding.

Sarah had called ahead, so the two agents and an unknown officer were waiting for them outside the station. All three had similarly grim expressions. Meaning, none of them had any good news. She wasn't surprised.

The man she didn't recognize as an agent offered his hand. "Ms. Williams. Lieutenant Murdock. But you can call me Tony. I work closely with your brother."

Sarah returned the motion. "What is it that you wanted to show us?"

"This way."

Instead of leading them towards the small interrogation room, the two agents and Murdock lead Sarah and Jareth back towards the large conference room at the station's end. The long table was filled with various folders, papers, and open books, leading Sarah to believe this was where they'd been holding up for the evening. At one of the agent's gestures, she and Jareth took seats mid-way down the table. Murdock locked the door behind them.

The agent who had shown her the book leaned over the table. "You understand that this is highly unorthodox, but given your brother's disappearance, we've come to believe it necessary." He paused, and then from the accordion folder on the table in front, he pulled out the small, red leather-bound book that had given her so much trouble. He shoved it down the table, nodding. "Front cover."

Sarah made to grab it, but Jareth was quicker. She glanced at him with a scowl and then winced. Damn glamour. Damn inhuman reflexes. She heard the creak of the cover, however, and tried to remain calm as Jareth read it aloud.

Should you wish to know the party responsible for Dylan Olson's disappearance, find Sarah Williams. Ask her about her long relationship with the herein mentioned Goblin King. He is far more and far less than he appears.

The cult will meet tonight. Midnight. In the alleyway between Haynes and Pearl.

- Your Friend, A.H.C.

"At the time, it was our best lead," the agent cut in after Jareth's low voice had tapered off, "but, well...then this all happened."

"You were set up," Sarah groaned, bringing a hand to her eyes. Her suspicions had been correct: whoever had snatched Toby had been the one who'd sent the book. And he was calling himself 'A.H.C.' She glanced quickly at Jareth, tearing, but if he recognized the name or handwriting, he'd masked it behind indifference. She returned her focus down the table. "Collmer, was it?" she asked, now stringing contempt through her words.

"Agent Collier, ma'am."

Sarah looked at him sharply. She didn't need to be ma'am'd. "Collier. What else did this 'friend' tell you?"

Collier frowned. "He gave us the initial tip about the cult and where they would next be meeting. He also sent several photos."

That, of course, did nothing to prove he was a 'friend'. Had they not found an anonymous source sending photos of goblins suspicious? "I'm assuming none of you have ever met or spoken with this 'A.H.C.'?" A guilty silence was all she needed to groan again. With this incompetence, it was no wonder there was so much crime in Hartford.

She doubted there was more, but she asked the question anyway. "Did this 'A.H.C.' send or tell you anything else? Something to help identify him?" Not that these authorities could use such info, but perhaps, it would give her and Jareth a lead. Initials weren't much help. Especially if the culprit wasn't a part of that abhorrent fae court. But still, the three men clung to silence as if it would shield them from her irritation.

It did not.

Sarah said nothing as she stared unblinking, though the men must have finally sensed her anger because even Collier's once-stoic partner looked like he'd forgotten his wife's anniversary. He leaned forward in his chair. "Do you know anyone who might wish to harm you or your brother? Someone with the initials A.H.C.?"

She again looked at Jareth, but nothing in his glance had changed, so she exhaled. She saw no reason to send them on a wild goose chase. "No."

The two agents shared a dark look. But, when Collier turned back to her, the ferocity had fallen into concern. "Then it would be best if you stayed under our protection. Both of you. Until we know what we're dealing with."

"Sarah will be safe with me."

She hadn't turned, but she felt his glamour spark wildly at the pledge. She heard it sizzle and pop, then settle into a warm hum just under her skin. The sensation was eerily akin to that of his former crystal. And she knew without understanding that it was something magical and unbreakable. Something she'd never asked for and though noble, something that was certain to be rife with unwanted consequences. It was impossible to decide whether that was more reassuring or troubling.

It was undoubtedly powerful; neither agent nor Murdock tried to argue. None so much squeaked out a question.

Oh, she had questions about it. They would be riddled with choice words, of course, and perhaps delivered in a different octave. But, if the agents weren't going to press the issue of her staying under their protection, hers could be asked in private. Along with the question of whether Jareth knew this 'A.H.C.' or had any insight on who might call him out or what they possibly could want from them. And then there was the matter of rescuing Toby and Grog. And last, the impossible mess that was her attraction. She and Jareth seemed to have an ever-mounting number of issues to discuss and somehow, each one kept binding them tighter together.

She frowned as she stood, allowing Jareth to guide her towards the conference room door. Why wasn't she at all surprised?

Better yet: why was that connection more thrilling than bothersome?

Something was dripping on his forehead. A thick, gloopy something that was now making its way into his eyes and beginning to clot his senses.

Toby pulled up from the wall, rubbing at the corners of his eyes before he opened them to stare at the substance on his fingertips. Red. A deep, deep red that Toby quickly rubbed off on his pants with a groan. Only after he'd pulled away completely did Toby look up at the driblets of blood as they leaked in an agonizingly slow drip, drip, drip on the cement beside him. The spatter just missed staining Grog's cloth and steel foot coverings, though his even, nasally breathing told Toby that Grog was none the wiser to their dreary accommodations. Dripping blood. Steel bars and jagged, enclosed stone. And no sign of Collier, Steele, or an escape.

He'd really done it this time.

"Grog," he hissed, shaking one of his small shoulders, "wake up." Instead, Grog mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'Budsizer' and Toby groaned again, throwing his full weight into the motion. "Wake. Up. I've got ale."

Grog reached blindly with one hand, but he was obviously still immersed in whatever beer-laden dream had caught him, so Toby sighed, leaned in, and tried another of his addictions. "And shiny things."

The crack of bone on bone momentarily stunned Toby as Grog snapped up into his forehead, and both released a yelp; though Toby's was far more pained than startled. Grog, however, appeared entirely unharmed. When Toby focused on him again as his dizziness faded, he was bouncing on his toes with palms as big as his eyes and absolutely no inkling of concern.

As expected.

"Shiny!"

Although still smarting, Toby couldn't stop his half-grin. Goblins really weren't that complicated. It was unsurprising Sarah had bested the Labyrinth as a teen. Toby unlatched his watch and after a slight hesitation, pulled the cuffs out from his back and offered both to Grog. It didn't seem like he'd be using them on any perp tonight, anyway. "Here."

"Oooooo," Grog cooed, hanging one cuff off a pointed ear. "Shiny 'rings!"

Toby snorted. Not at all complicated, but the jewelry obsession sure was bizarre. Was the king that into jewelry? He shook his head. Bizzare, but unimportant. "We've got a problem, Grog. Someone snatched us and I have no idea where we are or how to get out."

Grog scratched at his tuft of dark hair. "But we 'sposed to do the snatchin'."

"I know. But can you get us out? Can you do any magic?"

Grog shook his head, jostling the cuff from his ear. "Jus' king."

Toby grimaced. Of course, it was just the king. Could he call the king here? Sarah could, but Toby had always suspected that was a power unique to her; there was no boy hero or cop-in-training in that strange little red book. It was the whole reason he'd roped her into the kidnapping in the first place. Still, if Grog was magicless, that was all he had. Unless... Toby reached into his right jacket pocket and palmed the king's crystal. He'd said it could be used to disguise Grog. But what if it could do more?

"Grog-"

"Could ya keep it down? Tryin' to sleep," a cracking voice cut into Toby's question, and Toby shifted on his heels to stare behind him.

The lighting in the cell was low, but in the far most corner against stone, a figure sat huddled with a tattered brown throw over his shoulders. Toby squinted, but only upon stepping closer did he spot the leather-like skin, pointed horns and ears, knobbly hands, and small, armored helmet. Goblin. Definitely. But he was far skinnier than Grog, and instead of a protruding nose, his was nearly flat and upturned. And he was so small it was unsurprising Toby hadn't noticed him before.

He looked altogether sad and harmless, shivering under his makeshift cloak, so Toby hunched down in front of the fellow and instinctively offered his hand. "I'm Toby. What's your name?"

The goblin stared long and hard at Toby's hand, then tucked his chin inwards again without shaking. "Dough," he huffed. "Name's Dough."

"Dough," Toby repeated as he dropped his hand. After Grog, he was unsurprised this goblin was named after food. Another of their addictions. "Nice to meet you. This is Grog. Have you...have you been here long?"

Dough shrugged. "Don' know. Master brought me. Hadn' come back."

Toby stilled. "Your...master? The Goblin King?"

"No," Dough grumbled, shaking his head. "Not him."

Toby waited, but the goblin had pulled his cloak down lower as he turned away, and it was clear he didn't want to elaborate. Which, he conceded, was perfectly understandable if the bastard had abandoned him in a dungeon cell. At least it wasn't the Goblin King. He had enough to worry about already. But - and he scooted closer again - Dough seemed likely to have the answer to one of those worries. "Do you know where we are?"

"Ardbinse," Dough huffed again, though this time, it was accompanied by a sharp shiver. "Bad place."

Toby didn't doubt it. Good places didn't often come with bleeding dungeon cells. He sighed. He also didn't recognize the name; which meant they were likely far from Connecticut. Like, under it. "Well, we need to get out of here. Do you want to come with us?"

"We gots shinies!" Grog added quickly, holding up Toby's watch.

That definitely piqued his interest. Dough lifted his head, and for the first time, Toby saw something other than despair in his big, brown eyes. But, just as before, he snapped his chin downward without shifting. "'Sposed to wait here," he sighed.

"For what? I don't know who your Master is, but he's an asshole for leaving you down here." Toby paused when Dough lifted his head again - his mouth now as wide as his eyes - and he reached in his pocket again to palm the crystal. He refused to let the poor guy rot here. "C'mon. I might have a way out of here, and I promise things are better where I'm from. Have you ever had a french fry?"

"Crunchy finger-tatoes!" Grog chirped. "Tasty!"

At that, Dough cracked a tiny, three-toothed smile and shook his head subtly. He shrugged off his makeshift shawl before reaching down to fiddle with something under his horned helmet. With a tilt of his head, he offered a tiny palm out to Toby. "I do like 'tatoes," he softly affirmed. "And fingers."

Toby stumbled; partly from the image of Dough chomping on fingers, but mostly from the small, metal object resting on his leathery palm. The goblin really had just been waiting. Ordered to wait? But, for what, he couldn't guess. He did know one thing. "We're getting out of here."

A/N: So...hi again! I realize I've blown through my goal of updating this one every two weeks. But, I did post three completed stories since the last chapter here, so at least I've been productive? Still - apologies! There are several really key plot points above to make up for it, and an almost-easter egg for those who are familiar with the novelization. This is my only WIP, so regular updates to follow again.

As always, much love to all readers and reviewers! Y'all are the best.