(Hey guys, here's the next part. I'm trying to set this out a little like a Buffy episode so the chapters are not going to be equal in length. Some might even be appallingly short, so apologies in advance for that...it's for plot purposes!)

The eerie stranger stared at the human-inhabiting demon as it picked itself up from the pieces of broken table, the folds of his cloak quivering in an unnatural breeze. He glanced briefly at the ladder ahead of him and then at his impish followers before he vanished and materialised once more on the ground level of the shop.

Spike straightened and stepped back, allowing his monster face to fade as he assessed the creature, his skin prickling at the sense of the magic filling the room about its presence.

"All right mate, top marks for entrance," he glowered, unable to suppress a shudder in the wake of unusual power. "What are you?"

The man gave a cold smile and stepped forward dauntingly.

"I," he spoke in crisp English, "am apparently 'prancing', 'namby-pamby' and 'stinking'. Though you are fortunate in knowing the one truth of your statement. I am the King of Goblins. And you must be William, a poet, going by another name due to your failures or..." He smirked and looked the vampire up and down. "Changes."

Spike sneered.

"That's all I need. Another sodding Brit in Sunnyhell. What's wrong with the old homeland? Sinking with the weight of all the toffs?" Not a flicker of response came from the Goblin King. "You're not human then?"

"No."

Spike made as though to consider this point, but only for display.

"Good." He sniffed authoritatively. "Then I can hit you."

He launched himself at his opponent but gaped in surprise as he fell through what could only be described as an apparition and sprawled painfully across the floor. He rolled onto his back and kicked himself upright, standing defensively and bewildered, watching as the man shimmered back into corporeal form.

"You're a bleeding ghost!" he cried, exasperated.

Jareth laughed.

"No, I'm just not one for primitive confrontations, William."

The vampire bristled with anger.

"I am not your enemy, Spike," the Goblin King continued calmly, twin streaks of blue glistening in his blond hair. "I'm not here to harm you."

"What do you want?"

"What do I want? I am beyond question. It is you who wanted something and it has been taken care of. I believe we are on equal terms, so long as you don't want to go into the small print."

Spike relaxed and screwed up his face with distaste.

"I was wrong. You don't speak English. I can understand bugger all the words spilling out of that hole." He paused. " No, wait, maybe it's just because I don't care. Where's the librarian...? Not that I care about him either..."

"Who? Rupert?"

Jareth's gloved hand whipped out and held aloft a shining crystal globe in which an image was flickering into view. Spike peered cautiously at the unconscious figure of Giles; lying upon sandy stone inside an unkempt throne room of sorts, shrieking goblins bouncing around, tossing rags, kicking chickens, poking the Watcher with glee.

"He's perfectly safe," assured the Goblin King. "And in return for him, I'll give you anything you want." At these words, the orb at his fingertips glowed and replaced the vision of Giles with an ominous mist.

Spike folded his arms across his chest.

"Oh please. I'm not a complete bint. Do you honestly think I'd fall for that old charmer? I met the guy who invented that phrase. Hell, I probably drank him."

"Somehow I doubt that," Jareth replied with a trace of ever-so-sweet venom.

The vampire was on the verge of asking which part of that sentence had been doubted; searching for insult, yet his attention reverted to the swirling globe. His eyes glittered cruelly. He looked back at the sincere blue and brown gaze of the Goblin King.

"Anything I want?"