Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story.
She fumbled for the receiver, swearing under her breath when she accidentally knocked it out of it's cradle and onto the floor.
"Hello," she said, groggily, sucking on her sore knuckles.
"Sarah, I can't believe you're still asleep. It's one in the afternoon!" Karen's voice, she decided, took on a decidedly shrill cast when heard over the phone. "I wanted to tell you, the limo will be around at seven to pick you up. They'll buzz from the gate."
"Limo?"
"For the party tonight. Sarah, don't tell me you've forgotten your father's company party. I've been talking about it for weeks. You're bringing that charming boyfriend of yours. Remember?"
Memory came back in a rush and Sarah groaned, turning her face into the pillow. Maybe, she reasoned, if she didn't answer, Karen would just forget all about it.
"Sarah, can you hear me? I think your phone is cutting out. Sarah?" No such luck.
"I heard," she said into the phone.
"Oh. Well, in any case, wear that white dress you have, and see if you can scrounge up a mask. If you can't let me know and I'll find you one. We'll see you tonight!" And then the shrillness had stopped and the dull pounding of her headache had begun.
She hung up the phone and then laid back among her pillows.
The blood on her knuckles told her that she'd done what she'd set out to do last night. The question was, had it been enough? And as for the ball, she couldn't have cared less, at this point. She'd never asked him to take her, and she couldn't now. She refused to wish for it. She would just have to go alone, and tell another lie.
The thought of it made her nauseous.
One thing was certain, though. She would not be wearing the white dress.
She was wearing the white dress.
After she'd showered, and blow dried her hair into something that looked reasonably fashionable, she'd put on another of her mother's gowns: a black one, with a high collar and long sleeves. It made her look pale and wretched, but she didn't care, she only wanted to disappear once she got there, and the black would keep her from standing out too much.
She'd turned to look for her jewelry, and as she picked up the slender silver bracelet, to slide it on, she pushed up the pointed, long white sleeves in frustration, then froze.
She looked down.
She was wearing the white dress.
Somehow, in the space of a breath, her gown had been switched.
It was her dream dress, down to the last pearl bead and the last golden thread. She felt as she had before, as if she were floating among the clouds. As she turned to look for the culprit, her head felt curiously heavy and, reaching up, she found her hair had been teased into a mass of dark curls interwoven with strands of silver and leaves of gold.
Behind her, something giggled.
When she turned she wasn't surprised to find Shove, and several other goblins, sitting on her bed, watching her.
"Did we get it right, Lady?" Asked one of them.
"Change it back," she said. But they shook their heads.
"No, Lady. You supposed to be wearin' that dress," Shove said. She frowned.
"On whose orders?" They looked at one another in confusion, then shrugged.
"You just is," he told her.
She felt behind her, for the laces, to pull it off, but couldn't locate them. She was trapped in the white dress. She sighed with exasperation, and turned to face herself in the mirror.
The woman that stared back was as regal and beautiful as a Faery Queen. Her skin was flawless, even her freckles had vanished. Her eyes were huge and dark, the makeup around them only making them stand out even more. Her lips were full, parted slightly, as though she'd just been kissed. She was thinner, than her mother had been, for the dressed was laced as tight as it would go, and it pushed up her breasts so they looked a bit larger than usual. She did not look like a child; she looked like a woman.
"What good is it," she said, with a sigh. "He won't be there."
"You take too much for granted," said one of the goblins, a spindly little fellow with a pointy lower lip and an even pointier nose.
"I don't have a mask," she said.
"Lady not need one," said Shove. "Uh oh," he added, pointing out the window. "Biiiiiiiig car here." He smiled up at her, showing all of his sharp little teeth. "This gonna be some fun."
The party had already started by the time she got there. It was odd, she thought, as the driver handed her out of the limo, to see all these businessmen in costumes fit for a Faerie Court. They'd rented out the old Bastian Hotel (which had once been a mansion before being converted over by her father's company) for the evening, and the whole place was lit up like a Faerie castle, with twinkling lights winking everywhere, and everything sparkling with glitter. The lobby had been drenched in gold: gold cloth, gold chandeliers with dripping white candles, gold candelabras in the shapes of nymphs and satyrs and mermaids. Giant gold balloons floated against the high ceiling, trailing long gold and silver ribbons to the floor, so that she had to brush through them to make her way around.
It was so like her dreams that she was dizzy for a moment with deja vu. Everywhere she looked, there were masks. Unlike her dream, however, these masks were mostly innocuous: harlequins, Mardi Gras masks, peacock feathered and beaded confections dreamed up by the most tasteless of mask makers. There were some elaborate headdresses, and simple half masks, and some lovely, clearly handmade, beauties. But every once in a while, when she'd turn a little too quickly, a mask would pass by that would catch her eye because it was burning a little too brightly to be from her world. It would only be a glimpse of one them, vanishing into a crowd, but she had the impression that the masks were lovely, but grotesque, and hid faces that were too beautiful to be mortal.
It disconcerted her so much that she didn't hear Karen until the woman was standing at her elbow. "You couldn't find a mask? Oh, bother, and I left my extra at home. What ever are we going to do with you?"
Karen, true to form was wearing a frothy pink gown that would have shamed Glinda the Good Witch of the North. Her mask was clearly expensive, made of delicate white lace over molded pink satin, dripping with pearls, and decorated with tiny pink roses that matched the ones set into her upswept blonde hair. Behind her mask, her stepmother's eyes appraised her.
"I knew you would look stunning in that dress. Doesn't she look pretty?" Karen asked Sarah's father, who had wandered over, his mask dangling from one hand, and the other occupied with a glass of burbon.
"Very pretty, dear," he said, and bent over and kissed Sarah on her forehead, and she knew he was telling the truth. "You enjoying yourself?"
"It's a nice party, dad," she said politely. "What theme is it?" She was almost afraid to ask.
"Some Shakespeare something," he said. "Ask Karen, she was on the committee. Oh, dammit, George wants me for something. You'll excuse me, won't you, baby?" And he kissed her again and wandered off towards the bar.
"A Midsummer Night's Dream," said Karen, taking her arm and leading her toward the ballroom. "I know it's a bit late in the year for it, but we thought it'd be pretty. What do you think? Is it fit for your fairies?"
Sarah was quiet as she stood at the top of the stairs and stared down at the room below.
The walls were draped in dark blue velvet, which glittered with silver stars under the twinkling lights and the many candles, electric and otherwise. From the ceiling, more balloons hung, bobbing a little in the breeze that wafted in through the open doors to the veranda. These were silver, and seemed to contain little twinkling lights of their own, turning the ceiling into an ever-shifting starlit sky. There was a fountain, at the center of the room, and the colored lamps set into it turned the water into a shimmering cascade of gold as well. Everywhere, real live potted trees had been manicured into fantastic shapes, and draped with more twinkling lights. On the veranda she glimpsed tables covered in sheer white cloths that moved with the breeze like the skirts of a woman dancing.
But it was the dancers themselves that stole her attention, for among the mortals danced the Fae. She supposed that to the willfully ignorant eyes of the businessmen and women, and their shallow, scheming spouses that filled the room, these were just ordinary humans, dressed up to look like creatures of magic. But Sarah, with her charmed eyes, could see past the glamour to the reality, and with a start she realized that what she was seeing was a merging of borders, a blurring of lines, and the land of Faerie, set loose on the earth by the power of this one magical night, mingled with mortal realm.
They were tall and short, their gowns woven of silks and laces and leathers that had never been touched by mortal hands. Their masks were beautiful and grotesque at the same time, Goblin masks and death masks, Fae masks. Some of them weren't even masks at all, but their own fantastic faces. They danced with a grace that defied gravity, defied physics and form. And the mortals who danced among them never noticed when one of them danced through them, as if they were no more substantial than smoke.
In the shadows of the flickering candles, other creatures moved. Familiar shapes lurked in corners, flipping up ladies skirts, or carefully sticking a trail of toilet paper to a man's shoe. The shadows and cracks and nooks and niches were positively crammed with goblins of all shapes and sizes.
And somewhere, nearby, she knew she would find their King.
Karen was talking, but she wasn't paying attention until she heard her say "... Jareth?"
"What?" She asked, blinking, and trying to indicate that the music was too loud.
"I said," Karen said, a bit too loudly, in her ear, "Where did you put Jareth?"
"I...," she shrugged, lamely, "He's somewhere." She said, honestly enough.
"Well, when you find him, come find me. I have something to give him," and then her stepmother bubbled her way back through the door to find her father, trying to squeeze her froth of skirts through the bottleneck at the door.
The band finished playing whatever waltz they'd been plunking out, and a new set of musicians took their place. As the first notes fell over the crowd, the din of talking people fell silent, and those first few notes fell like crystals amidst the sudden quiet. Sarah turned to look at the bandstand, situated at one end of the room, and was not surprised to see that every one of the musicians burned brightly against the room. Quite an accomplishment considering that the room itself seemed to be pulsing in and out of her reality and into theirs.
The music seemed to cast a spell over everyone, mortal, fae, and goblin alike, until they were all swaying in time to the music, the goblins quiet for once as the soft strains of a song straight out of Faerie called them all to dance.
She felt the pull of the music, but was able to resist it easily enough. She knew he was here, somewhere, laughing at her, and she wasn't going to have it. Last night she'd given him her heart, and she wanted to know what he intended to do with it. She pushed through the crowd that was moving down the stairs toward the dance floor, eager to be closer to the music. All around her she felt the eyes of the Fae following her, their sparkling laughter a soft counterpoint to the music.
She didn't care. Her head high, she descended the stairs, searching for him.
"Gentle Lady," a soft voice said, and she turned to find a tale male Fae bowing slightly to her. His mask was a mockery of a goblin face, but the smile behind it was gentle. "It would honor me to dance with you."
"I... I'm looking for someone," she said, unused to the attention of men, fae or otherwise. He smiled, but not unkindly.
"Patience, I'm told, is a virtue in your world. Let him play his games, and we will counter with our own," he held out a slender white gloved hand, and without knowing what she was doing, she set her hand in his.
"I don't want to play games," she said, and he pulled her toward him and swept her onto the dance floor.
"Then do as you will, Lady. Your will is strong enough to hold against his, and he will come to you when he understands that." His hands were gentle and light on her waist and cupping her hand, and he remained a respectful distance. Under other circumstances, she would have found him quite handsome, but he was not who she sought. "We have waited for you a long time, Lady." He laughed softly at her surprise, for she heard the truth of his words. "The rumor mongers of our world are no less loose tongued as those in yours. We knew of you, and indeed, some of those that still travel Between Worlds have watched you as well. They are shier than the goblins, of course, and prefer to watch without being seen. But the stories of you have traveled our world, and you have earned the respect of the Seelie Court, at least. I cannot speak for the Other."
She was quiet, and considered this information as he swept her along, as light and airy as a feather.
"It has been a long time since one of your kind has come willingly to one of ours. It is a momentous occasion, although I fear the timing of it. There is wild magic loose here."
"How do you know?"
"We could not have come here so easily, else."
"Why here?" she asked. "This is nothing, just a mortal party. Why come here?"
"Because you've drawn us here, Gentle Lady. The power that is binding you ever more surely to him is pulling him even more strongly to you—and in doing so our worlds become closer. He is young, still, in the way that our People measure time, and very powerful, and the holding of his heart is no light thing. I only hope that you will be strong enough to bear it, for it would pain us to lose such a Mortal Lady as you."
"What do you mean?"
"Patience, and hope, a dash of courage, and that blessedly steady heart of yours. Follow your heart, Sweet Lady, and you will withstand all that will come. I only hope that when you do, you remember me as a friend."
"Why?" she asked, tilting her head to the side to study his face, where the mask did not conceal it. "I thought the Fae hated the goblins."
He laughed, a musical sound, and twirled her again. "I had forgotten how full of questions Mortals can be. We do not hate the goblins. Fear them, yes. Are... disgusted with them, of course," he shrugged. "I would not trade my place with him, even if it meant that I would have the love of such a Lady as you." His eyes sparkled behind his mask, and she felt the truth of him. "But I was once his friend, long, long ago, before he was a King, and bore the weight of the Labyrinth upon his shoulders. I would be his friend again, if his heart were to open once more."
The song was coming to an end, and time slowed with it.
"I'm afraid our candle is burnt low, Gentle Lady," he said, and she heard honest regret in his voice. "He will be here shortly, if his jealousy doesn't cause him to burst into flame." He smiled. "Please, remember me, when everything is done."
"I don't understand," she said, and he bowed low over her hand and brushed his lips over her bruised knuckles.
"I'm afraid you will, rather soon. Remember what I said. Patience. And hope."
"What might I call you?" she asked, remembering in time that it was impolite to ask the Fae their names. He smiled a gentle smile at her, and bowed to her once more.
"I am called Kundrun, by your kind." He pressed something small into her palm. "Keep it with you," he said. "You will need it."
And then he was gone, and she was left staring at a simple silver chain from which hung a tiny, perfect, silver sword. She felt no harm in it, and so she fastened it around her neck, and slide the sword between her breasts. It rested there so lightly she barely felt it, and when she looked down, she was astonished to see that while she could feel it resting there, she could only see the ghost of the truth of it.
AN: I'm about halfway through the next chapter, but I know some of you are impatient, as am I. You wanted a ball... I hope you're having one. :) Shove's looking forward to the next chapter. I swear, either his head is getting too big from all this attention, or he's swallowed too many socks...