Chapter 3: First Lesson, Don't Give Them Your Name

Sarah swallows hard, feeling like every little bit of air has taken flight from the room. The swarm of scurrying goblins has stilled. In the weak light filtering through from the window she can see them outlined in the shadows. Underneath tables and chairs, between the bottles of the bar. A couple swinging from the lights like children on tyre swings.

Teeming masses of them. Hundreds of them watching her and Jareth like a Broadway play, whispering amongst themselves, occasionally snickering. It's dizzying, the monstrous amount of memories pouring back into her head, just as it had been the first time five years ago when she'd wrangled her way out of a trash pit.

How did I forget?

How could I possibly have forgotten all that?

But it was just a story... yesterday it was just a story...

Jareth watches her cooly, a languid gaze sinking into her eyes.

"Nice to finally be remembered, dearest." He twirls his riding crop in a hand, seemingly absentmindedly.

"Why?" Sarah can barely croak out the single word. Her head is still spinning drastically and she regrets the beer she's been drinking throughout the evening. She needs her wits about her, and they all seem to have scampered off in a flurry.

"You know very well I could never resist an invitation from you."

"What invitation? I didn't wish... you weren't invited!"

Get it together, Sarah. There are rules. He can't just...he can't just show up!

His eyes flare into something not all together human. Like two owls eyes, narrowing in on a mouse a mile beneath him. She'd only been dimly aware, in the innocence of her youth, just how dangerous those eyes were. She'd put it down to the strangely glamorous look five years ago, but the more she studies him now the clearer it becomes. That there isn't make-up around his eyes, but markings. Like some venomous snake. Some toxic insect. Bright colors, with poison underneath.

"Lies." He purrs. "Though perhaps 'invitation' isn't quite the right word for our bargain."

"What bargain-" more memories flood back in. Things she thought were dreams. Pieces she thought were nightmares. Oh God. "That... that was five years ago. You didn't come! Isn't there a statute of limitations here?"

"What's said is said. I've waited long enough to collect on our wager."

"I don't owe you anything..."

"More lies." He whispers. "It's a miracle human tongues don't simply fall out of your mouths from misuse." Each time she blinks his teeth seem to gain an additional sharpness. His face edging further away from human.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Goblin King."

"That, dearest, is precisely my point." A smattering of goblin laughter underneath the window draws her gaze for just a second and suddenly he's no longer in front of her, but lounging against the bar behind her, regarding her brazenly. She spins. Her eyes land on his face, catching a flared eyebrow raising as his eyes travel down the length of her.

"What are you wearing, darling?" He almost crooned.

Her cheeks darken with an angry red blush. As ever he looks immaculately tailored, the line of his suit accentuating narrow hips, strong arms, a wiry build. The expansive collar of his red leather jacket mirroring the harsh angle of his jawline. The open front of his shirt forcing her gaze downwards over a chiselled pale stomach, to the goblin medallion glinting just above his sternum.

All of it so starkly at odds with what she's wearing.

Not exactly dressed for this...

She clenches her jaw, steeling herself against the embarrassment of it all.

"Was the dress from you?"

His eyes glitter. "A birthday gift is custom... I thought we could finish our dance, my love."

She feels suddenly dizzy, head swimming, like she's spinning once again in that manic, nightmarish ball. The way he's looking at her now, too close to how he looked at her then. She had only been a teenager but she knew what that look meant. And what it preceded. As chaste as the distance between them had been then, it had been charged with electricity, unsaid words, burning magic. Those glowing eyes, never once leaving hers...

A ripple of goblin chatter breaks her from her reverie and in its place fury reignites. He almost had her again...

"You have no power over me, Jareth!" She sputters, the words finally rising out of the fog.

End this!

She sees a tight flinch around his eyes. The words seem to catch his attention, and Sarah takes a wary step back, away from that look on his face. An intimate, predatory look that catches her breath.

A crystal rolls out from behind her, between her feet, skittering to and fro until it bounces on its own, springing into his hand. He rolls it over, hiding it in his palm, not bothering with his usual tricks and flourishes. When he turns it over again it's changed into a thin plastic card, cradled in the palm of his gloved hand.

There's a collective, suitably impressed, gasp from the goblin hoard piled in under tables and chairs.

Her driver's licence. Sarah blinks in shock. The thin face of the bartender... She fumbles for her wallet, trembling fingers fishing it out from her pocket. In the slot where her licence had been is a mottled brown and white owl feather.

Oh God...

"Oooh but I do." He croons. "Of sorts, Sarah Irene Williams. Rule number one; never give your name to the likes of me. There's so much power in a name. Of course-" he sighs looking genuinely disappointed, "we are, unfortunately, equal in that regard."

Sarah Irene Williams... the moment he had her full name all the little whirring cogs had clicked into place in his head. Points evened, scores levelled. Equal with her now on a plane of power.

After so long, he finally has as much control over her now as she had over him.

Sarah Irene Williams. Her name tastes like peppermint and sea salt. Such a pretty name, that tastes so powerful. He could roll it over his tongue for days, squeezing every last ounce of magic out of it.

Maybe I will. Afterwards.

The power I could have if she didn't have mine too. A shame. Still, tied to her, my name in her mouth...

There are certainly worse things...

He taps the riding crop almost absentmindedly against his leather clad thigh as he slides off the bar, spinning her licence between and around his fingers in delicate pirouettes in his other hand.

"Do tell me, precious," the heat radiates from him in waves, "who was the little rascal that gave you my name? I'd dearly like to know."

Sarah pinches her lips shut, furious at the wicked grin that suffuses his face. He runs a tongue over pointed, crooked teeth, leans in dangerously close. She feels the tip of the riding crop slip up her leg, like a snake over her skin and she flinches back.

"Was it Hobble?" He breathes in her ear.

"Hoggle."

"Whatever."

She glares. Her body is throbbing with fight or flight instincts and it takes a significant amount of control to push down the flight response when he's standing so close to her.

Fight, flight and... well, something else...

Up close those mismatched eyes jog another memory that had been dangling out of reach.

Jarry...

The name makes her shiver, and she hates herself for it as his leering grin spreads wider, goblin tittering echoing round the club's hall.

"Have you been visiting Toby?"

He pulls back, his grin slipping an inch. Clearly aggravated that he hasn't mesmerised her into a stupor. Yet.

"Ahh... delightful little boy. Quite the artist." He looks her dead in the eyes, making sure his words land. "Interesting dreams. Not nearly as interesting as yours though..."

"You lost, Jareth. Stay the hell away from him."

"I have not lost, Sarah. Not yet. And if you back out of our wager you forfeit the deal we made completely. The both of you will be accompanying me back, not just you.." He cocks his head. "Perhaps that's what you want. I would not begrudge you your own blood. Of course he'd eventually turn, and be one of the rabble, but as I recall you never did care much about consequences."

"How dare you." She snarls, but the quiver in her voice gives her away.

He'd threatened to turn him before, and she couldn't bare it.

"Don't you think he'd make a sweet little goblin?" Jareth sneers. "A nice tall one at that."

Her license blurs in his fingers as he spins it, unfurling into a sheet of paper and Sarah's stomach sinks further. A scribbley drawing on crisp white paper, unmistakably Toby's. Another owl portrait. Huge round eyes on a sharp face. A dark expansive triangle flowing from the neck. A cloak, she realises. His cloak.

"I could make him the court artist. What do you think? Doesn't he capture my eyes well?"

"You're a bastard."

The smile dims for a only second, the veneer of cheerful camaraderie slipping for less than a breath in.

"That's really very vulgar, Sarah. Did no one teach you your manners?" He refolds the paper, tucking it into his cloak. "Time to go."

He extends a hand, almost cordially, but she doesn't take it.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He smiles, but doesn't lower his hand.

"Don't defy me, Sarah." He all but sighs, and this time there's a tug at her core when he says her name. "It's tedious."

Watching her squirm against his control is delicious. Of course she can break it, but she doesn't fully know it yet, and he savours the look of defiance on her face as she fights against the power of her name on his lips.

"Is this the part where you tell me you don't want to hurt me but you will?"

His laugh has genuine delight underneath it and she rears back away from him.

"Nothing so cliche. I will have our bargain, but if you continue to be insolent the goblins will bring you instead. I'd rather avoid it, they can be very enthusiastic."

"From what I recall they had better manners than you did." She snarls, furious at the wriggling feeling in her stomach begging her to obey. The more she doesn't, the worse it gets.

It's just my name. It means nothing. Anyone can say my name.

"From what you recall..." Jareth mulls her words over, sucking on them like toffees. "What is it you recall, precious? The little game we played out for you? The story you had memorised? Or the script already written? That is not my world, Sarah. That's yours, and I played along because you wished it. My kingdom will not be anywhere near as obliging to you this time."

He holds out his hand once more, but Sarah shakes her head.

"This isn't fair."

"Ah there it is. Your unwavering sense of injustice upon your person." He sighs, seemingly exasperated. "Very well. If I'm being so unfair in your eyes there's really no need for further courtesy. Still, goblins do love their games. I'll give you a head start."

"A head start?"

"I'll count to ten. Ready?"

She shakes her head but he starts anyway.

"One."

"If I make it out of this stupid bar, it's over? Agreed?"

"I hardly think you need worry about that. Two."

"JARETH!"

"Three."

Just got to get to the doors. If I can just get out I'll wake up and this will all be over. It won't be real anymore-

She runs, spinning for the doors. The glowing green exit sign of the fire escape suddenly illuminates behind her.

"Four."

She slams into the bar of it, but it doesn't open, locked from the inside and no key.

Oh shit! Please!

She turns, sprinting blindly for the entrance instead. Something catches at her boot and she nearly goes sprawling across the floor, righting herself at the last second, mid-sprint.

"Five."

Glass crunches under foot. The further away she gets from him the less his voice is in the hall and instead in her head. The sound of it makes her panic.

Please.

"Six."

The faux saloon style doors are bolted, and on the other side of them shutters have been pulled all the way down. No way out.

No way out but for the broken window.

She pelts back down the hallway, and this time she does trip, skidding on a pool of spilled beer she goes down on her side, bashing her knee hard. Tears spring into her eyes.

"Seven."

Get up! GET UP, GET UP!

Wobbling from the pain she manages to put her weight on her leg and lift herself, gasping at the stitch that bites suddenly into her side.

"Eight."

No!

She makes it back to the club's hall, and for a blessed minute it seems empty. No thousands of eyes staring at her, no little sniggers in the dark. No Jareth lounging against the bar.

She stalls. Was it just a dream? A bad dream after too much to drink.

"Nine."

Too late she realises her mistake, letting herself be distracted from the broken window just out of reach.

Only a few feet away- her fingers reaching for the broken pane-

"Ten."

A gnarled hand grips her ankle, yanking her back away from the window. She screams but the sound doesn't reach past her lungs as she tumbles down onto the club floor. Her hat falls off and her head hits the boards with a smack that makes stars dance under her eyelids. Immediately they're there. Goblins. Surrounding her in a sea of hairy wild faces and crooked teeth, grinning mouths and hands holding her down. Sharp goblin claws digging into the flesh of her legs and arms.

"Jareth-" a thick piece of leather muffles any pleas as it's forced between her teeth, knotted tightly at the back of her head. She kicks out, briefly pleased at the squawk a goblin makes as she catches its leg with her boot, thrashing wildly but not for long. Ropes tighten around her ankles, pinching cruelly even through her boots and she moans as she's flipped on to her stomach.

More ropes. Round her wrists yanked behind her back. Around her torso, cutting underneath the line of her bra, squeezing her biceps to her side painfully. She flails uselessly and the ropes bite tighter.

Hundreds of vicious little hands lift her up, levelling her towards the broken window as she tries to catch her breath around the gag in her mouth, before she's pitched up and out into the darkness.

She lands in soft sand, on the precipice of a slope, but the off balance of her fall sends her skidding down the bank. She squeezes her eyes tight shut to keep out the sand as she cascades down, landing with a hard thump against a wall.

Against the side of the labyrinth. Cold, damp brick at her back, her arms crushed underneath her.

She coughs, trying to dislodge some of the grit in her mouth around the leather gag. The sound of footsteps sets her struggling again, sore as she is.

Boots in sand. Long slow strides.

She manages to open her eyes, blinking hard against the light of a perpetual sunset. A pair of leather clad legs block her view of anything else, and she moves her head back with a lurch as he crouches down, fishing the gag out of her mouth.

She wants to curse him, scream at him, spit at him, but all she can manage is a weak cough around a mouth still half full of sand.

"Welcome back, my brave champion."