A/N: Much love as always to everyone following along. I hope I haven't confused anyone too much. We're unraveling some motivations in this one.

Disclaimer: Labyrinth is not mine.

Chapter 8: Disturbing Compulsions

The aisles at Stop & Shop were overwhelming on a good day. Sarah's day was nothing of the sort.

She hated grocery shopping. Hated it with a passion that should have been reserved for a circle of hell. It was tedious. Expensive. Required eventual heavy lifting up three flights of steps to her apartment. And perhaps most troubling, it called for a degree of planning that she hadn't even been able to wrangle together for more important aspects of her life. It was a deficit that she quickly needed to overcome, what with the present chaos she found herself in.

There was no doubt the agents would be following up with her and 'Jay' after what he'd disclosed. What the hell was she supposed to do when they demanded an explanation of what Grog had been doing in her world? Where he had been hiding? Because it seemed clear the discovery of goblins in her world was new. She stilled as she grabbed for a jar of marinara sauce. What would Grog say if they asked him? She and Jareth could deny their actual history, but she wasn't confident the goblin had an aptitude for verbal deception. Not with the simplicity of words and actions she'd seen. She'd need to ask Jareth about that. In any case, if authorities didn't find the kid soon, there was no doubt they'd call them in again. Unless they abandoned the book, she and Jareth were going to need a back-up plan.

Or she was going to need to get a passport. Pronto.

Sarah set the jar down carefully in her cart. She had no idea what the king preferred to eat, but he'd have to make do with what she could afford. She'd already burned through her initial payment on her last book, and it was hard to predict how much her royalties would bring in. He'd claimed nothing would harm him. She cracked a smile. He hadn't tried her cooking yet. It was likely to make him permanently reconsider that aspect of hosting. She kept her grin as she pulled a box of noodles into the cart: if she could convince him to do all the cooking, there'd be at least one benefit to having him as a houseguest.

Purchases made and wallet, regrettably, considerably thinner, Sarah stuffed the bags in the trunk before sliding back into her car. Jareth had discovered the lever tucked alongside his seat and was leaning back with an easy grace that should have been impossible, bending space which her cramped car lacked and putting models to shame. It irritated her on levels she wasn't comfortable admitting. At the slam of her door, he stirred, and his familiar grin resurfaced.

"That did not take long. Couldn't stay away?"

Immediately – disturbingly - she wanted to affirm his quip. And it took some effort for Sarah to force her teeth to clench instead of giving in to the obscene temptation. What. The. Hell. Sarah.

He obviously noticed her tension, because he laughed softly, and repositioned his elbow so it propped his head on the side door rest. "Something wrong, Sarah?" he inquired easily.

Something was exceedingly wrong. Not because his teasing bothered her, but because it didn't. And it should have. It absolutely should have. The temptation to return the quips just barely lost out to a wall of good sense warning her against engaging in games with a master. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she just shook her head and backed out of the spot.

She could feel his unrelenting stare, but she dared not turn and give him the satisfaction. That unsettling feeling that he was entirely too pleased with himself, despite their disastrous morning, was nestling a pit deep in her stomach, right next to her disturbing impulses. After some time, the pit urged her to speak. "Is there something on my face?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You've been staring at me for the last ten minutes."

"It is distracting you?" he questioned wryly.

She was compelled to say 'yes' and bit down on her tongue instead of stroking his ego. She glanced at him quickly, issuing a sharp scowl instead of a response. He was distracting. He knew he was. He knew damn well he'd been able to distract her even at fifteen when she didn't understand the pull to be with him. Now, at thirty-five and somewhat experienced, it was unden…

Jesus! She just barely missed hitting the car next to her as she swerved. What the hell was wrong with her? Undeniable? To be with him? Had the stress already caused her to snap?

Jareth grabbed at the roof at the unexpected jerk. "I thought you intended to kill me after I assisted?"

"I want you alive." It was out before her brain could process it, and her eyes bulged. Mouth similarly agape. There was no way he hadn't heard it and little chance that he wouldn't spin that admission to his benefit. Her, admitting she wanted him in any sense of the word, the feather in his proverbial cap. The leather of the wheel strained under the pressure of her grip.

But, instead of insinuation, only the subtle tremor of a laugh responded to her claim. Amusement and self-satisfaction flowed through the easy release of breath. There was something like expectance in the softness of his voice and its fading echo which disturbed Sarah more than any urge to speak. As if he knew too much and she knew nothing at all. Without thinking, she pulled off the road and the screech of burning rubber followed until she stopped, resting at the far edge of the gas station lot, to glare at her passenger. His wolfish grin confirmed her suspicions: he had done something.

"What did you do?" she hissed. His ensuing snort set her further on edge, and she gritted her teeth at his obstinance. Her interrogation had gone to hell ever since he'd dropped his glamour. "Tell me now, Jareth."

He chuckled again, yet the unsettling flicker in his eyes hinted at more than amusement. "Nothing permanent, I assure you. An exercise to settle my curiosity. You've affirmed my suspicions. It will wear off shortly."

"That explains nothing." It did confirm, however, that he had done something. That he was playing games with her despite their pressing crisis. It either didn't anger him as much as his biting hesitance let on, or he'd discovered something immeasurably better to offset it. Neither boded well for her.

He ignored her pointed stare, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes. "Does it not? Such a pity."

"Is this all a game to you? Faking concern about the agents then messing with my mind?"

"I neither feigned concern nor interfered in your mind, Sarah," he derided. "I provided a key. You used it all on your own." He turned his head then and regarded her coolly. "As I explained, the book was an unpleasant and unexpected development, and one that I intend to resolve."

Sarah pursed her lips. There was a truth that rung within his lines that demanded that she listen. But his riddle-speak was going to drive her crazy. He knew what he'd one – what effect it had on her – and was obviously disinclined to explain. She had done nothing involving any sort of 'key'. Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want it.

"Take back the key, then."

He snorted again. "I'm afraid on that, Sarah, what's said is said. But in this particular instance, yours is only a temporary compulsion. You'll find you can now return to your veil of anger."

That bastard. And she stilled for an instant, testing her thoughts. She wanted to jab him in the thigh with her car keys, leave him stranded at the side of the ride in a torrential downpour. She hoped he had an undiscovered and uncomfortable allergy to marinara; the kind that required her to stab him – hard - with an epi-pen. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, raised a thankful glance at the ceiling, then turned and jumped minutely. She scowled. "Stop doing that."

The Goblin King had reverted into the not-so version of himself, the sheen around him just hazy enough to dispel the lie behind the disguise. At her demand, he allowed himself to smile, then suddenly, to her immense irritation, snapped his fingers and the guise fell again.

"My apologies for the distress," he crooned, and Sarah's eyebrows leaped to her hairline. He flicked a gloved hand over towards the wheel. "You can return us to your lodging, now. We have plans to make regarding the book."

Sarah spared him an odd glance, but then, with another pursing of lips, veered back onto the highway. He wasn't wrong that they needed to plan. And she needed to smash something.

Toby regretted very few things in his short life. Sleeping through his alarm on the morning of his SAT's. Waiting too long to ask Rebecca Evans to prom. Drinking his weight in beer on graduation night. But as the morning dragged into the afternoon, his compulsion to obtain a goblin to assist his office was beginning to crack the list.

The agents had, unsurprisingly, decided on a very specific and detailed plan to infiltrate the cult. It required Grog to stumble across the gathering, somehow compelled to it by whatever magic the agents believed the group was meddling with. Therein was the first problem: the agents still didn't know what the cult actually did at their gatherings. They had a fair amount of blurry pictures with circles of creatures. In some, a fire pit in the back of an alleyway glowed unnaturally as the group surrounded the flames. The face of the dark-haired man was always hidden by a creature or bad angle, and never alongside Dylan Olson or any other person. It was only because they'd found Dylan's hat in the alleyway that they even tied the group to the kidnapping. They could only assume the Representative's son was part of some spell or ritual. No ransom had been requested. The boy had yet to be returned. It was unknown even if he was alive. Grog needed to find a way to bring up Dylan Olson if the cult didn't mention him. And he had to do it without seeming too interested. Or suspicious.

While Grog might have been content to listen to these instructions under other circumstances, in the time between meeting the Olsons and returning to speak with the agents, Toby had been unable to make good on his promise to get Grog more shiny things. And the goblin had noticed.

"C'mon, Grog. Just listen," Toby pleaded, holding Grog by his collar to keep him from sliding out of his chair again. More than once, he'd darted under the table to pluck at the loose carpet threads. Several had been ripped clean from the floor, leaving a bald spot Toby hadn't yet figured out how to hide. Grog was still munching on the threads with aplomb as he swiveled in his chair.

"Promished shiny," Grog mumbled, giving Toby an accusing glance.

"I know. I'm sorry. We just have to finish here first. This is really important."

The agents said nothing regarding Grog's recalcitrance. Toby had maneuvered himself into the investigation with his insistence that Grog stayed with him, and it appeared they were holding him to all responsibility. If the gambit failed, he'd take the blame.

"Ther's also the matter of recording, Mr. Williams," the agent Toby now knew as Collier kicked in. "In case your goblin is unable to recount everything at the gathering, it's important we have a backup."

"He's not-" but Toby stopped. That wasn't the important bit. He had a sinking feeling Grog was about to get his promised gifts. "What sort of recording do you need? Audio?" Wires might not catch Grog's attention, but Toby had never come across any hidden video device without the sheen of a lens.

Collier shook his head. "Audio-video. If Dylan is present, this is our second eye. He'll need to wear a hidden camera."

Toby winced. Therein was the second problem. "I don't think that's going to work, sir."

"It's non-negotiable, Williams. Figure it out." He reached into one of his accordion folders and pulled out a metallic sphere no bigger than a button. He clasped it between two fingers. "This needs to be on his front at all times. It will give us a live recording of what's going on. If something goes wrong, we'll also be able to get him out."

Toby gave Grog a side-long glance, tightening his grip on his collar. As expected, he'd stilled in his chair, half-eaten threads falling from a gaping mouth. His attention had been piqued by the shining button that Collier was presenting.

"That's just the thing, sir. Grog has an...affinity for shiny things. I don't think he'll be able to ignore the camera. It might blow his cover."

Collier frowned, stuffing the button back into his folder. "So get him some jewelry as well, Williams. Is he going to be able to assist, or not?"

Toby sighed. He didn't have much of a choice. Sarah had some things he could borrow, at least. More favors she'd likely hang over his head. "Yes, sir. I'll just need to go grab some things at my sister's. It won't take long."

At least if he saw Sarah again, he'd be able to tell her immediately about the issue with Murdock. Maybe she and the king had something to give him so he could spell Murdock to forget her involvement.

If nothing else, she'd have aspirin.

Jareth's eyes remained uncomfortably affixed to Sarah until she made it home, but he at least assisted with carrying the bags of groceries up her three flights of stairs. She put them away herself. His 'generosity' only extended so far.

She'd bought bread, sliced cheese, greens, and lunchmeat, and after Jareth assured her he was competent enough to construct a sandwich, she'd left him briefly. There was something she needed to check. It seemed impossible given she'd just seen it the prior evening, but the presence of the book at the station made her wonder if someone had broken into her apartment.

The book sat untouched in the back of her closet and she pulled it out wearily. So it was another copy, then. She'd never seen another copy of the book in any store, so Jareth's admission of its ties to the Underground confirmed a concerning truth. Someone from his world - for some unknown and undoubtedly sinister reason - was attempting to connect her to a political kidnapping. And so far, they were doing an exceptional job. She sighed and tucked the book under her arm. Maybe Jareth would know a way it could somehow assist them in building a cover story.

He was already eating when she returned and she tossed the book across from him on the table. He stilled immediately, sandwich mid-way to his mouth.

"They didn't steal my copy. Explain to me again how to get one of these books?"

Jareth set his sandwich down slowly, never taking his eyes from the book. "You kept it," he whispered almost to himself. "All this time?"

Sarah fell into her seat, prepared for his derisive comments. She had not intended on revealing it to him, but the station threw a wrench into those plans. "Yes. Don't ask me why. It's caused me more trouble than good." She waited several seconds, but the blankness of his expression matched his lack of response. It was nothing like she'd expected, especially after the distaste he'd shown the copy at the station. "How do you get a copy of this book, Jareth?" Her speaking his name always seemed to spark his attention.

His gaze left the book to focus on her briefly, and then he brought the sandwich back to his lips. He took a hearty bite and swallowed before finally responding, calmly. "The books are created as needed. The best I can explain is that their magic fills a void born from powerful emotion. Anger. Longing. Grief. I've seen them come to others too, but it is always some emptiness the magic can fill. Always on your side of the veil."

"How many?"

His countenance turned cold. "Too many."

Sarah furrowed her brow and pulled her copy closer. The book was beginning to disturb her just as greatly as her earlier impulses. Something else bothered her as well. "So whoever obtained that copy did so in my world, then? Or was from my world?"

"I am aware of no other way to obtain one unless it was borrowed or stolen."

Sarah brought a hand up to her eyes, rubbing. That didn't narrow down any suspects. She dropped her hand and hesitated briefly, but then asked the question she'd refrained from demanding an answer to in the car. "What does this High Court do that might make them involved?"

He lowered what was left of his sandwich. "I will ask you again: are you certain you wish to know?"

She dug her nails into her palms. "Yes."

He frowned, but left the sandwich on his plate, moving his hands instead to steeple in front of his face. "What do you believe happens when a wisher fails to make it to the castle in the allotted time?"

"They return home without their child?" she asked, wary. He shook his head and Sarah's stomach sank."Why not?"

"The High Court does not allow it." He saw some of the blood drain from her face as she likely considered the consequences of not reaching the center in time, and continued. "Those who fail the Labyrinth's test are forfeit to your side of the veil. The Hgh Court...amuse themselves with those who've failed. I don't believe I need to explain that your kind are unwilling participants in these pursuits."

No, she could imagine well enough what he meant. Some form of slavery, pleasure or servitude, sprang to the top of her list. Forced entertainment. Torture? From his warnings, there was no doubt of the severity of the High Court's propensities. "What," and she swallowed, a thick coating of bile suddenly filling her mouth. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You left."

"So?"

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was something different in his expression. Darker. Emptier. "No one else has."

Somewhere in the Underground.

"The boy succeeded in obtaining the goblin. I've seen it myself. It is undoubtedly one of his. It is only a matter of time now, M'lord."

"Excellent work. And the book?"

"Delivered as requested," the servant bowed. "Along with the note."

The master smiled in his seat, crossing long legs and leaning back to relish in the ease of his plan. Tonight. He'd get his first taste of revenge tonight. And then, he'd take the only thing the king had ever truly wanted.

A/N: So, it's getting a bit darker now. Next: Grog attends his gathering.