Chapter Fourteen: The Hunter

Jaaaaareeeeeth. The hideously sing song voice was unbearably familiar in his mind as he stumbled against the wall of his castle. Pain flashing through his neck and his chest. The vision of a young woman on a stage with dark hair flickered in front of his eyes for a second, but he saw enough to know it wasn't Sarah.

Jareth. This time the cry was a whimper from his sister. Finally the world steadied and he knew what had happened. They had missed one of the descendants. Sarah had been the second last and now, with the barrier little more than thin membrane as delicate as a bubble, his mother could reach the mind of both him and his sister.

I'm here Celeste.

Now now Jareth, ignoring your dearly beloved mother isn't polite. Crystal moon her voice was as slick and as venomous as he had remembered.

The only thing I would love about you would be to have your head mounted on a plaque and GET THE HELL AWAY FROM CELESTE!

Dipping into long unused abilities, he sent the mental equivalent of a right hook slamming through the connection to that foul Angelic wench. A scream echoed through him then all was silent.

Perhaps the certainty that was growing in him was foolish. Perhaps it was reckless and rash. But he knew what he had to do now, even though it meant defying the laws of the Underground to do it. He was about to make seven hundred and fifty six Kingdoms very angry.

Sarah was coming to his Kingdom after tonight.

Jareth looked around the bar with a raised eyebrow. This was where Sarah worked? The place was a dive. Smoke clogged the air and clouded the room, making the little light there was murky. The bars patrons didn't look particularly pleasant either. Most of them were unwashed and many had long unkempt beards. On the whole it reminded him of the many smugglers dens he had visited in his youth and was most likely equally as dangerous. Spotting a barmaid with smooth curled blond hair, Jareth quickly made his way over to her catching her arm once he was near enough.

"Excuse me miss," he said with slight smile. Her dark eyes turned to him and her mouth formed a small 'o' shape as she took in his form. "I was wondering if you could tell me where Sarah is. She works here." Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled, seemingly in recognition.

"You must be Jareth. Sarah said you looked like David Bowie but more attractive. She really wasn't kidding." He didn't know whether to growl in annoyance or jump for joy. She had been talking about him! Even if she had been comparing him to a glam rock star. He settled for rolling his eyes with a smile in the end. "She's a lucky girl and you're a lucky guy. You'll just have time to get a drink before she starts on stage."

"Thank you," he said, releasing her arm before turning to the bar. He ordered a non-alcoholic drink and received and odd look from the bar maid before it was handed over for quite the extortionate price. He had learnt long ago that it was most unwise for him to drink. He was quite the angry drunk and with a condition like his anger was the last emotion he wanted to nurture. After taking a sip of his drink he discovered that the Underground was not the only place fond of watering down and so he took a seat at the bar, shaking his head. What had he seen in places like this in his youth?

The lights dimmed. With a frown Jareth turned around to look at the stage. He could see the silhouettes of people and hear the murmurs of the bars patrons. A strong husky female voice sang out with a power to rival any mans and an unquestionable note of seduction.

"Shot through the heart
And you're to blame
You give lo-o-ove a bad name"

Light flared with pounding of a drum and the strumming of a guitar. His jaw dropped when he saw Sarah standing at the microphone. Knee high stiletto boots, a black leather mini skirt draped in chains and a well fitted Iron Maiden t-shirt. She had curled her hair as well. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. No, she was definitely on the stage wearing about the hottest outfit he had ever seen on a woman and yet managing to not look like a cheap whore. She was stood with her hip jutting out and her foot tapping to the beat. The song went on with Sarah flawlessly playing the Rock Goddess. While her voice wasn't exactly superb by any stretch of the imagination it was certainly enough to perfect her strut and charisma. Every movement from her brief foray into air guitar to the occasional swivel of her hips was faultlessly arrogant and taunting in a way that only rock was meant to be. To say he was mesmerised would be a gross understatement. He was starting to think she should have warned him about just how . . . explicit her performance was.

A smile curved up his lips when the song finished and the bar erupted into wolf whistles and raucous applause. "Why thank you very much," she said, her voice just as husky as it had been when she had been singing and a self sure smirk on her lips. "I take we have some rock fans in the bar tonight." More cheers rang out from the men around him. This place really was the Upperground's equivalent of the Undergrounds smugglers dens. Though he was fairly certain Sarah wasn't a whore like the singers of those places tended to be. "Well then, I'll have to make sure I don't disappoint you." The guitar started up again, closely followed by the drums and the piano type instrument. A keyboard was it? The name seemed about right.

"So you think I got an evil mind
Well I'll tell you honey
I just don't know why
I just don't know why"

"God she's hot," came the smoke abused voice of the man sat next to him. His greying hair stuck out from under a filthy trucker's hat and there was several days worth of stubble on his undernourished face. Enough to make Jareth unsure if he had simply forgotten to shave or if he was starting to grow a beard.

"Yes," he found himself answering with smug pride. "She most certainly is."

"Ever seen her on stage before?"

"No, this is the first time." Still smirking Jareth turned his eyes back to the stage, rather proud that he could make an entire room jealous once she had come off the stage.

"You've missed out then. She sometimes wears these tight leather trousers and a low cut top and considering how often she spends leaning over towards the crowd . . ." he finished, waggling his eyebrows. Jareth suddenly found himself in a far less charitable mood. He turned his eyes to the man in irritation.

"She's my girlfriend," he pointed out sternly expecting the man to back off. Instead a wide grin spread across his face, exposing the four gaps that had previously housed teeth and he coughed out an impressed laugh.

"Lucky bastard," he barked jovially, clapping Jareth on the back "There's not a man in here who wouldn't give up their own good hand for the rest of their lives for just one night with her." He gave the King another friendly slap on the back. "Most likely because she's as close to unattainable as possible. How the hell did you manage to snatch her up?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself." Nor was entirely sure why he was tolerating this man. Though he was most definitely hoping that he wasn't being patted on the back with his 'good hand'. Thankfully the conversation died and the rather unwashed man stopped touching him. That was definitely one of the things he had not missed in all the centuries since he had stopped frequenting places like this. At least no one was trying to sell him some random and useless stolen goods.

Slowing her rate of wing beat, she lowered herself to the rooftop of one of those ridiculously high buildings that had been cropping up everywhere in the last hundred or so years. Smoothly her feet touched the roof and she ran a few steps before coming to a halt and comfortably folding her wings. A frown found her smooth brow as she forced her senses to widen. What was that thing near the last mongrel Sylph? It felt familiar. Too familiar. It was something she knew she should recognise; perhaps something she should fear but it had been so long . . .

Then memory, the ruthless master that it was, hit her. It was one of her own. An Angel! Oh one of her own kind, with wings of white! It had been so long! She could barely remember any of her own species. Well, except for her older cousin but she wasn't inclined to count that one since she had been talking with her since she had foolishly found herself trapped in this magic forsaken realm, filled with its verminous cattle. After the two World Wars the time had been right, the number of mongrels had been cut drastically. Her job had been easy. Her separation from her kind had been given purpose. Now there was only one left and one of her own was close to it.

So why was it still alive? And why hadn't this one of her kin come to find her? Curiously but quietly she reached out to the fellow Angel only to find her way blocked by the most extreme loathing she had ever come across on the subconscious level. They were male and they hated their own kind. That was all she could read from them. Was that why the mongrel still lived? Because this Angel had no wish to free his kind so they could claim the two inferior realms as was the right of their superior race.

But what male Angel could loath their own kind with such fervour? Her eyes widened as realisation struck. It couldn't be! Surely he would have killed himself after the War of the Wings. After the atrocities he had both seen and committed. He had done the unthinkable to his own kind. She had seen it with her own eyes. She had seen him rip the wings a from fellow Angels back when he had flown into a blind fury. To even touch an Angels wings without their permission was sacrilege deserving of death so it was impossible he would have survived the guilt of removing them. Or did he truly hate his own kin to such an extent for that most heinous of crimes to cause him no qualms? It was possible. More than likely now she thought about it.

"Jareth Crossfeather," she murmured to the wind. Timidly trying the name on her tongue. "The Damned One." If he was there that meant he was more than likely protecting the mongrel. There was no chance she would be able to come out victorious against him. He was a butcher, a blasphemer and more powerful than she would ever be able to dream of becoming. And he was a berserker like his mother. Worse, he was a King in the Underground and so had all the power of his kingdom to call upon should he need to.

Her plans would need to change if she was still to carry out her duty and free her people of the shackles the nature perverters had forced upon them. All hopes of ending it tonight were gone; there would be no way to get close enough to the mongrel to be able to kill it without the Damned One knowing. He would surely sense her presence and kill her before she could give her people the chance to avenge themselves against both realms and especially against him. She would need to be patient, the Lord of the Wing surely favoured her over the Damned One, he would give her the opportunity she needed if she was simply prepared to wait.

A huge grin on her face, Sarah ran from her finished set on the stage into the waiting arms of Jareth. Completely blocking out the rest of the bar's occupants she firmly pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief and she had soon pulled back to look him. There was a rather smug smirk on his lips as he levelly looked into her eyes through the lenses of his glasses. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"You were on time," she told him simply, then admitted "and I'm glad to see you."

"Always good to hear. You were brilliant by the way. I'm not sure what I was expecting but you most certainly topped it." He reached up and began to toy with one of her very sprayed into place curls. Then a frown found his brow when he discovered the curl was reluctant to move in the way a curl should and he raised his eyebrow at her.

"Hair spray in large amounts," she explained. "And thank you. I thought you'd hate it just because of what I was wearing." He hadn't given up on her curl yet and he seemed determined to make it bounce as a natural curl would.

"No, I enjoyed watching you flounce about on stage wearing a short skirt and singing in that wonderfully husky voice of yours. Though I have to admit I was rather tempted to rip the eyes out of the man who decided to sit next to me."

Batting away Jareth's hand, she hooked her arm through his and pulled him towards the door. "Come on, I spend enough time in this place as it is." He didn't resist and it was a relief when they were out the door into clean air. They walked in silence for a few minutes with Jareth frowning at the ground. It wasn't like him. Usually he would have been talking, more than likely making some sort of crude joke. Instead he looked shaken. It simply wasn't right for Jareth's personality. He was boisterous, he was cocky. He wasn't quiet. A quiet Jareth was as unnatural as a dolphin with legs.

She stopped him with a hand on his chest and looked into his mismatched eyes with worry. "What's wrong?" A raised eyebrow was the only response to her question. "You're quiet and pale . . . er than usual." A slight smile found his lips and fondly shook his head before taking hold of her hand.

"You weren't the last descendent. There was one other and now she's been killed. The barrier is weak enough to let my mother contact Celeste and myself. It's shaken me a bit." A frown found her own brow. She didn't know much about Jareth's mother. Only that she had wished him and his sister away and not bothered to face the Labyrinth to try and win them back. She could guess that she wasn't a pleasant woman from Jareth's reaction. Again he reached up and began to toy with one of her styled curls.

"Do you enjoy your job?" What did that have to do with anything?

"Not particularly," she answered honestly.

"Then come to the Underground. Let me house and hide you for as long as I can." There was no panic in his bearing, only calm certainty. As though he knew she would die if she stayed in the Upperground no matter what he did.

"I thought that was illegal."

"It is," he replied with a careless shrug. "But I don't care. I can try and convince the other kingdoms to see reason when they discover you. Unfortunately I'm the only monarch old enough to have been alive during the war so I'll have to rely on cheap tricks to try and keep you safe, but it's a better chance at life than you have here."

What could she say to that? It was almost like the 'your brother or your dreams' dilemma he had set for her seven years ago. Only worse with it being her life and his that were pictured on the playing cards. "What would happen to you if you can't convince them?"

"Not a lot. Most Kingdoms would get very angry with me, perhaps they would stop trading with the Goblin Kingdom. Or at least the monarchs would. Their people will always want Goblin art, or some of the crystals that only grow in my Kingdom or even food. Trade is pleasant but it isn't a necessity. One or two have been looking for an excuse to go to war against me but twice those numbers of Kingdoms owe me some quite substantial favours and none of them are Kingdoms anyone would particularly want to be on the wrong side of and one of them actively boycotts the Underground Council."

Frowning, Sarah looked to the ground. It was simple when she thought about it. Live the life she had now and die in a matter of days or leave it and go to the Labyrinth for however long she could. Really, what was there keeping her in this place? Her job sucked, her apartment was cramped, her landlord was a pervert, not to mention the fact that all of her friends and her boyfriend lived in the Labyrinth. The choice was getting easier the more she thought about it.

Biting her lip, she turned her eyes back to Jareth and gave a brief but firm nod. "Okay. I'll come." The sigh of relief that escape Jareth showed just how worried he really had been.

"Well then, we had better go to your flat and collect what ever you wish to take with you. Though I think it would be best to keep up with the rent in case you have need of the place again, but you needn't worry about that, I'll take care of it."

"I couldn't ask you to do that!"

"You didn't," he replied with a smirk as he slipped his arm around her waist and guided her onwards. "But as I said, you needn't worry. I'm rather good with matters of the economy so I assure you I can afford it. Besides, I've closed the book shop. It seemed a bit ridiculous keeping it open given the circumstances. Though I'm rather sure I'll be full scale publishing your book in the Underground at some point."

Sarah froze. Had she really heard him right? Did he really say what she thought he said? Her hands came up to cover her mouth as disbelief washed away any other emotion. Jareth looked at her and smirked. "Well, it is well written and makes history by far more interesting than it usually is." With an excited squeal she leapt on him. Flinging her arms around him and trying to jump for joy at the same time. "You can say thank you later, for now we have to move you out of your flat."

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Crouching down, Jareth glared into the mismatched eyes of that doll of Sarah's. "Please tell me you're not keeping this."

"Of course I'm keeping it. My mother gave me it just before she left, said it would watch over me." He frowned and turned his own mismatched eyes to her. She was emptying her wardrobe and folding her clothes.

"You know that it's your mother's fault I knew about you?" He looked back to the doll. "She summoned me when she was divorcing your father and beat me in a game of chance. Asked me to watch over you as the prize she claimed so I gave her that to alert me if anything went wrong. The magic in it faded once you turned sixteen. I can't believe I had my hair like that." He didn't turn back to her as she gave a quiet laugh. "If I ever go back to having a mullet I want you to shave my head. It was terrible." Her laugh was louder this time and glanced up to her as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"It wasn't that bad." Her hands slipped down to wrap around him and she leaned her chin on his shoulder to look at the doll with him. "You looked sort of . . . fearsome. Besides, I'd rather have you with a mullet than have you bald."

"Oh please, mullets are an abuse of the privilege of having hair." A sigh escaped her lips and tickled his neck as Sarah shook her head, amusement plain to read in her features.

"I can't believe our first argument as couple is about mullets."

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A/N Thank you to sweetbaby33, notwritten and jensworld for being kind enough to review Chapter 13. The promiced editing is still not finished. I haven't had the time unfortunatly but I've done a few chapters and the rest will be done over the next week.

Thank you for reading, I'd appriciate it if you leave a review and tell me what you think.

Oh, and well done to anyone who guessed that the woman from Chapter 13 wasn't Sarah.