A/N: In which things get even worse for both of them, but especially poor Lydia. Cookies to anyone who can spot the Twin Peaks reference.

Hoggle's answer, after much flustered blustering, amounted to "I have no idea."

"He's up to something, Sarah," the little goblin said, perched on the edge of the bed. "The whole Labyrinth knows it, but none of us know what. He has to be behind the books, though."

Sarah bit her lip. "I didn't think he could do that," she said, terribly worried. "Have that kind of influence overt this world."

"He's not supposed to be able to," Hoggle said gravely. "I don't know how he could, but he does. Be careful, Sarah - the owls are not what they seem."

What the hell did that mean? Hoggle seemed unusually nervous, and she wondered if Jareth had threatened him in some way. It wouldn't surprise her.

"I will be," she promised.

When Hoggle had gone she leaned back against her headboard and sighed. Her room was entirely different than Lydia's - even now she'd stuck with a vaguely medieval theme, with everything precisely in its place. She was almost a little OCD about it- even crooked pictures drove her mad, but at least it meant she never lost her homework.

Homework. She itched to get her fingers on all those damn books and destroy them before anyone did anything stupid. Out of the however many people who had tried over God knew how many years, she was the only person who'd beaten the Labyrinth, and she wasn't certain even she could do it again. By their age most people didn't have the requisite imagination to handle as bizarre a thing as the Labyrinth; even her friends at her old school didn't. The only one she could see having a shadow of a chance was Lydia - Jareth probably wouldn't have a clue how to deal with the girl, and she suspected the Labyrinth itself wouldn't, either. The place and its rules had been right up Sarah's alley - she'd figured them out and made them work for her, but Lydia would probably just ignore them and make her own. And Sarah thought she might be able to get away with it, too.

The rest of them, though…even Bertha and Prudence, those nice, awkward girls, would get eaten alive in there, maybe literally. Hooker Barbie's arrogance wouldn't help her, either, even if it did rival Jareth's.

You're panicking prematurely, Sarah, she chided herself. As she'd told Lydia, the line, the dangerous one, didn't actually appear in the text, and most high school students were so uninterested in their English reading that they might not do much (if any) out-of-class speculating. If Jareth really was behind this, he didn't know teenage girls very well - but then, to her knowledge he'd only met her, and she was hardly a typical specimen.

Oh well. If she thought about it any more tonight she'd go crazy. Tomorrow she'd get her uniforms, and Monday…well, they'd just have to see what happened.

The Valium did no more good that night than it had the last, despite the double dose. All it meant was that Lydia's reaction time was slower, and when those cold ghost fingers trailed over her skin she wasn't quick enough to fight them off. Normally she hated the cold, but this ethereal, unseen touch was almost electric, and her body responded of its own accord before she could stop it.

"I won't say it," she ground out, somehow keeping any trace of a whimper out of her voice despite the deliciously dangerous tingle along her sides.

Cold breath and cold laughter at her ear, making her shiver. "You will eventually, but tonight I don't care, Babes. I told you I'd make you scream." And when that electricity traced down the curve of her hip and along her inner thigh she had to grip her dream-blankets and bite her lip, hard, against any vocalizations he might take as an encouraging sign. His touch might be cold but it was building an unfortunate heat within her, and when his fingers drifted higher and his mouth found her neck she gave up and writhed. If he kept this up every night he was going to drive her insane, but she wasn't going to say his name even once. Really. No matter how brain-destroying what he did might be.

"Dammit, Beej," she gasped, when his questing fingers found what they sought, "this isn't going to-Jesus." That was it for her higher thought; all she could do was float on the liquid waves of need and try to keep quiet.

"Beej? Even worse than B, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask-Christ, either finish what you started or get out and let me do it." She actually managed a coherent sentence before his mouth descended on hers and he kissed her with bone-melting intensity. That combined with the maddeningly deft skill of his fingers made white stars go nova behind her eyes, but by some miracle of effort she choked back the cry he'd promised he'd draw from her. She couldn't help but whimper, and arch desperately for contact she couldn't find, but she didn't scream.

"Told you you wouldn't make me," she managed, after what seemed a small eternity, and if her words were a little slurred-well, she'd drugged herself, hadn't she? Maybe that had been a bad idea.

Again came that soft laughter against her ear. "I've got all night, don't I?"

Lydia groaned, a combination of annoyance and unavoidable desire. "I hate you," she gasped, as his chilly fingers once again resumed their wandering.

"Nothing you can do about it, Babes. I won't let you sleep until you say my name." His ghostly mouth was at her temple, her forehead, the fine delicate line of her jaw.

"Pervert. I'll tell Juno on you." Enough of her brain had righted itself that she tried to find some way of evading his ministrations, but unseen hands grasped her wrists and pinned them to the bed.

"You going to explain that to the Maitlands?" he asked, and she could feel him grinning. "Do it in front of a mirror-I want to watch. Besides," he added, and she shivered when chill, intangible kisses traveled over her collarbones, "Juno can't do a thing about it, Lyds. I'm not breaking any rules."

She squirmed, trying to free her wrists and failing utterly. "There has to be some rule against sleep-raping the living," she whispered, and felt him pause even if she still couldn't see him.

"…That what you think I'm doing, Lyds?" There seemed to be genuine surprise in his voice, no longer near her ear, and she got the impression he was watching her carefully with unseen eyes.

She shivered. "Well…yeah," she said, battering her brain to override her body. "I didn't ask for this, and if you weren't messing around in my head I'd never want it. Technically, that constitutes rape, Beej."

He didn't say anything for a long, long time, and now she shivered from outright cold rather than…anything else, and wondered what was going on in that creepy, half-cracked head of his.

"Not what I meant to do, Babes." He sounded disturbingly…serious, and that was almost creepier than flippancy would have been. She wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish by it, only that it couldn't possibly be what he wanted her to think. B didn't work like that.

Abruptly her wrists were released, and one invisible hand slipped through her hair to cradle the back of her head. "You want me to stop, Babes?" The words were spoken directly against her lips, and Lydia swallowed. Hard. What a question.

"…Yes," she said, even while her stupid body tried to howl 'no'.

He kissed her one more time, not quite so fiercely, and a brushing touch passed over her hair before true, fitful, uneasy sleep took hold of her.

Monday morning turned out to be a flurry of activity, each class scrambling to organize itself. To her relief, Sarah had almost all her classes with Lydia-including English Lit-but unfortunately she also had a few with Claire Brewster.

English was second period, and while they were milling around trying to come up with a seating chart, Claire wandered up to her. She smelled like hairspray, expensive make-up, and even more expensive perfume, and somehow contrived to make her uniform seem like haut couture, and though her slightly condescending smile was friendly enough - if scarily, unnaturally white - it was also blatantly artificial.

"I saw you the other day," she said, "with the little freak group. I'm Claire."

"I'm Sarah," Sarah said, a little shortly-'freak group', indeed. She did not add 'nice to meet you' since it would be such a bald-faced lie.

Her repellant tone made Claire narrow her eyes, but before she could say anything else Sarah stalked off, depositing her books on the desk beside Lydia. That was a line in the sand right there, but Lydia was her friend and Claire could take a hike. Lydia looked even paler than usual, and the purple shadows around her eyes weren't make-up-the girl was obviously exhausted.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, while all around them chairs scraped and clattered.

"I didn't sleep well last night," Lydia said, just as quietly. There was a new facet to her troubled expression, an element of unmistakable confusion. "I'll tell you about it at lunch-B's up to something, and right now I have no idea what."

That didn't sound at all promising, but before Sarah could ask or Lydia could elaborate, the teacher actually rapped her desk with a ruler to get everyone's attention.

"Sit, girls. You've wasted too much time already," she said severely. Sarah winced-so she was that kind of teacher.

Mrs. Scarpello was a slightly stout woman, middling-tall, her age anywhere between fifty and seventy. Iron-grey hair styled in a shampoo set straight out of the 50's, pearl earrings the size of Ping-Pong balls, and the sort of primly restrained make-up one would expect from such a woman. No, Sarah thought, definitely not the sort of teacher who would pick out a book like The Labyrinth on her own. Damn.

The usual beginning-of-term rules sheets were passed out, along with a whole host of admonishments and instructions regarding behavior that Sarah completely ignored. The rest of the reading list was conventional enough, though she grimaced when she found Catcher in the Rye, a book she'd already been forced to read last year and had hated every word of. The fact that it was a typical collection of so-called "classic" literature only made The Labyrinth stick out all the more obviously. She wondered if all the books were meant to stay in the classroom, or if they'd be issued copies to take home, and hoped it would be the former. Less chance for trouble if people only had access to them one hour a day. She'd find out soon enough, she thought grimly, since it was the first selection on the list-if it really was Jareth behind all this, he certainly wasn't wasting any time.

"I expect all your final assignments to be on college-ruled paper, black ink only, and please no ballpoint pens," Mrs. Scarpello was saying, as she paced the lines of desks like some kind of middle-aged drill sergeant, searching them all with a critical eye. "Always in cursive unless specified otherwise, and you will be graded on your handwriting."

A quiet chorus of groans went up at that, though Sarah wasn't worried; she'd practiced so much calligraphy that her penmanship was quite good. Her father would gripe about the pens, though, since ink pens were rather more expensive than ballpoints.

"You will be issued your own copies of our first selection to take home with you, and I expect you to read the first chapter tonight and be prepared to discuss it tomorrow." Her tone made Sarah wonder just what she thought of the book itself, whether she approved or disapproved or simply didn't care - she was leaning toward the third option, since Mrs. Scarpello seemed more interested in maintaining order than actually teaching anything. She wondered how on Earth she was to manage to sit and discuss that damn book with all these other girls - it would require every ounce of drama practice she'd ever had, she thought.

Two girls were drafted to pass out the books, and when Sarah got hers she ran her fingers over the worn red cover, as though expecting it to bite. To think that once upon a time she'd acted out bits of it, had blithely recited lines with no idea the kind of consequences the story could produce. Had the book created the Labyrinth, or had the Labyrinth created the book?

"God, lame," Claire muttered, inspecting the cover and flipping it to read the description on the back. "At least it's short. Ish."

Sarah said nothing. All she could hope was that the rest of the class would take that attitude, because if they did they'd ignore it whenever it was out of sight. Screw you, Jareth.

Lunch was chaotic, as befitted the first day of school, and Lydia and Sarah managed to sneak off into a corner amid all the confusion, for now avoiding Bertha and Prudence. The cafeteria food, Sarah found, actually wasn't bad, though Lydia didn't seem to have much appetite. Chilly thought it was, they opted to eat outside under one of the golden-red trees, the better to stay out of earshot of anyone else.

"What happened?" Sarah asked, around a bit of sandwich. "No offense, but you look awful. Did - he - do something to you?"

Lydia twitched visibly, picking at her salad. "I don't know what he thinks he's doing," she said. "He's trying to manipulate me, I know that, but I don't know why or what he actually wants. Other than Out, I mean."

"How do you know he wants to manipulate you?" Sarah said curiously. Lydia snorted.

"Because he tried to be nice to me. Beej…doesn't do nice, and if he is it's because he's got something else in mind. He's trying to trick me into letting him out, but if he thinks that will work, he must think I'm an idiot." She scowled, her expression nearly as black as her hair, and Sarah wondered what her friend wasn't telling her. Something, obviously, but she wasn't about to push too hard, figuring if Lydia wanted her to know she'd say something.

"Well, he knows threatening you won't work," she pointed out. "He's only got so many other options. He can't threaten you and he can't force you, so 'nice' is about all he can try next, right?"

Quite a bit of color came into Lydia's face then, rendering it crimson as a sunset. "He, uh, thought he could," she said, looking away. "Make me, I mean. He certainly tried."

"Thought he could make you-?" Sarah's eyes widened. "Jesus, are you serious?" She shuddered; she could only imagine how violating that must feel. If Jareth ever did it…no. She didn't care how compelling he was, that was just a no-go. "Are you - okay?"

Lydia nodded and took a swig off her water bottle, still not looking at Sarah. "Yeah, and that's part of what's confusing me," she said, so quietly Sarah could barely hear her. "I sort of pointed out that it was literal mind-rape, and it actually made him stop. I think that honestly hadn't occurred to him, and he seemed like he sort of regretted it, which I know damn well is a lie because Beej just doesn't do that. I don't like not being able to predict what he might do next."

Sarah shuddered again, and looked away herself. She didn't even want to think about what that would be like - her mind was her mind, the single bastion sanctuary into which nothing ought to be admitted without permission. In a way she really was weirdly grateful for Jareth, because if this B could talk to her in her head, he could probably do other things if it took his fancy-but as Lydia had told him, he'd have to deal with Jareth if he did. Sarah had no illusions that Jareth would likely do who knew what terrible things to her if he got out, but he wouldn't put up with anyone else doing so.

"You think he'd…try it again, tonight?" she said, eying her milk but not opening it.

"Only if he can't come up with something different," Lydia said meditatively. "He's…sneaky. A little too creative. Once he gets me to let him out he has to keep me from putting him back-he knows that. I think he'll try being nice until he gets too frustrated."

"…Then what?" Sarah asked, not sure she wanted to know.

Lydia sighed. "Well, in theory if he pushes too far I can report him to Juno - the Maitlands' caseworker. He's just so damn good at getting around the rules that I'm not sure it would be any kind of…of long-term solution."

The bell rang, cutting off further conversation, but while Sarah was walking to Math something Lydia had said struck her. 'Once he gets me to let him out' implied that sooner or later she would - and it had obviously been an unconscious slip of the tongue. Oh jeeze. She wondered if she should bring it up later, and decided to save that decision until after school.

Betelgeuse sat very still for a long while after he left Lydia's dream, watching her settle into something like peaceful sleep.

It took a hell of a lot to make him actually stop and think, but her words had smacked him upside the head like a mallet. He might not have rules or even many standards, but there were a few things beneath even him. He didn't see what he'd done to her as rape-hell, she was having even more fun than he was - but she did. And that…bothered him, in a way he couldn't ignore any more than he could banish it. She'd genuinely startled the hell out of him when she said that, and Betelgeuse didn't like being startled-he much preferred being the cause of startlement in other people. It irritated him, but he couldn't shake it, especially with the way she'd said it - to her it was simple fact, implying that she thought he too knew that was what he was doing. That it had been his intent all along.

"Hell, Lyds," he muttered, "what kind of guy d'you take me for?" He was devious and disgusting and perverted, but he wasn't a damn rapist. Not intentionally, anyway.

He also wasn't sure why he cared. He hadn't been influencing her mind nearly as much as she'd thought-a healthy chunk of her response was all her. Telling her that wouldn't have altered her thoughts, though-she'd still see it as what she saw it as, and…well, dammit, he didn't like that. It wasn't what he wanted, and not getting what he wanted really pissed him off. How the hell was he going to get her to let him out now? She was definitely pissed at him, even more than before he'd started.

"You're making my life difficult, Babes," he said, shaking his head, and wondered what the hell he was going to do now. He needed her to let him out, but he needed her to let him stay out even before he (somehow) conned her into marrying him.

But…he didn't actually need her to do it. That Sarah-girl was out; he didn't know what her story was, but he wasn't about to get involved in it if he didn't have to, and in any case she knew what he was. There were mirrors in her school, though, and he could use mirrors-mirrors, and a gaggle of teenage girls, a few of whom had to be stupid enough to take the hint. He couldn't count on Lyds ever winding up desperate enough to call him-it would be nice, it would make things much, much easier, but he couldn't count on it. This time he actually needed a backup plan.

Lydia went up to her room straight after dinner, and carefully took down all her framed photographs, packing them away in drawers or under piles of clothes, until she'd got rid of every reflective surface she could find. Then she turned on the tall reading lamp beside her bed and curled up with her English assignment, trying to ignore any unfortunate dream-memories that might make themselves known again.

It wasn't terribly hard, at first. The little book would have been interesting even without what Sarah had told her, and she wondered how on Earth it had come to be written in this world. The prose was a little purple in spots, but quite lovely in others, painting vivid pictures of all the bizarre and fantastic settings.

It was the Goblin King who most caught her imagination, though-understandably, since her friend had met him. He really did sound a little bit like a more refined version of B, minus the perversion and the whole 'dead' bit. Tricky, arrogant, and a little drunk on his own power-probably not a gracious loser.

Hot, though, she thought, and indeed Sarah had spoken, a little awkwardly, about how unfortunately attracted to him she'd been. Hot, creepy, and a little too fond of children. Eeeg.

But not a total perv. Memories of the last two nights now crowded back in with a vengeance, making her face flame even though she was alone. Kicking B out of her head had been the only right and safe thing to do, because damn… If he'd kept that up he might really have been able to make her say what he wanted. She wondered where the creep had learned how to do all that, and how he'd made it work on her so well. She wouldn't admit to herself that she was a little disappointed she couldn't let it continue.

Good book?

Lydia jumped, knocking the novel off the edge of the bed. Damn him-those two words sent goosebumps all over her skin, and a shiver that was a mix of revulsion and anticipation up her spine.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone," she said, somehow keeping her voice steady.

Relax, Babes. I'm not here to try anything.

She let out a sigh of relief even as her body subsided in disappointment. "Then why are you here?"

What, Lyds, I can't check up on you?

"I'd rather you didn't," she groaned, leaning back against her headboard and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm not letting you out."

I'm not asking you to.

"Yeah, at the moment. What do you want, B?"

Nothing you seem to be willing to give, so I'll settle for talking to you.

Lydia devoutly hoped he couldn't see how red she turned at that, and was extremely glad he couldn't feel the heat his words stirred in her. "Right," she said skeptically. "Why? What's in it for you?"

Being dead's pretty boring, Babes. Tell me about that book, and what it has to do with that Sarah of yours.

Lydia frowned, and rubbed her temples. "I don't think I should," she said. "It's her story, not mine. Just leave her alone."

Well, if you don't want to talk, there's other things we could do. Faint, chilly, tingling lines brushed up her legs, slipping over her stomach, and she jumped again, cursing herself for the strangled half-gasp that escaped her throat.

"Stop it, Beej," she said, swatting at where his hands ought to have been. How the hell could he do that while she was awake?

Can't blame a guy for trying.

"Oh yes I can," she muttered. "Hands to yourself."

He only half listened to her-that tingling touch left her sides and settled instead on her temples, rubbing little soothing circles that made her stomach tighten. She shut her eyes, figuring it couldn't hurt to let him do that much. "How can you touch me if you're still in the Neitherworld?" she asked, relaxing almost in spite of herself.

Trade secret, Babes. Sure you don't want to let me out? Could give you a better massage that way. There wasn't too much of a leer in his voice, though.

"Beej," she growled, wondering why he'd suddenly decided to quit threatening-it had to be just what she'd told Sarah would happen, B changing tactics since he knew his first hadn't worked. It wasn't a bad change, even if she was still necessarily wary of him and anything he said or did. All that you're mine stuff hadn't just vanished, after all; he was still up to something.

Fine, you're no fun. So. Book. Tell.

She rolled her eyes, but that lovely electric touch had moved to her scalp, massaging so deftly it was all she could do not to purr. This was almost more dangerous than the other, because at first glance it didn't seem so. It was easier to accept it.

"The story's true," she said at last. "The Labyrinth actually exists…somewhere. Sarah's been there." That was all she was offering, massage or no massage. Well, except, "Sarah thinks the goblin king might be messing with the outside world. She doesn't know how he could be, but some weird stuff's going on. And that's all I'm saying."

He might be dangerous, Lyds.

She snorted, though her eyes drifted shut again as the tingle worked its way to the base of her skull. "That's a bit rich, coming from you," she said. "He's not like you - he can't just get let out and raise hell. Even if you say his name three times." Thank God.

Then how did Sarah wind up in his Labyrinth?

"He can pull people in, but she's pretty sure he can't get out and stay out long, or he would've come and got her by now. She says he's got to have to be as mad at her as you are at me."

I'm not mad at you, Babes.

That made her laugh outright. "Bullshit," she said. "How dumb do you think I am? All that 'I'll force you to say my name' crap, and 'you're mine, Lydia'-you wouldn't be as nasty to me as you've been up until now if you weren't pissed off at me."

Silence. She had him there, and she knew it. It kind of pissed her off, that he'd think so little of her as to expect her to actually fall for that. When a minute elapsed and he still hadn't responded, she retrieved her book from the floor and opened it again.

Let's just say I've had a change of heart, he finally tried.

"You don't have a heart, Beej," she pointed out, not looking up from her page. "You're dead, remember? Look, I know you can shape shift - if you really want out so damn bad, clean yourself up a little and go after Claire Brewster. She might even be dumb enough to marry you."

But she's not you, Lyds.

Lydia let out an exasperated sigh, snapping the book shut. "Look, I get it, okay? The Maitlands and I cheated you and now you want revenge, but dammit Beej, you don't need it. You don't need me, either, and I'm not going to let you out, let alone marry you. The longer you try to trick me, the longer you'll be stuck in the Neitherworld, so just - find someone else already. There's billions of girls out there, there has to be at lesat one who wouldn't mind being 'yours'." After all, there were plenty of really kinky people, some of whom would be all over a responsive dead guy. He'd be a necrophiliac's wet dream. Maybe even literally, if he wanted that.

But they're still not you, Lyds. You're…different, and I know you haven't been able to get me out of your mind any more than I've got you out of mine.

"Not for lack of trying," she muttered. "I've got a lot of homework, B. If you're really so set on making me like you, you'll leave me alone so I can do it."

Fine. I'll prove it to you, Lyds. The light touch at her scalp stopped, and all sense of his presence vanished. She tried to tell herself she was relieved.

Damn it. Damn it. She had him nailed a little better than he liked. He didn't expect his sudden change in behavior to work right away, but he also hadn't expected her to be so perceptive. She was only seventeen, for fuck's sake.

But then, as he'd told her, she was different. She knew aspects of him too well, given the short time she'd known him, though she didn't know everything, not by a long shot. He was telling at least a half-truth when he said he wasn't mad at her anymore-he wasn't angry the same way he had been. Not it was more like unbelievable frustration. She had him dead to rights when she told him he was out for revenge, and she hadn't bought the 'change of heart' bit even for a moment-he was beginning to realize she was something of a ruthless pragmatist. She was also right when she said it would be easier to find someone else, but dammit, he didn't want anyone else. He'd told Barbara he thought Lydia understood him, and in some ways she did a little too well. Definitely not a pushover, his Lyds, but then he wouldn't want her if she was. It seemed she could be as stubborn as he was - he might be an unstoppable force, but it was looking like she was very much an immovable object. Damn. This wasn't just revenge anymore, or possessiveness, or even carnal desire - this was personal. It was a good thing nobody else in the Neitherworld knew about his little problem, or his reputation would be ruined.

He couldn't handle this right now. Pestering her further wouldn't help at all-for now he'd go out on the town and see if he couldn't scare up a little entertainment.

Literally.

Sarah's hatred of Catcher in the Rye came directly from me, as did her annoyance with so-called "classic" books-the only two we read in high school that didn't irritate the crap out of me were The Great Gatsby and Once and Future King.

Next chapter has Beej making some very unhappy discoveries, Claire being…Claire, and some ominous rumblings from the Neitherworld.