Sarah followed after Jareth, incensed that he wouldn't even let her carry her own little brother. No, Toby sat on Jareth's hip as if the master of the castle were accustomed to small children, trying to go back to the sleep he'd been pulled from. Sarah kept her gaze locked on the golden curls on her brother's head, ignoring her surroundings. No doubt they were extravagant-Jareth lived in a castle, after all, and clearly took pains to assure that he himself was clothed in the finest of fabrics.

But Sarah did not care for his castle, or his riches; she cared only that he held her baby brother, and that she was likely powerless to stop him. Sarah gritted her teeth again and blinked a fresh wave of tears away from her eyes. Exhaustion was not helping her hopeless situation.

Jareth stopped suddenly in front of a carved wooden door. They were in a hallway, and Sarah realized with a start that she must have followed him all the way to the living quarters.

Get out, get out, get out, something in her screamed, and it took all of her strength of will to stay where she stood.

"Freshen yourself up. I will not have you reeking of the kitchens while in my company," Jareth said, and in one fluid motion he'd opened up the door and shoved her into the room. Tired and surprised, Sarah couldn't catch herself in time and landed in a heap on the stone floor; when she looked behind her, the door was already closed.

When she tried the handle, she found it locked.

"Let me out!" she cried, pounding on the door. But like most of the rest of the room, it was solid wood and could not be budged. If he was waiting outside at all, Jareth chose to ignore her pleas, and Sarah's fists quickly began to ache. Sarah let herself crumple to the floor again, trying to massage her hands and letting her angry tears flow freely.

"I can't even see anything," she spoke into the dark, not seeing how she was meant to freshen herself up if she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face.

As if the darkness heard her words-or perhaps Jareth, she thought sourly-candles flickered into life all over the room. Some were held in a glass and crystal chandelier, which threw prisms of light all through the room. Others were held on golden candelabras resting on a dresser here, a shelf there-and they had clearly been used. Long trails of dried wax dripped down from them, some almost meeting the floor.

And at the far end of the room, safely away from the flames, rested a gown on a mannequin. It was white and shimmering in ways Sarah didn't think fabric could achieve by common means, beaded with the smallest crystals she'd ever seen across the bodice. If anybody else had given it to her, if she'd come across in through any other means, she'd have been delighted to wear it. But since Jareth was the one forcing her into it, she'd like nothing more than to put a candle flame to the voluminous skirts.

Sarah frowned, glanced around the room as if looking for prying eyes, and then put the dress on as quickly as she could. The monster had her brother; she would do well to play along, at least for now. Besides, he was probably expecting her to put up a fight.

She pulled the stays as tightly as she could behind her back, and then tried to tie them in a neat bow. She couldn't tell how much success her efforts were rewarded with, but she guessed it wasn't much. The sleeves were wide up top and tight around her wrist, which severely impeded her movement, and generally covered with embellishments. At least the skirts are so wide there simply isn't a way he can come anywhere near me, she thought, dreading trying to walk in them. Sarah wasn't sure how she was to sit, either, but decided that was a problem for a later time. She had no intention of making herself comfortable in his presence. The slippers provided certainly wouldn't help; they were so thickly beaded with crystals that they were terrifically inflexible, and Sarah had to force herself to take mincing little steps in them. Not that they could even be seen under her dress. Sarah snorted, irritated with the absurdity of it all.

There was nothing she could do with her hair, not seeing a brush of any sort-not that she particularly wanted to bend to his will any more than she already had. Still, it was almost a shame that she was wearing something she thought even a princess might be envious of and her hair still hung straight down her back.

Behind her, she heard the latch on the door slide back, and with a rustle of stiff skirts, she turned to give it a poisonous glare. The door swung open before she could wipe the look off her face, and she found herself staring at Jareth. Only he wasn't looking her in the eyes.

Instead, she could feel every single one of his roving glances, taking in the sight of the dress on her body. All at once she was more aware than ever of how low the neckline was, and how shapely it made her waist. She wanted to burn it all over again, and sod the envious princesses. Nothing was worth having a man like him look at her like this.

Except… Sarah glanced up at Toby, trying to sleep in Jareth's arms. Except perhaps her brother. She would tolerate Jareth for now, if only for Toby's sake.

"I am… Freshened up," Sarah said, even though she really meant disgusted. "As per your wish."

"And you pretty yourself up very well, my Clare, but there is something still missing." He tapped his chin with his free hand, pantomiming thinking. "Ah, perhaps some jewelry? Every fine lady must have some jewelry. Hold out your hands."

I am no fine lady; I am a kitchen maid, and before that I was a woodcutter's daughter, Sarah wanted to contradict him. Instead, she held out her hands as instructed. Into her outstretched hands dropped a bracelet and a simple gold band; both belonged to her stepmother. The band was her wedding ring, and the bracelet was made up of glass beads, a gift from Sarah's father when Toby was born. Neither of which her stepmother would have parted with willingly; the only time she took either off was when she was cleaning something, and even then they were tucked safely away in a pocket.

And Sarah knew that her stepmother would never trade either for Sarah's safety. In fact, Sarah couldn't think of a situation in which her stepmother would ever willingly relinquish her trinkets, to save herself or not; she'd already remarked that she expected to be buried with both of them.

A heavy pit settled in Sarah's stomach as she brought both articles closer to her face for inspection. The glass beads, which were normally sparkling and pristine, had drying earth stuck between some of them, and a rustlike scum that stuck to some of the flat planes of the facets. The gold ring had the same coating, but when Sarah scraped at it with a fingernail, it flaked right off.

Blood.

Her stepmother hadn't parted with her jewelry willingly. She dropped the bracelet and ring, letting them fall through her fingers and bounce onto the stone floor beneath her feet. Her hands were still held out in front of her stiffly, and she stared into the space where the jewelry had been moments before. No matter how much she wanted to rationalize it differently, there really was only one say for her to interpret Jareth's "gifts"; her parents were dead. There would be no going back to the cottage she counce called home.

"Perhaps you are not a sentimental creature," Jareth noted. "No matter." He strode forward, grinding the glass beads under his heel. Sarah heard them crack and break under his boot and felt sorrow and her exhaustion wash over her; she didn't even think to disobey when he snapped his fingers at her to get her to follow, so tired was she that the act didn't inspire the anger it normally would have.

Her father and stepmother were dead. Her brother would never know his parents. And Sarah couldn't help but to think that in some way, it was her fault.

She followed numbly as he walked her through hallways that grew more and more fine as they got further and further away from the servant quarters, but again Sarah was blind to the wealth on display. It wasn't as if it would do her any good, not when she and her brother were trapped in the castle of a murderer. Sarah shuddered.

"Clare, stop," Jareth ordered, halting in front of her himself. "Look into this mirror. Do we not make the very image of a fine family?"

Sarah turned woodenly and found herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and full of terror; her hair was unadorned, a stark contrast to her extravagant clothing, which only served to make her look even younger. It was as if she'd stolen her mother's clothes and was playing at dress-up, only Sarah's mother had never owned anything so fine. Her face was pale and drawn, making the dark circles under her eyes stand out. Toby was asleep and looked much the same, but he was still held in Jareth's tight grip.

Jareth himself stood behind her, and Sarah watched, her skin crawling, as he placed a hand on her bare shoulder. She wanted to scream at his touch, but only pressed her lips more firmly together; as afraid as she was, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

The fine lines around his eyes and mouth deepened slightly as he offered her reflection a shallow smile, and Sarah wondered just how many years he had been alive. Certainly, he looked old enough to be her father.

No, Sarah decided. They did not look like a family, fine or otherwise. She wished she had the courage to say so, but her tongue remained rooted to the top of her mouth.

"He looks like me," Jareth said, sounding proud. He jostled Toby so that the child woke, blinking up at him. In the reflection, Sarah watched as a small frown marred his face when he looked into her brother's eyes. Jareth raised his free gloved hand and stroked the left side of Toby's face, from his blonde eyebrow down to his chubby cheek.

Toby screamed, and Sarah's eyes widened in horror as she watched his pupil widen in his reflection.

"What did you do?" she shrieked, turning and pulling her brother out of Jareth's arms. She held Toby close, but her baby brother could not be soothed. His pupil wasn't shrinking back to its normal size, and now that Sarah could look at him closely, she realized that he looked much, much more like Jareth.

She passed her hand over Toby's eyes, closing them so she wouldn't have to look at them. Toby continued to scream in her arms, and Sarah decided that if he'd hurt her little brother, it really would be the last thing the warlock did.

"I gave him the park of magic, the mark of the Sight," Jareth said, leaning down to Sarah and pointing at his own eye. "My son should have it. All of my sons will have it."

Sarah clutched Toby closer to her chest and hid her face against the top of his head, unable to stop the tears spilling from her eyes. Her parents were dead, she was being threatened and harassed by a powerful warlock, and now her brother had been changed, all in one night. Any sense of safety she once had had been stripped from her in one fell swoop.

"He is my brother," she murmured, the closest she would get to outright telling Jareth that Toby was not and never would be his son. Sarah knew she had to be careful; there was clearly something wrong with the man. He had power, and it was obvious that he was unused to having that power checked or having his wishes denied. There was nothing more dangerous, Sarah was learning, than that combination in a man.

"Stop crying this instant, Clare," he ordered, scowling at her tears. But Sarah couldn't, and his order only made her cry harder. "So, your name isn't Clare, I see,"

"I never said it was," Sarah said in between hiccups. And she hadn't; she just let him think it was.

"You little minx," he said, and laughed. "I suppose we will keep up this game. Oh, you are amusing indeed, Anne. I'll be terribly disappointed if your name is Anne, you know."

Sarah, her arms full with Toby, who was still crying, didn't even try to dry her tears. He hadn't ordered her to stop crying with his new guess, so she was safe as Anne for the moment-however brief that moment was. Sarah wasn't an uncommon name, and he would stumble upon it eventually.

And then she really would be doomed.

She had to think of something to escape the castle and Jareth.

"Quiet the little chap, and let us continue. I am not entirely uncivilized, dear; I can see you are tired, and even though you are being quite inconsiderate and ruining my plans, I will not have my precious little Anne sleeping in the kitchens with the help."

But you are uncivilized; you're an evil brute, she thought venomously. All the same, she soothed Toby back to sleep, still avoiding looking into his eyes. If only one of them was going to be able to sleep that night, she would rather it be him. He was still growing, after all, and she needed to be on her guard.

She followed Jareth all the way up a staircase and into a wide hallway. When he opened another door for her, she tried not to flinch. This time, however, he did not throw her into the room and lock the door behind her. This time, there was no grossly opulent dress for her.

This time, there was a large feather-down bed. Sarah felt her heart drop straight down to her feet. She tried to back up, out of the doorway, but she stumbled straight into Jareth himself. More hot tears prickled in her eyes.

"Do not worry your maidenly little head, Anne," he laughed. "I have just woken up myself, and my craving for womanflesh has been sated for tonight. Rest and refresh yourself in my room. I will see you on the morrow."

And he strode off, leaving Sarah trembling in the doorway to the bedroom. Fear and relief battled for dominance and left her shaking. Afraid she would drop Toby on the hard floor, she stumbled over to the bed and placed her brother down on it gently.

"Sleep, Toby," she whispered. "I'll find us a way out of here."

If she were to lie down on his bed-the thought of which made her sick-she knew she would fall asleep. And if she fell asleep, she was not sure of what might happen or when he might return. That was a risk she just couldn't take, just like she couldn't risk immediately leaving, either. He gave her an order, and she didn't want to completely disobey it just yet, not when he still thought her name was Anne. Sarah sat down beside the bed so she could keep an eye on Toby, and every time she thought she might be falling asleep she gave her arm a sharp pinch.

But despite her best intentions and attempts, she was bone tired and fell asleep leaning up against the wall. It was the rising sun that woke her up, streaming through the windows.

Her arm was littered with bruises, and when she touched her jaw, she could feel bruising there as well. She took a moment to catalogue her injuries, decided that the physical ones were not that bad, and looked over to Toby.

Only it wasn't just Toby in the bed anymore. Sometime during the very early hours of the morning, Jareth must have come in and reclaimed his room. Sarah cursed herself for falling asleep and hasted to get back to Agnes. The woman would know what to do, Sarah was sure.

And even though her muscles ached, Sarah scooped Toby up and scurried from the room, trying to find her way back to the kitchens.

It took longer than she'd hoped, and the kitchen door was locked. Sarah knocked on it lightly and waited for it to open; as soon as Agnes saw who it was, she dragged Sarah and her sleeping brother inside.

"My dear girl," she said, holding Sarah's face in between her hands. "What happened to you?"

If Sarah had any more tears left in her, she was sure she would have cried; instead, though, she simply sat down and handed Toby to Agnes, her arms limp. It had been less than a day since she'd last been in the kitchen, but sitting down in her ridiculous gown made it feel like it had been years.

"I don't know," she said, her voice raw. "I mean… Agnes, I can't stay here. He thinks…" Sarah thought back to the way he touched her shoulder, the way he called them a family, the way he showed her to his room. She wanted a hot bath to scrub the memory of his touches off her skin.

"He thinks I am his.. family. He thinks Toby is his son, but I am not his daughter." She couldn't say the words she really meant to, afraid she would gag on them. Agnes understood anyway; Sarah could see based on the way her eyes went flinty.

"I once had kittens of my own," Agnes finally said after a heavy silence. "But they were taken from me far too soon, tied up in a bag and thrown into a river by a cruel farmer. You have not been here very long, but you occupy the same space in my heart. I will not let him hurt you."

Sarah hugged the hunched woman to her tightly, feeling the warmth of a mother's embrace.