Chapter Thirteen
What was it that sparked attraction, Jareth wondered as he leisurely made his way through Sarah's house. What was it that drew two people together? There was a strange magnetism that brought him and his green-eyed nymph together, and it wasn't solely physical, either. Oh sure, in large part his persistence was due to physical desire, he'd be the worst sort of liar if he tried to deny the fact that he wanted the woman wet and hungry in his bed, but there was something else that kept him turning in her direction, something he couldn't name. If physical appeal were his only standard then he could go to nearly any woman for a quick fuck, but he didn't want that. He wanted Sarah with an intensity that went beyond simply appreciating a pretty face. There was just something about her, something familiar, something that he wanted for his own.
It was that uncertainty, that curiosity and quest for an answer, that led him to do what he was currently doing. Namely, breaking the law, but he hadn't cared about that when he'd taken her key and he certainly didn't care about it now.
Sarah's home was cozy, though in obvious need of repair; the creaky floorboards were hidden by cheery rugs, the faded walls were covered with paintings and posters, but she couldn't hide the wooden cabinets that looked like they were about to fall out of their moorings or the fact that her ceiling leaked in certain places. She apparently didn't own any bookshelves either, because books were littered throughout the house, building up to critical proportions on coffee tables and desks. It was somewhat endearing and told him that his minx was possibly a bit of a scatterbrain, or perhaps lethally disorganized. It didn't tell him what it was about her that he found worth pursuing, though.
Jareth sighed, flopping down into one of her battered comfy chairs. It wasn't like him to question his own desires; when he wanted something, he went after it, minimal thinking involved. He didn't want to consider himself cold, but he had kept himself insulated by not analyzing his desires. Pleasures of the flesh were so much more pleasurable when there were no strings attached and, in his opinion, the more questions you asked, the more strings you knotted up. But he couldn't do that with Sarah, couldn't stop himself from thinking, from trying to figure things out.
Her home had, so far, held no more clues than he had expected it to.
A sharp edge dug into his side causing Jareth to fish about until he grabbed hold of the offending novel. He let out a snort when he saw what it was: Twisted Tryst by J Corbett. Eyeing the coffee table revealed several more of his titles. Well, well, he thought with a smirk, it seemed his nymph was a closet fan. She read his work… his mind whirled away with that thought. Jareth considered himself sensual to the core, and his stories reflected that; perhaps it was time to use that to give Sarah another nudge in the right direction. Or send her on sensory overload, whatever got her whimpering first.
Byron was quiet and stealthy, analyzing the woman and considering his options. He hid in the dusty corners of the shop and tried to figure out what would be worse, if she could see him or if she couldn't. It was time to get closer, he decided, to get a good look at her before he made his decision.
Byron was sneaky and subtle. He was… enchanted by the multitude of glittering displays stretched out between him and the girl.
Sarah would freely admit that she was wallowing in the depths of a personal pity party, her car's untimely death becoming a serious finance issue for her, but she didn't miss the small clanking that sounded from one of her lower shelves. The glass shop was a quiet place, full of delicate merchandise, and, if nothing else, her time there had attuned her hearing into any noise caused by glass. Standing, she began to weave her way through the shelves, hoping nothing had been chipped or broken.
The clanking sounded again, and this time Sarah began to wonder what was causing it. It wasn't entirely unusual for certain displays to shift in to neighboring pieces, but that typically ended with a single noise or created an immediate domino effect. This almost sounded like someone was tapping their fingernail against one of the more spindly creations.
Truthfully she hadn't really known what she was expecting to find when she discovered where the sound was coming from, perhaps a paperweight tipped over, but certainly not a goblin. It stood no taller than her index finger, its skin a milky sort of tan with straw colored hair and large pixie-like ears. Quietly, but with much enthusiasm, it seemed to be trying to get the image of a dragon, set beautifully within a dark green crystal, to wake up, tapping and tottering the glass while trying not to break it.
Sarah knelt down, trying to level herself with the tiny creature. "It's not real," she whispered to it. She hadn't seen a goblin in years, not since the Labyrinth; what was it doing here?
The little beast started, turning quickly to face her. For a long minute it studied her, then smiled widely. "Well, at least I know you can see me," it (he, perhaps?) stated with a pleased expression. "So you will help, yes?" he nodded his head as he asked, as though positive behavior would generate a positive response.
"Help with what?" Sarah asked, cautious of getting too close to her small guest. She hadn't been around the goblins too much, but underneath their basely humorous behavior she had sensed a wicked and unsettling cunning. "Who are you?"
He bowed charmingly, offering a simple, "Byron. And you are?"
"Sarah," she replied, hoping no one came into the store to see her talking to what would probably look like thin air or, worse, a paperweight.
"The Sarah?" Byron asked, eyes wide. The bright, blinking orbs took on a speculative gleam when she nodded her head. "That explains why you were nearly mating earlier," he muttered to himself.
Sarah's cheeks erupted in a blushing fire, but her tongue refused to demand where and why he had been watching her.
The goblin carried on, oblivious to her discomfort, "But this will make things so much easier; he'll listen to you more readily than me!"
Byron watched as the towering woman tried to make sense of him. She was bewitching, such a bright life surrounded by a sea of shining glass, but she was also confused and he had so little time to get affairs in order. "I'm here to reclaim Jareth as the Goblin King," he dove in, wanting to avoid any unnecessary questions.
She raised a dark eyebrow. "Then why don't you go talk to him?"
"Thanks to you, he's mortal now," Byron shook his head. "It's unlikely that he'll be able to see me anymore. But Sarah he can see, Sarah he can hear.You must convince him to return."
The woman furrowed her brows and seemed to fight an internal battle. "Why should I help you?"
He had dreaded this question. The goblins had stolen her brother and caused her all sorts of trouble; she had no reason or desire to trust him. "Anti-chaos," he replied.
Sarah stared at the diminutive creature. She was at war with herself; on one hand she was wary of the goblin, on the other hand she had a natural compulsion to help where she could. Wasn't she already helping anyway, by trying to get Jareth to remember the past? "Anti-chaos?" she questioned.
"The Labyrinth is ruled by disorder," he explained, "the natural state of things being chaos. But it takes the proper ruler to keep the Underground running; Jareth was very devious-minded himself, so the Labyrinth flourished." Byron sighed, "But he lost to you, which broke his contract as Goblin King. Since you didn't offer to take his place, the crown went back to the one Jareth originally struck the deal with." Here the goblin shuddered, his tiny voice ringing out strong and serious, "The Wise Man is many things, Sarah, but a good ruler is not one of them."
"The Wise Man?" she interrupted incredulously. "But he was just a tired and slow old man!"
"Perhaps on the outside," Byron stated, "but nothing is ever what it seems."
How strange, Sarah thought; she had often thought of the Wise Man as a doddering and genial sort of grandfather, but Byron was regarding him as the severest of plagues. "What makes him such a terrible king?"
"He has no regard for his kingdom," he lamented, "and very little care for those who inhabit it. He does not tend to the land and never troubles himself with anyone besides the wished away and the runners; even then, he only cares until the clock strikes thirteen. I know it's hard to imagine," his tone turned more wistful here, "but Jareth always made sure that his subjects were taken care of."
She nodded; it was hard to imagine. Whenever she though back to that fateful meeting ten years ago, Jareth almost always came to her mind as a malevolent baby-snatcher. She hadn't wondered about who he was as a king because it hadn't mattered to her. Would he have found Toby a proper home, had she failed? It was an interesting thought. She was learning more about who he was, as a man, by the hour; could it be that there was more to who he was, as an immortal king, as well? Again, she was faced with the challenge of reconciling two halves of one man.
"The Labyrinth has fallen silent," Byron interrupted her inner musings, "fallen into hibernation, because the Wise Man chooses not to nourish its wilder side. Goblins fear his rule beyond anything else. I was not around during his first reign, but it was a time in which many vanished."
"Vanished?" Sarah asked. "Died, you mean?"
"In theory, yes," he nodded. "Goblins cannot die of sickness or old age, but lethargy can be deadly. Without chaos to fuel their natural energy they simply fade away."
It was interesting how Byron kept talking about goblins as though he wasn't one himself.
"So how am I supposed to help?" she questioned, resolved to lend her hand in this matter. She was already involved anyway, and knowing that there were lives at stake just made it more important.
Her tiny guest surged forward, grabbing hold of one of the fingers she had rested on the shelf. "You must convince him to come back," he pleaded, hugging her finger with spindly arms.
"I don't know how," Sarah admitted. "He doesn't remember anything, Byron, and every time I try to explain it to him he either thinks I'm crazy or making up stories."
He clutched her finger tighter, eyes wide and distressed. "Nothing," he choked to himself. "I had hoped it wouldn't be so bad. Jareth has always been stubborn once he gets set in his ways, and it will be doubly hard not knowing how to go about doing it, but you must make him remember." He nuzzled his face against her, an oddly needy gesture, even compared to his clutching. "We'll all be in trouble if you don't."
Something didn't add up here, she thought. Byron was not expressing the concern of an ex-subject at hearing some bad news; he was stricken and, quite possibly, afraid. Then again, faced with the unnatural death of his people, perhaps his reaction wasn't too unbelievable. Still, she thought, he seemed more upset for Jareth's sake than his own.
"I'll do what I can," Sarah soothed, unsure of how to comfort him, "but I really can't make any promises."
He put some distance between them, visibly pulled himself together, and nodded. "I will try to think of a way to help," Byron replied. "If you ever need my assistance, just call; you might not see me, but I'll never be too far away." And with that, the little goblin vanished.
Didymus sighed with a bone-deep weariness, torn between honor and duty. To do right by Sarah would be to forsake his oath concerning Jareth. And to forsake his oath concerning Jareth would be… fatal.
Sarah sat around that afternoon, thinking Byron's words over. All in all, they changed nothing. She was still trying to find a way to make Jareth remember their past, and still had no clue how to spark such memories. Perhaps she could ask the Goblin King, next time he graced her dreams; but there was no guarantee he would come again.
It was early evening by the time Jareth showed up and, truth be told, she was glad to see him; not only for the fact that he had a car, but because life didn't seem quite so confusing when he was around. The problem of his amnesia lacked immediacy when she was being harassed by Rockport's newest resident.
Jareth had considered his options, now that he had an actual plan of seduction, and had decided to give her this night; he would do no more than take her home, rather than bring her back to his cabin like he so wanted to. Tonight he would give her time and space, but tomorrow… He grinned wickedly to himself. Tomorrow would be a test in just how relentless he could be.
A/N: I really didn't want to end it there, but my brain seems to be turning into jello at the moment.
This chapter is dedicated to BookWorm37. Happy (belated) birthday!
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Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine! Except for Byron; he is mine, mine, mine!