Beltane Night

PART II

Three years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, Sarah dreamed.

The earth was rough under her bare feet, the harsh scrubbed grass breaking into the tender skin of her heels. But still she walked onward until she reached the spot where the gnarled tree stood, its bark now blasted and blackened. Beyond, she could see where the Goblin City stood, but it looked different, she knew that even from this distance. Above her, the sky was burning.

"Not quite how you remember, is it?"

Sarah stiffened. Of course he would be here. He was stood beside her, pale and regal as ever, the bloodshot sky daubing his face with crimson streaks, darkening his hair to fiery gold.

"I'm dreaming this," she said.

Jareth nodded, following her gaze across the darkened ramparts. "Of course you are. But that doesn't mean to say the dream can't be true."

"What happened here?" whispered Sarah.

"I thought you didn't care? Isn't that why you've stayed away so long? Your friends… they missed you, Sarah… they've been calling for you, but you turned away…"

"Stop it!" she hissed, clawing her palms that were slick with perspiration. "I've grown up. I have no obligations here, not anymore –"

He moved with the speed of a striking snake, tugging her arm sharply and pulling her against him. She half fell into his chest, the black feathers of his cloak folding against her in a suffocating embrace. She tried to fight them off, feeling his hollow laughter resonating through her body.

"Leaving so soon?" His voice glided across her mouth like red wine, vivid and potent and intoxicating. "I think not."

She twisted against his birch-thin body, shuddering as his arms slid around her waist, burning through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

"You were the only one who ever escaped me," Jareth murmured against her cheek, and she could imagine the feel of those razor-sharp teeth hovering inches from her skin. "And your brother was such a pretty child… I wanted him greatly. I still haven't forgiven you for that." Her body was humming at his closeness, as though wired to an electric current. "I have lived a long time, Sarah. I'm afraid I have been rather unaccustomed to losing, especially to a child as wilful and unremarkable as yourself. How should I punish you?"

Her mind seemed to have jerked back three years. There was a tang of metal in her mouth, but the words came as though by instinct. "Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered –"

He laughed softly and she felt the heat of his breath against her skin. "Still singing that same old tune? Surely you realise by now that the ante has upped considerably? You can see already that the Labyrinth is no longer a realm of your childish self-indulgence. You'll find defeating me will not be such a – how did you put it? – a 'piece of cake'?"

"I can defeat you," she said fiercely. "I will."

"Oh no, precious thing. I won't give you the chance to – not this time."

Jareth caught her by the shoulders. Sarah inhaled in fright. He suddenly bent his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. Before she could think, act, move, he had pulled away, eyes dark and heavy.

"Look on that as a prelude of things to come."

She stood shaking, eyes fixed on the fluttering movement of his black cloak as he retreated, his echoing voice sending a chill through her spine.

Soon, my sweet…

So Sarah. What do you say?

She thought of a crystal iridescent with the promise of desires, she thought of a snake entwining itself around her throat in a murderous caress; she thought of a hall lit with stars and glass where dreams danced in tangible forms, she thought of a voice screaming with anger and defeat and despair that would pursue her into the years of tomorrow… The memories, both beautiful and terrible, pierced her with sharp clarity; a double-edged sword that told her the past was only buried, never forgotten.

She had never regretted refusing his offer of her dreams. Even with all the selfishness that was inherent in childhood, she had never hesitated. She knew that Toby was the most important thing in her life. That had never changed, never would change. Rescuing her brother from the Labyrinth had only augmented her protective instincts towards him. Sometimes, when she held him close to her – despite his squirming protests – she was overcome by such a degree of love that it was an almost physical pain. And to expect her to overlook what he had done to her brother and accept his offer a second time?

Never, she thought fiercely. I haven't forgotten the things he's done – the things he's probably going to do. I haven't forgotten for a second.

Sarah was pacing up and down, rubbing her arms in an effort to cause some friction against her numb skin. Jareth didn't seem to notice how cold it was. She frowned. Did he even exist beyond a child's imaginative wish fulfilment? Was he merely the physical embodiment of residual guilt harboured since her fleeting treacherous desire to be rid of her brother?

Nothing so easy. He was all too real.

Doesn't he realise that I have family, friends, an entire life that has nothing to do with him? Was his ego so monumental that he simply expected her to drop her entire life and go off with him?

Apparently so.

A small part of her couldn't help but grudgingly admire his audacity. He had asked or begged or pleaded. He had simply turned up, assuming her total compliance because he was so used to getting everything he wanted the thought of her refusal hadn't even crossed his mind. And even that hadn't appeared to shake him; he had merely treated her as he might a wilful child, as though she were the one being unreasonable. Sarah cast a surreptitious glance at him. He was leaning back on his heels slightly in a lazy, indolent pose, looking up through the trees, a haughtily bored expression etched on his features. She wondered if he had ever heard of the concept of insecurity. It was extremely irritating.

She hadn't accepted his offer when she was a girl who lived on books of fairytales and romance, what possible inducement would make him think she would accept his offer now? She thought suddenly of his heated looks and shook her head in sheer disbelief at his nerve. Not only was he an all-powerful King of an enchanted realm, he had the arrogance to go with it. But she wasn't some swooning schoolgirl. She was old enough and experienced enough to know what sort of men she was attracted to, and it wasn't a childhood fantasy.

Not even one as devastatingly handsome as Jareth.

Sarah looked at her watch, but it didn't seem to be working properly. The hands kept jumping haphazardly from one number to the next. Oddly enough, this didn't really surprise her. She knew without it that it must be long past midnight. Even now, her friends were at home waiting for her. Probably wondering where the hell she was. Sarah tried to picture herself framing an excuse. Yeah, sorry I'm late, guys, I ran into an old friend. You'd really like him. He's king of the goblins and steals babies for a living. She was overwhelmed by the sudden, crazy desire to laugh.

"I haven't got all night, you know," Jareth called out suddenly, causing her to jump. Then he paused, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Well actually, I have. But my patience is wearing thin."

Again, Sarah looked over towards the trees. He was sprawled elegantly on the grass – she had never seen anyone sprawl elegantly before, but somehow he managed it – he seemed to have arranged himself just so the dappled silver light would fall perfectly on the braid of his cloak and cause his metal-capped boots to gleam, and illuminate his hair with a contrast of shades ranging from white to burnt gold. He certainly didn't look impatient. On the contrary, he appeared perfectly relaxed and careless, one leg tucked beneath him, the other stretched out as he leaned back on one elbow, watching the shifting movement of the leaves.

"Jareth," she said, trying to suppress the quaver in her voice.

He jerked his head towards her. "Hmm? What's that? Something you want to say?"

She tried to swallow the stone that had become jammed in her throat, and nodded tightly.

He leapt to his feet, light and graceful in his bizarre get-up. "Excellent!" he said briskly.

The hairs along her arms prickled sharply. There was no reason for her to feel so nervous. Oh, to hell with that. There's every kind of reason. The Goblin King had told her enough tonight to have her justifiably cowering under her bed for the next five years. He was approaching her with all the predatory movement of a hunting-cat. She was the one who wielded the power of choice so why did he always seem to have the upper hand?

"And now, Sarah – dear Sarah – what was it you wanted to say to me?"

She straightened her shoulders, clenched her jaw.

"I gave you my answer once before. It hasn't changed."

"You were only a child then," he reasoned, with infuriating patience.

"That doesn't matter!" she cried in sudden frustration. "Children make choices, Jareth! It doesn't matter how young they are, they are still valid."

He tilted his head to one side, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Didn't you tell me just now that the choices of the unworthy children didn't stand for anything because they were too young to comprehend what they said and did? Why should it be any different for you?"

Sarah swallowed hard and lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance.

"I defeated you."

Jareth merely looked at her.

"So?"

At that one word of casual indifference, Sarah felt a rising scream build up in her throat as she realised in one great sweeping rush of hopeless despair that none of it mattered – everything she had undergone in the Labyrinth – it meant nothing as he was merely here to challenge her again and this time she had no power over him –

Immortal and invulnerable; he had been unperturbed by her breaching his city, was unaltered by her victory, no part of him had suffered, except his pride. He seemed more powerful than ever. Whatever magical quirks he might ascribe to her, she was only a girl of twenty – twenty-one now, she realised with a jolt – who had no weapons against him. No magical words from a storybook, no friends to come to her aid, and there was no Toby standing between them this time, there was only herself –

Only herself –

Wait a minute –

It had been so long ago, she couldn't be sure of the words, or how they had precisely gone. She had barely skimmed over them in passing, which was possibly a fatal oversight.

Damn. Why can't I remember that line?

Yes, she had it now.

But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl.

Sarah released a slow breath.

Could it be possible?

Even if it was, he'd never admit it, not in a hundred years. She looked up, slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

The Goblin King was still staring at her, eyes flickering with some secret amusement, but, in the rush of dark triumph, she didn't care. She felt a broad smile beginning to spread over her face and didn't even try to hide it. She would overcome him using his one weakness –

Me –

"Why does it matter to you so much?" she asked abruptly.

"What?" he snapped, and she saw that, perhaps for the first time tonight, she had caught him off guard.

"Why do you care if I come with you or not?" she persisted.

"Think a lot of ourselves, don't we?" he returned with a sneer. Sarah felt herself flush and began to doubt her own surety "But then, humility was never one of your strong points."

Bit rich coming from you, Sarah thought, and was about to say so when she realised he was deliberately trying to distract her. Instead of rising to the bait, she merely said coolly, "You didn't answer my question."

His slanting eyes half closed, feline-like, as he regarded her a moment, appearing to measure his words. "You intrigue me – and I desire you. Make of that what you will."

"And is that the only reason?"

"It's the only one you'll be getting. And as I've been rather generous with what I've chosen to divulge tonight, perhaps it's time for you to return the favour and explain why I am rejected so crassly. Come now, no need to be shy."

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, mirroring his own words.

"I'd prefer to hear your unique spin on it, sweet."

Hot anger pounded through her veins; he was acting as though she were some entertainment, some toy for his amusement –

"What you're doing to those children, for a start – it's wrong. It's sick and it's cruel."

"Oh yes, Sarah, do take the moral high ground. Such protective instincts over countless children you've never even met. It couldn't possibly be guilt, could it?"

"I least I have morals," she spat.

"Hmm." He sounded uninterested. "When you've lived as long as I have, you'll learn that all morality is entirely subjective. I torment those children because it's my prerogative, and it amuses me to do so. And it's almost worth it just to see you so indignant with righteous anger. Did anyone ever tell you you have eyes like a cat – a cat in the dark?"

"Stop trying to distract me," she gritted.

"Distract you?" he echoed, laughing. "Haven't you realised, Sarah, that you yourself are a most pleasing distraction – but there's my immorality speaking again. Where were we? Ah yes, your reasons for turning down everything your heart could desire. And so far, I'm not hearing any particularly convincing arguments."

She felt the controlled edges of her temper beginning to fray. "You want to know why? Because you're nothing but an arrogant, presumptuous, egotistical –" she couldn't think of a bad enough word – "goblin!"

Sarah mentally cringed as a snide inner voice whispered, 'goblin?' That's the best you could come up with?

Jareth was now looking highly amused. "Pray, continue."

"And –" she braced herself for the coup de grace, feeling a quiver pass through her nerves – "You have no power over me."

The Goblin King's reaction was instantaneous. The reminder of his last defeat caused his face to contort in an ugly mask. She remembered suddenly his warning that she had not truly taken heed of at the time. I have been generous with you up until now. I can be cruel. She found herself involuntarily taking a step backwards until her feet collided with her discarded college bag, halting her progress.

"Is that so?" Jareth's voice was laced with quiet anger, all semblance of humour gone. "Do you really think that you're a match for me? That your fleeting glimmers of enchantment, or your cat's eyes and your borrowed phrases pose any threat whatsoever? I have taken defeat once before at your hands, Sarah, surely you wouldn't expect me to do so again?"

"You have to," she said, unable to contain the triumph in her voice. "You can use deception, fear –" she almost choked on the word – "desire – you can control everything else – but not me."

"Desire?" he repeated softly; eyes alight with a strange new gleam. His irises were like silver moons, or stars. They burned her. "I wasn't aware I was using… desire." He unfurled an elegant hand, fingers skimming lightly along her forearm; she shuddered at the contact. The sense of his otherness crawled across her flesh. "Perhaps, dear Sarah, you have not forgotten me so much as you would like to believe."

It was becoming hard to think clearly with the icy tips of his fingers dancing along her skin. Queer little shuddering bolts of energy passed through her nerves every time he touched her. There was that shivering, uncoiling sensation of pleasure unfurling in her lower stomach – a feeling she hadn't experienced since she'd split up with her last boyfriend – but this was different, there was something else that caused a high-pitched ringing in her ears… What is he?

Sarah realised she had spoken those last words aloud when Jareth drew back slightly. His hand withdrew, leaving her skin burning.

"I doubt mortals have a term to define what I truly am, although many – far more intelligent than you – have tried. My predilection for appearing around Beltane had me for a long time described as Belenus – the Shining One." He crowed with mocking laughter at this. She didn't entirely understand why. In the half-light, he did indeed seem to shimmer. "I have no use for hackneyed labels, Sarah. Faery, Goblin, Sidhe, not one of those names even comes near to comprehending the full extent of my powers." He closed his eyes and chanted in a half sing-song:

"For all the hillside was haunted

By the faery folk come again

And down in the heart-light enchanted

Were opal-coloured men…"

He stopped and closed his eyes appreciatively. "There's such poetry in those lines. And I know how much you like poetry."

A cold thrill passed across her skin. He was so close she could feel the slender muscles of his shoulders pressing sharply against her, and something else… a strange rippling almost like an electric current that caused the hairs along her arms to prickle.

Magic.

The mist – surely it had thickened? Soft as whispers, it wound about her arms and legs in pearl-grey coils. The night air, in contrast, pricked her like needles. Sarah blinked; the first thing to come into focus was the pearly whiteness of Jareth's shirt, a shade completely at variance with the almost translucent pallor of his skin. The heavy fog had blotted out even the rays of the moon, but light from some unknown source highlighted his aquiline features, and she found herself wondering whether it was some mystical convergence of the time of year that made him appear so much like a fallen angel, or whether he really had changed from her childish perception of him.

"Can you feel it?" His voice was hushed with intensity. "The magic wants you back, sweet. It yearns for you." A strange twist turned the corner of his mouth upwards. "As do I."

"Well I don't want it," she said fiercely. "I don't want any of it, not anymore – whatever I might have wished once – I take it back. All of it."

He shook his head with a terrible kind of satisfaction. "If only it were that simple. But there are irrevocable ties that bind you to my realm, and their resonance is felt even now. Your summons brought me to you, and I do not forget. The force of it rings as potent as though it happened yesterday. Your secret wishes and unfulfilled longings, your guilt and your dreams…"

Jareth gave a smile that was cold and beautiful as winter. "And your remembrance."

His lips touched her forehead.

Sarah gasped.

She was aware of pain, and a deadly, piercing cold lancing through her skin. It burned bright as a star, and when he moved away, and her fingers brushed the place he had kissed, the arctic point remained, like an icicle on her brow.

She recoiled in disbelief. "You scarred me."

"But of course. Did I not tell you the touch of the Fey leaves its imprint?" The star in the crystal, she thought weakly. "My Sarah, my lovely Sarah. You bear my mark for all to see; a brilliant star shines upon your brow, binding you to me, marking you as my queen, my princess…"

His head lowered towards hers.

"My love…" he breathed.

His kiss was lightning.

Sarah's startled gasp was swallowed by his mouth against her own; kissing her with an energy that seemed to drain her very life force. Through half-closed eyes, she could see the severe line of his profile, sharp and white as a fragment of bone. She felt the searing cold of the metallic shoulder plates contrasting with the heat of his closeness and his hands on her like shards of stars. Then everything began to dissolve in a swirling dizziness. Her nerves were singing. She was falling, falling off the edge of the world into a place of ice and fever. And there was pain – sweet, piercing pain. It felt like liquid metal was running through her veins.

Through the exquisite darts of shock that pierced her at his touch, something stirred in the back of her mind for an instant.

Jareth's fingers were sliding under her shirt, coming into contact with bare skin; she instinctively arched against him in an agony of pleasure…

This is wrong…

The thought became harder to hold onto when his hands caught her waist, lifting her fully against the line of his body and she felt him across every inch of her. Her skin hummed with fire.

There was a reason – a reason why she should resist –

– but reason, like everything else, no longer existed, had slid away when the world tilted. There was Jareth and only Jareth, the sensation of lace and leather and night and magic. His shoulder plates digging into her skin hurt and his mouth on hers hurt as he parted her lips and his tongue met her own, and it was like wine laced with poison, or forbidden fruit –

Or a peach –

She suddenly went rigid in his arms.

The Labyrinth – Toby – oh my God –

Sarah shoved him away from her as hard as she could – not very far, as it turned out, considering he was still holding onto her.

"I am not your love!"

Jareth's expression didn't change, but one hand tensed slightly on her shoulder, as he said coolly; "So you won't come, then?"

"Never." She gritted her teeth against the sparks his touch ignited. "None of your tricks will work on me this time."

He only smiled at her. Sarah became suddenly aware of a sound coming from above her – a strange rending, cracking noise – he had stepped away from her, and that should have served as a warning –

She looked up at the interlaced canopy of branches above her, and –

Last Christmas, remember –

– threw herself out of the way as the wood snapped with unnatural cleanness and a cascade of leaves and twigs rained down in an avalanche around her. For a moment, nothing but a choking myriad of vegetation and her hands pressed over her eyes, then ringing silence. She opened her eyes. The Goblin King was stood some feet away, wearing the expression she knew best; one of ironic amusement.

"Whoops," he said softly.

Groping her way upright and shaking twigs from her hair; Sarah felt her face burning, as much from anger as the indignity of the situation.

"You're not scaring me, Jareth," she snapped.

His jagged teeth flashed. "That's because I'm not trying. Yet," he added ominously.

She cringed at the dark suggestion in his voice that always seemed to imply an imminent threat. It was late, too late, and the strain of having to be constantly on her guard, of having to read meaning into every action and utterance was taking its toll. She felt dizzy, as though she had stood up too suddenly after lying down. Sarah pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to gather her fragmented thoughts. Her lips were still numb from his soul-searing kiss.

Jareth's angular figure stood clear through the mist, relaxed as she had ever seen it, but she sensed him watching, waiting. The veiled half-threats and subtle implications… she had never been good at those finer intricacies in the Labyrinth, those that led her to briefly fall for a lie concealed within the skin of a poisoned peach or temporarily cause her to forget her purpose. Give her a city to breach or bog to cross and she would do it. She wanted to know what she was facing. Better to know the worst at once, then at least I can fight him on a level playing field. However, Jareth wasn't the sort to play true confessions. She would have to draw it out of him.

Come on, Sarah. Think. You defeated him before.

She already knew his one weakness – pride – and knew exactly how to exploit it. Provoke him. Who cared that it was courting peril? The prospect of taking him down a notch or two was simply too delicious to be passed up. The old reckless, childish defiance had leapt back into her eyes. She was dancing along a knife's blade and could have laughed out loud. "I think you're all talk. If you really wanted to do something, you would have done it already."

"All talk, Sarah?" Tongue darted over his pale lips as his eyes mocked her. "I wouldn't say that, exactly."

She was grateful for the lateness of the hour as her face flushed in the darkness. Clearly, he wasn't going to let her forget that momentary weakness. Like it or not, she had let down her guard, even if it had been only for a second. Or five minutes. "This isn't your playground here, Goblin King." She laid the faintest hint of scorn on his title. "You can't do anything."

She could see that she had provoked him at last, could hear it in the terse, clipped tones of his voice. "You really haven't listened to a word I've said tonight, have you?"

Oh she had listened, all right. She just didn't want to believe it. Not only the children who failed the Labyrinth, but her friends… and she suspected now that the punishments Jareth's devious mind could devise would be far worse than a Bog of Eternal Stench. Memory, like the blade of a knife, slid through her brain. She heard Toby's cries of fear terribly silenced and saw the shadows dancing around his room and bed, the laughter that both taunted and accused.

Night-time and terror. No comfort of a parent's embrace. The monsters under the bed were real.

There had been fear in her eyes and desperation in her voice and he still hadn't cared. What's said is said. And Toby gone, just like that.

She had never found out what happened to her brother in those hours he had been held in the Labyrinth.

And he was just a child. We were both just children.

"How –" she said, and she could still (foolishly) remember the residual pleasure of his touch. The memory of it sickened her. "How can you be so cruel?"

It was the first time she had seen him lose control. The Goblin King stiffened, raising his lean frame over her, and Sarah saw, with a crawling sensation of fear, that his body was shaking with spasms of rage. Gloved hands curled into fists; he was breathing hard. His mouth had narrowed so much it resembled a gash across his too-perfect face. "I cruel?" His voice flicked across her skin like a whiplash. "You have the nerve to speak to me of cruelty? You, who took my kingdom in your mindless, childish hands as though it were any other toy, and cracked it in two, with no thought as to what you were doing? You are nothing but a naïve, stupid girl, and to endure the humiliationof being subjugated to your will? No, Sarah. I said you had no regards for the consequences of your actions." His eyes glittered with real hatred as he gripped her wrists tightly, fingers digging painfully into the delicate bones. "Consider this a consequence." His hands were like knives cutting into her skin.

"Stop that." She spoke through clenched teeth. "It hurts."

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, it really does, doesn't it?"

She knew it wasn't her hands he was talking about.

His hold on her tightened, almost cutting off her circulation. Sarah's chest pounded with terror that was rooted like a black creature inside her ribs, but she still sought refuge in denial. He wouldn't… Even in the Labyrinth, Jareth had never, never resorted to physical violence. Mind games and trickery, certainly, but he had never physically laid a hand on her. He had sent the Cleaners after her, yes, but even then she had escaped relatively easily and unscathed. Was this then merely some new tactic designed to scare her? Or was it some horrifically twisted example of what he would call upping the stakes?

She twisted her wrists in a vicious, unexpected movement, wrenching herself out of his grasp. Faint surprise flickered across his expression for an instant, and then he pulled away, laughing quietly. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…" he said at last, shaking his head. "How you do like to rile me."

She knew what had happened. He had briefly lost control, and was now trying to compensate. It didn't make her any less angry and – could it be – betrayed? The ache pulsing beneath the skin was almost enough to make her cry, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't cry in front of him. "What the hell was that? You sick, twisted –"

"Such melodrama," he chided her gently. "Why, there is nothing wrong with you."

"Nothing wrong? You –"

"Sarah." His ringing voice cut through her furious protestations. "You are fine."

Half cautiously, she flexed her hands, and found - to her surprise - that she could do so without pain. The deep throbbing had receded. Unconvinced, she examined the skin with an untrained eye, but there was no bruising or swelling. But he – he hurt me – Her skin was still buzzing with the undercurrent of strange magic that always accompanied his touch…

She stammered out the first clear thought that surfaced in her head.

"You're insane."

Ethereal light slanted off the plates of metal across his shoulders as he shrugged. "Treat me with appropriate respect, and you'll find me as reasonable and considerate as you could desire. Anger me and –" His long fingers traced a line along her cheek; she flinched and jerked her head away. His voice softened. "Sarah. Dearest. I have no wish to hurt you."

Sarah drew away from him, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

He's mad, she thought remotely. Whether it's because my defeating him turned his mind, or because he's above ground when he shouldn't be – he's crazy.

Her eyes followed him warily, as she was just beginning to realise how truly dangerous he was. The fleeting encounter six years ago had only shown her a surface facet of the Goblin King whom she had, to her disadvantage, hopelessly underestimated. This was not the eccentric trickster her naïve imagination had conjured from the pages of a book. This was something much darker. She should have known – the subtle expressions, the ruthless quality she had noticed at times – that she was getting into something much bigger than she had realised.

Could she have guessed – then? There were moments that should have warned her, should have persuaded her to tread more carefully…

Sarah. Don't defy me.

She traced a finger unconsciously across her lower lip.

You tried to intimidate me before, Jareth. But I'm not fifteen years old anymore.

Perhaps that was the problem.

She savagely fought down the urge to rub her wrists, and made her question seem like a challenge, rather than a plea. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

Jareth locked his hands behind his back, and looked down at her, eyes gleaming. "I'll tell you why. Because a part of you doesn't want me to." He overrode her fierce denial. "How do you think I found you so easily? Deep down, you loved playing the crusader for your brother. You missed it, Sarah – the thrill, the challenge. My brave, brilliant girl, you thrive on this."

Sarah flinched away from his words. She stared down at her pale unmarked hands, remembering the brutal force of his grip, as though he would break her at any moment. Then she remembered the bitter intoxicating sensation of his mouth on hers and fought down a shudder.

Is he right, she wondered. Did I really want him back?

Not him, maybe. But the magic… did I want that?

Impossible. Those days had long gone.

"You're wrong," she said.

He lowered his gaze demurely. "As you like."

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded. God, I'm sounding like a child. "Do you hate me that much?"

"Hate you?" He paused and looked at her consideringly. "Yes, perhaps I do hate you a little. After all, you are a constant reminder of my failure, the chink in my armour. Your very presence stands as an embodiment of my vulnerability and weakness. I think that justifies any certain… resentments I may harbour against you."

"So I was right," she said faintly. "You are here for revenge."

"Revenge – well. That's all relative. Some might say I'm giving you a chance few mortals ever have." His voice dropped until it was feather-light, misting against the side of her face.

"You might even enjoy it."

And then he started to laugh.

No, Sarah tried to say. No, I wouldn't. I hate you –

– but somehow, she couldn't utter the words. Her throat felt somehow raw, as though clogged with smoke. Vague panic stirred beneath the lassitude spreading through her. Her body seemed oddly weightless.

What's happening to me?

She opened her eyes – when had she closed them? – and saw only more grey space, as though all the colour had been washed out of the world. It reminded her of the black and white photographs of her mother, or the view out of her window on a rainy day.

Jareth… where was he?

Right in front of her: she could feel the heat of his body, the languorous surge of blood in her veins responded with a quickening frenzy. She felt, rather than saw the force of his gaze, his breath warm against the exposed hollow of her throat.

"Jareth –"

"Yes," he murmured. "Say my name." Hands brushed aside the wayward strands of hair, cold against her neck, and she shivered under the slow sensation. His voice, low and soothing, wrapped around her like a silken cloak, with the undercutting abrasion of unravelled threads. "Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream… isn't that how the poem goes?"

Some of the greyness seemed to break apart an instant.

No…

Her world had narrowed down to those slanting, hard-edged eyes with their cold authority. His gaze was searing into her like ice, or fire; she couldn't decide which – A soft whisper in her ear.

It's only forever…

The mist was rising; its lavender-grey wisps undulating around her like the coils of a snake, and again that heavy, dragging sensation of knotted cobwebs enmeshed with crystalline splinters…

I won't go with you, I won't –

How was he doing this? He had no power over her –

Pale face, pale eyes glowing like crystals, and her dark hair had come loose, falling over her shoulders in a heavy curtain, intricately braided with threads of silver that shone in the sunlight –

Sunlight?

There was a rich, heady smell becoming gradually stronger: the perfumed fragrance of long summer days, of heat beating down on ripened crops and the deep loam of the woods. And she could hear water rushing nearby, streams of water cascading into silvery pools that flashed like mirrors, reflecting turrets of a wall, a castle…

"Watch," he whispered, and for all its silken tones, his voice had lost none of its ringing command. "Watch your dreams unfold… your beautiful dreams…"

Is it me?

Am I the one doing this?

"Yes, Sarah," he hissed in her ear, arms tightening around her in a hold from which she could not escape. "This is all you, precious thing. You must have missed the magic badly to come so willingly into my world. You must have wanted it."

She tried to twist away from his grasp, but he held her fast.

"I don't –" something soft brushed her now-bare shoulders, and she saw Jareth was dressed differently, and he seemed taller somehow – "I don't want –"

"My dear…" His laughter sounded like hail rattling against glass. "All evidence to the contrary."

The scene that had before seemed to appear to her through a veil was becoming gradually clearer, like fog rolling back, while at the same time she was very aware of Jareth in front of her, where they stood on damp grass in a forest of night between here and there. The two worlds blurred in confusion, and images swirled before her eyes with the vague uneasiness of a half-remembered dream. Silver moonlight and golden sunlight, blazing stars wheeling overhead above a crowning lacework of branches and lofty towers piercing a sky of endless, cloudless blue. Sarah felt herself falling like an angel cast out of heaven, but if this was hell, it was beautiful –

And Jareth the serpent –

An unexpected memory of her irregular church visits flashed through her mind, briefly distilling the sensation of weightlessness. The vivid scent of candles and polished wood, the sonorous intonations of the priest and the bone-dry cold in winter. She thought of Karen's hissed reprimands to stop talking, and Toby's indiscreet whispers that he wanted to get home –

She closed her eyes, overcome with a sudden, piercing ray of emotion.

That's where I want to be – home – with dad, and Karen, and Toby –

Toby.

Toby, whom she had fought so hard for, whom she loved more than anything in this life –

That what was he didn't understand, never could understand, and that was why he would always underestimate her –

Sarah's eyes snapped open.

For a moment, her fierce resolve faltered. Her gaze had fixed on Jareth who was looking down at her with an expression of searing intensity, the ice of his eyes melting with lust and possession. His hands were at her waist, thumbs tracing circles round her hipbones, leaving a trail of static electricity crackling along her skin. She could no longer hear his voice but feel it, his whisper brushing her with the lightness of a butterfly's wing.

She gritted her teeth, the force of self-will sending reverberations through her, the image of marble-hewn towers still seared into her retinas. Remember Toby. She could taste blood in her mouth and was unsure how it came to be there. Think of Toby. The Goblin King's body was taut, shaking with surety of his own triumph.

That galvanised her. The silvery threads of wire that ran through her body were excruciating, but she forced her hand upwards to Jareth's face, running her fingers along his hollowed cheekbone in a soft caress. She tilted her chin up, baring her throat to his heavy lidded gaze and looked up at him, she hoped, submissively. Swallowing hard, she willed the tension to leave her body and relax into his hold.

He clearly felt her change in stance and smiled softly at her compliance. "You see," he murmured. "How much easier it is when you cooperate."

"Tell me what to do," she said. Her entire body was keyed to a fever pitch.

She felt the silk of his hair slide against her skin as he lowered his head toward her neck, and her mind almost jumped out of her body when his mouth caressed the hollow at her throat…

– oh God –

"Just let the dreams come, Sarah…" he breathed, and she felt the nip of his teeth and it hurt, but it was a tearing pain that brought ecstasy with its agony, sharp and beautiful as the point of an icicle. His lips soothed the hurt a moment later and it was all she could do to prevent her hands entwining in his hair to hold him there.

"There needn't be pain," he continued softly, his breath ragged heat against her flesh. "But only beauty… and pleasure…"

Pleasure. Oh, there was pleasure, all right. His hands at her waist began to move upwards with slow deliberation, and she bit her lip hard to stifle a moan. Her mind was becoming fogged. When he traced the curves of her breasts, she jerked in his hold.

Say something; say something now, before he –

"Jareth…" Her voice was softer, breathier, than she would have liked.

His hands halted their insistent caresses.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Go to hell," said Sarah.

His yell of outrage exploded in her head like a glass vial shattering; its fragments slicing through her brain, the flicker of triumph had left her and in its place was searing agony –

She stumbled out of his hold, ears ringing. He rose up tall, towering, white fire pulsing around him, rending the mist apart with its rippling heat. The cold fury in his voice caused her to flinch. She felt her very bones jolt. "You dare you talk to me in such a manner? I, who have ruled the underworld for over a millennia – you think I would take such insolence from a foolish, immature mortal?"

Sarah summoned all her courage. "I think you would," she said.

"I think," he said softly. "That you don't know me very well."

She threw all the mockery she could into her voice. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"

His eyes remained cold and watchful, but he did not move towards her. "Oh, Sarah, you are on very thin ice."

A bubbling hysteria was rising up inside her. She fought back a wild shriek of laughter. "You can't kill me," she said, her voice shrill with realisation. "You could have before and you didn't – it wasn't you who healed me, was it? You can't hurt me here. These injuries – they're just illusions, aren't they? They'll only become real if I believe in them, or if I go with you."

He leaned back on his heels, watching her through slitted eyes. "Clever, clever girl," he said, his light voice poisonous. "I was wondering if you would guess. I have learnt it pays not to underestimate where you're concerned. But you needn't be so hasty in your conceit. I may not be able to harm you in any physical sense, but that doesn't mean I can't make my presence felt mentally." The colour drained from Sarah's face at the honeyed sweetness in his tone. She was about to pay for defying him, and pay dearly. "Imagination can be a curse, as well." His gaze was flat and curious. "I wonder if your mind is as resistant as your body?"

Flaring light erupted from the tips of his fingers, and she knew what she would see before it had fully formed – a crystal, larger than the one he had summoned previously and shimmering with a beautiful radiance. It reminded her of snow under moonlight, or the drops of dew glinting on a spider's web.

She felt her mind cast itself back six years, to that fatal night in her bedroom; gazing at the crystal with a child's eyes. Jareth before her, black feathered cloak dark as a shadow in contrast to the white curtains fluttering behind him. The strange tang in the air, her first taste of it: of aura, of magic…

This is not a gift for an ordinary girl…

Her gaze moved upwards. Jareth's face reflected the light, arresting in its very simplicity of angular features and hollowed lines. The only complex thing about him was his eyes: at times colder than the furthest north, now liquid and molten. She wondered if he was still angry with her. If he was, his rhythmic lilting voice betrayed nothing. "So my offer of your dreams wasn't good enough for you? Then perhaps I should show you a few dreams of my own." He leaned over her, silver hair falling into his eyes. He smiled with that beautiful mouth of his, but there was nothing beautiful about him now. "Although perhaps you would call them nightmares."

Sarah's mouth was dry – painfully so. Her mind felt as slippery as oil as she struggled to detain him somehow, anyhow…

"I thought you said you didn't want to hurt me."

"I said I had no wish to hurt you. I never said I wouldn't."

"What are you going to –?"

Before the question had fully left her lips, he had seized the back of her head, hands twisting in her hair and pushed her down until her eyes were level with the crystal.

"Look Sarah," he hissed. "Look hard."

And Sarah looked.

Author's Note: The line "Did anyone ever tell you you have eyes like a cat – a cat in the dark?" is taken from Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind.