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I made so many promises to myself: I'll wait to see if he appears again. If he appears again, I'll hurt him on purpose. The uncertainty struck me the most, so I tried to balance it with those rules. Perhaps I had done too much damage to him and he'd decided it wasn't worth it, or perhaps the visit was part of a game for him, and he would return eventually. I was able to dismiss the first possibility, but the second one stuck out of fear. Maybe it mattered that he had no power over me, and maybe it didn't—he could appear, after all, but it obviously hurt him. Too bad—I'll hurt him even more if he comes back.

Either way, I still looked for him when I passed the spot where we'd met. On the early fall afternoon of the first day of school, a few precocious red-and-orange leaves dusted the street, but otherwise it was silent.

My house looked much the same, with Karen clacking around in her ever-present heels, and I had an unpleasant sense of deja vu. But the sounds of a baby had long since been replaced with the sounds of toddler Toby, newly returned from preschool, a flurry of energy and childish wonder.

"Hey, Tobes!" I greeted him; he ran over to me immediately.

"We painted today!" he told me. "Did you guys paint?"

"I wish," I replied. "Do you have any art to show me?"

He nodded, little hand pointing. "On the 'fridgerator."

Karen came into view then, holding her checkbook. "Oh, hello, Sarah. I think the bank has made an error. Can you keep an eye on Toby while I call? They've switched to one of those dreadful automatic systems and it has to be quiet."

"Sure. Tobes, why don't you show me the painting?"

My stepmother had the phone snuggled between her ear and her shoulder as she dialed the bank. "I painted an apple!" Toby shouted at the red blob. So much for that.

"Toby, shhh!" Karen whispered. "Remember, lips sealed like...like..."

"Like a letter," I supplied softly. My stepmother nodded.

"Sealed like a letter!" Toby mouthed as he took exaggerated steps across the floor.

The wrong was rectified eventually, and I retreated to my room and spread my homework out across the desk, but chemistry couldn't interest me. I tried a few rough drafts, minus the all-important I wish prefix, just in case writing it had the same effect. Eventually I settled on saying aloud, "I wish the Goblin King could appear in my room without being hurt so we could talk."

And he did, just like that. This time, I studied him more closely, keeping my hands clenched on my chair to feel grounded to something: that hair, always like a blonde halo around his pale face, and his mismatched eyes and regal demeanor. He wore the brown leather jacket he'd worn when Hoggle and I met the cleaners, and it had the same scent I'd smelled then: leather, cloves, pine, and something difficult to name, something smoky. Somehow I felt it was magic.

"In part," he said, "I am glad you are learning to be careful with words. But in part, I'm sorry you didn't suddenly allow me more."

I swallowed. "Will I always have to be so careful around you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked closer, closer, leaning over me and pointing to my text. "Electrons," he nodded, fingers tapping over the pages. "You are familiar with atomic bonds?"

"About as familiar as you," I replied; it felt like I'd stammered, even though I hadn't.

He leaned back and smiled at my nerve, but his eyes were dark. "We are covalent. We will share this power and be attracted to it forever. Our fates are sealed."

"Sealed like a letter," I finished, and he frowned.

"What?"

"Never mind." I smiled a bit, and it made his frown deepen. "Do you expect fear from me, Goblin King? You won't get it."

"I have no place for your fear, Sarah."

"So..." My hands had tightened on the chair even further. "What happens now?"

"You haven't accepted your place yet. Magic cannot flow between realms unless anchored by someone, and it's very taxing. So powerful fae—yes, including myself—can travel between Above and Under, but until you go Underground, you will crave the power. But you won't have it. And it isn't good to feel that way for long."

I looked at him a bit closer—was he serious?—but his gaze looked utterly honest. He still had that same fine-boned face and the mouth that looked like it lived to smirk, but there was no maliciousness visible. "To feel like what?"

"Imagine a phone ringing. At first it's quiet—it's easy to tune out. But then it gets slightly louder, and louder, and then louder still, until the only thing in your realm of existence is the sound of that phone, its shrill ringing at a deafening volume. That's what will happen to you. It's already started."

"I don't feel that way."

"Yet."

Yet. The word was suspended in the air, in my mind. "How long do I have?"

He tilted his head; the motion was owl-like, funnily enough. "That depends," he answered simply. "The call of something like the Labyrinth is not easy to ignore."

"So what does it depend on?"

Oh, there it was. He smirked at me, and I almost scowled as a reflex. "How stubborn you are, to start. Although I'd happily bring you back with me now, I get the feeling you'll want to wait."

"Why does it matter? Why so happy to reclaim the girl who bested you?"

The sharp-toothed smile disappeared; his head straightened. "It's not good for my kingdom," he said finally. "It is an imbalance for you and for it."

"But not for you?"

He squinted at me but was silent.

"Answer me, Goblin King."

He looked down at his hands, either disaffected or posing as such very well. "I think I'll pass on that one, Sarah."

"Fine." I only had one important question left, anyhow: "So you're telling me my life here is over?"

"Once your magic has stabilized, you can return here for visits, but otherwise yes, you will live Underground."

"For how long?"

"Forever, essentially. The magic will extend your life."

My grip on the chair was slick with sweat, and something else—was it blood? I must have reopened the scabs from how hard I was clenching. I wanted to speak but simply couldn't. It reflected on my face, since he told me, "I am trying to be kind, Sarah."

"I'm sure, Goblin King."

"You say that with such disdain. You know my true name."

"It's not a coincidence," I told him. "I rescind the wish. I...I need some time to think about this."

"You can't rescind wishes. You should know that by now."

I watched him for a moment, but he stood contentedly. "I wish the Goblin King would bleed in my presence again."

Without pause, he snapped to me, gloved hands gripping my shoulders hard. I watched, stupid and soundless, as he bled black from his eyes and blood poured from between his lips. "Now perhaps you'll understand why I called you cruel," he rasped, and then he was gone, but the feel of his grip on my shoulders remained.

I didn't know how long I stayed frozen like that, facing sideways in my chair. I was trembling but I couldn't cease the shaking, no matter how diligently I tried.

No. No way. I had beat him; I'd won.

Were the jitters a sign? Was I already dying? Wet tears hit my skin before I even knew I was crying, and I gasped, "Shit," because I hadn't even asked him the most important question: I hadn't asked why.

I sat there in complete silence, my room and my world growing darker, until Toby knocked on the door. "Dinner!" he told me. "C'mon, Sarah!" At his age, it still sounded more like Sawah.

I couldn't leave him. He was so little and I loved him to death—I'd die for him.

I stood and wiped away the old tears, then opened the door. He still stood there, waiting expectantly. "C'mon, Tobes," I said, scooping him up as he giggled. "Let's go."