TWO

The dream came again that night.

It started out as it always did, with Sarah running through a night-shadowed forest, chasing the soft voice calling to her, as elusive as a spirit. "Where are you?" her dream-self called, but she received no reply but for another whisper of her name brushing across her mind and soul, soft as a kiss.

There was light ahead, cool and silver in the darkness, and as she stumbled into the moonlit glen, frantically searching for her unseen visitor, she somehow knew the dream was about to end. She would wake up and find herself alone in bed.

Except … this time she didn't. This time, she remained right were she was within the glen. She looked around, confused. What was going on? Why was it suddenly different?

The voice whispered her name again, and she spun around, trying to find its source, but only shadows greeted her. "Where are you?" she demanded, voice echoing eerily through the trees. A soft rustle of feathers in wind caught her attention; she turned, startled, in time to see a large, white shape floating away on ghostly wings, vanishing into the wide ribbon of moonlight.

An … owl?

"Wait!" she cried, but it was too late. The creature had fled, and now she felt the familiar pull of her dream-self being dragged into familiar, smothering grayness. She woke with a gasp, heart pounding, every detail of the dream engraved clearly into her memory.

"An owl," she whispered, as her heart slowed its frantic pace.

"Sarah, hurry up! We're going to be late!"

Irene's impatient voice drifted up to Sarah, who sighed and zipped her carry bag closed. The two days had passed quickly, and today was the trip to the house her father had grown up in. It was a five-hour drive into the country from the suburbs of New York, and Robert Williams wanted to get an early start.

"I'll be right down!" she called, turning to make sure her room was in order. It looked just as it always did. She hadn't changed it much over the years. Even the furniture was still in the same arrangement, and all of her books still lined the shelves in the exact same order of most-to-least favorite. She had never been able to give away those childhood books. It felt too much like giving up old friends.

Well. None, except for one thin, red book with gold stamping on its cover. This she had banished into a box in the back of her closet, and there it would remain, a sad reminder of a past she would just as soon forget.

Stored in the same box were a number of other childhood treasures; everything she owned that reminded her of the Labyrinth and its king. These items were packed carefully in newspaper and soft cotton to protect them from decay. Even though she didn't want to look at them anymore, they were still important to the small part of her that couldn't forget. There was the music box her mother had bought her for her tenth birthday, with its princess dressed in a replica of the beautiful gown Sarah had worn in the enchanted ballroom. A statue of a fairy prince which bore a haunting similarity to the Goblin King. Her own small labyrinth puzzle, something she'd gotten ages ago from who-knew-where. The stuffed animals that bore eerie resemblance to the creatures she'd met in the Labyrinth. Even her bookends, which looked a little too much like a certain dwarf she'd once known, had been packed away and replaced with a pair of dragons.

Other knickknacks had been banished to the box, as well. Several small figurines of fairies had been replaced with cute little winged unicorns; Sarah had decided she no longer liked fairies after her first disappointing encounter with a real one. The framed print of the four-dimensional stairway room brought back some rather bitter memories, and thus had been replaced with a drawing of a wolf howling at the moon.

There was also the owl statuette her step-grandmother had given her the year before. It was a perfect replica of the white owl Jareth favored, and Sarah had shuddered when she'd unwrapped it. She'd pretended to like it, so as not to hurt her grandmother's feelings, and had reluctantly placed it on the shelf where the stuffed animals once resided.

There it sat for all of three days, seemingly more alive than its heavy ceramic frame made it look. Its glassy eyes had stared into her whenever she tried to sleep at night, which unnerved her to no end. So she finally gave up and packed the owl into the box as well, wrapping it securely in a piece of black silk, because she had once read that silk was supposed to muffle magic. Irene, of course, had been curious as to why the owl was no longer there. Sarah had stammered for a few moments, trying to think up a suitable excuse, and finally blurted out that it had fallen from the shelf and had broken into too many pieces to properly glue together. Irene had not been happy to hear it.

"Sarah! Are you ready or aren't you?"

"I'm coming!" Sarah shouted irritably, hoisted her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her heavy coat and scarf. She pounded down the stairs, suddenly glad to leave her room, which had begun to feel a bit oppressive. "Well, let's go already! We want to be at Gram and Pap's place before Christmas arrives, don't we?"

Irene muttered to herself as she buckled Toby securely into his car seat and shut the door. Sarah climbed in the other side and gave Toby a smile when the pre-schooler grinned at her. "We goin to Gwanma's an' Gwampa's howse," he informed her importantly, his large, blue eyes regarding her seriously.

"I know." She ruffled the soft blond curls on his head. "Are you ready for lots of presents this year?"

His face split into another adorable grin. "Yeah! Lots of pwesents fow me!"

She settled into the seat, slipped her Walkman headphones over her ears and tucked a pillow under her head. The soothing notes of Pachabel's Canon in D, coupled with the rocking movement of the ancient station wagon, soon lulled her into sleep.

Sarah woke with a start, heart pounding as she struggled through the fog of confusion clouding her mind. The vestiges of silvered trees and moonlit wings dissipated as she rubbed her eyes and looked outside the fogged window. They had arrived at her grandparents' farmhouse, and her parents were currently unloading the car. Irene paused just long enough to shoot her a look, which had her immediately scrambling to unbuckle her seat-belt and stumble out of the car to help.

As she unbuckled a sleepy Toby from his car seat, the front door of the old house banged open and an elderly woman with graying blond hair and twinkling eyes hurried to meet them. "Well, if it isn't my long lost son come to visit his old ma," she called teasingly, her grin wide. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us, Robbie!"

"Hi, Mom." Robert hoisted a large shopping bag filled with gifts over one shoulder and a suitcase over the other. "Pop around?"

"Oh, Jack's out back, chopping some firewood for the stove," she replied. "Wanted to keep the house nice and warm for company. Been cold up here. I wouldn't be surprised if it started snowing by Christmas. Hello, Irene! How are you?"

"Hi, Marie. Nice to see you." Irene hefted another suitcase out of the car.

"Should he be chopping wood with his back?" Robert frowned in concern.

"I told him, the old fart, but you know how he is. Anyway, come on into the house before we freeze. I've got apple cider and hot chocolate warming on the stove." Marie took the bag of gifts from her son, gave Sarah and Toby a brief hug and kiss before ushering everyone into the house, where they found Jack Williams just hanging up his coat.

"Hey, now, looks like I got done just in time!" He gave each lady a hug, shook his son's hand, then solemnly shook Toby's little hand before he winked and pulled a candy cane from his shirt pocket. Toby beamed before retreating to his mother for help to unwrap the candy. It wasn't long before he grew far more interested in the brightly-wrapped packages under the Christmas tree.

Marie placed the bag of gifts behind the tree before gesturing for the family to follow her upstairs. "You all know where your rooms are, so I'll just make sure you get settled before I head on down to start dinner, okay?"

Sarah hoisted her bag and headed for the last door on the right. This was the guest room she always chose when she came for long visits, which happened less and less frequently now that she was grown up. Her face lit in a smile when she opened the door and found the room exactly the same as it always was. The handmade green, gold and cream curtains. The matching quilt spread across the four-poster bed. White oak dresser and desk pushed against the far wall, and the worn, overstuffed reading chair in the corner, still spread with its deep cranberry afghan.

With a contented sigh, she curled up in the chair and stared out the window, which afforded her a fantastic view of a backyard that looked far more like a small wildlife reserve. There was no snow on the ground yet, but she had seen it plenty of times covered in a thick, beautiful blanket of sparkling white powder.

Why couldn't she feel this peaceful at home, she wondered, pulling the afghan up to her chin. She thought she felt more at home in the middle of nowhere than she did back in her neighborhood, surrounded by people. She wished her parents would buy a country house like this, but she knew it'd never happen. Her father had to be close to work, and Irene was too "city" to ever enjoy living in a place like this. Up until a few years ago, Sarah had always thought she was too "city" to ever enjoy living in the country. It had been her ultimate dream to move to a place like Manhattan or Los Angeles, after all.

Maybe, she decided, if she did become an actress, she could buy a large property like this and move out there and live by herself when she retired. She could raise animals. Maybe start a wildlife sanctuary of some sort. She wouldn't mind caring for wolves or deer. Or maybe wild birds, like falcons and owls. She did love owls.

Sarah frowned and opened her eyes. Since when did I ever love owls?

Suddenly chilled, she tossed the cover off and pushed herself out of the chair. I need some of Gram's cider, she decided.

"Pull up a seat," Marie offered as Sarah entered the kitchen, filling a mug with mulled cider. "Here ya go, honey. Help yourself to some Christmas cookies, too."

Sarah gratefully accepted the mug and took a careful sip of the hot drink. Toby was busily cramming as many cookies as he could fit into his mouth, before Irene noticed and quickly put a stop to it. Sarah listened with half an ear as her stepmother and grandmother chatted. Her thoughts began to wander, and therefore she didn't realize that Irene was trying to get her attention.

"Sarah!"

"Huh? What?" She blinked and glanced around the table, noting their amused smiles.

"Where were you?" Irene asked. "You looked like you'd drifted a million miles away."

"Oh, I was just, uh, thinking about … stuff," Sarah stuttered, not meeting her eyes. She'd been thinking about the dream, to be precise, but she wasn't about to volunteer any information on the subject.

As it turned out, she didn't have to.

"So," Irene began coyly. "Who might this Jareth be?"

"Huh?" Sarah was so startled that she tipped her mug over. Luckily, she'd already finished most of its contents, so there wasn't much of a mess. She concentrated on mopping up the remaining cider with napkins and tried to gather her composure. "H-how do you know about Jareth?" she finally asked, trying to sound casual (and suspecting she'd failed miserably).

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Well, you were mumbling his name on the way up here. You were dreaming of him, I guess. So who is he?"

Sarah's mind went blank. She hadn't dreamed of Jareth! She rarely even thought about him! Well … she supposed she did think about him, but her dream had nothing to do with him! Besides that, she didn't remember calling out any names, especially that one.

"Well?" Now Marie was interested. "Aren't you going to answer?" Her eyes twinkled merrily; Sarah had forgotten how much her grandmother liked to meddle.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "He-he's nobody," she managed to reply. "He's just—I mean … he really isn't anybody at all."

Irene raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, and Marie chuckled. "Come on, kid, don't be shy. He must be somebody, if you were dreaming about him. Is he a crush? A boyfriend, maybe?"

Sarah choked. A secret crush? A boyfriend? "He's just a … a character in a storybook!" she blurted. "He's not real! You remember that book I was always reading when I was younger? He was the villain in the story. The Goblin King, remember? I don't know why I dreamed about him. Maybe it was like … memories or something. You know how weird my imagination is." She gave a little laugh as Irene and Gram exchanged glances.

"Okay, if you say so," Irene finally conceded. She didn't sound the least bit convinced. She took another sip of her drink, a clear dismissal, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

Marie, however, looked as if she still wanted to press for details, but Sarah didn't feel like talking anymore. "I'm going for a walk," she mumbled. She stood and headed for the door, grabbing her coat along the way. "What's the matter with me?" she grumbled as she marched across the field toward the woods. "Getting all worked up over nothing. Ridiculous!" Her breath frosted the cold air when she sighed.

She knew her refusal to talk about stuff like boyfriends was a sore spot with her stepmom, but it wasn't like she'd ever had a real boyfriend to talk about. And this was a subject she had no idea how to approach, considering Irene had no idea about the truth behind the matter. The relationship between them had improved over the past three years, but there were some things Sarah just couldn't talk about to anyone, no matter how much she wanted to. How could anyone possibly understand what she had gone through, especially her practical, no-nonsense stepmother? Irene would think she was nuts!

Deep in thought, Sarah wasn't paying particular attention to where she was going. There was a clear path winding through the trees, so she simply allowed her feet to blindly lead her as she mused over her problems. It was only when she tripped over a stray tree root and stumbled into a bright patch of sunlight that she realized she ought to be paying more attention to where she was going.

She glanced around and found herself in the midst of a small, perfectly round clearing covered with dried, mossy grass. She frowned. She had walked these woods many times over the years, and she could not recall ever coming across a clearing like this in her past wanderings. The setting was beautiful, though.

And … strangely familiar.

Her frown deepened as she attempted to recall where she'd seen it before. Then her eyes widened in shock as her hand came up to smother a sharp gasp. This was … this was the glen. The very same one in her dream! Sure, it was flooded with the deep, red-gold light of sunset rather than the silver of full moonlight, but even the small, stunted tree growing at the far end was a spitting image of the one she recalled seeing in her dream setting.

That's impossible. It's just a dream, she thought, trying hard not to panic. How could she possibly have dreamed this up?

No. A better question was, how could it possibly be real?

She forced herself to take deep, calming breaths, breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. "Okay. Relax," she told herself firmly. "There is a logical explanation for this. Maybe I did find this clearing before, and my memory used it for the dream setting."

The theory held a certain logical appeal … but deep down, she knew it was wrong. She knew this forest, and she was certain she'd never seen the clearing before. At least, not anywhere outside of her dream.

Well, she decided, maybe she was just going insane? That was also logical, if not a less pleasant option to consider. She'd long suspected she might be a bit mad to start with, so it wouldn't be a complete shock if she'd finally gone all the way 'round the bend. She rubbed her hands over her face.

Okay, third option. Maybe she had fallen asleep at the kitchen table and was dreaming again. But that was a dying hope, which a vicious pinch to her arm swiftly finished off.

She was all set to have a nice, quiet nervous breakdown when suddenly, eerily, Sarah realized she was being watched. She froze, glancing around the clearing. Nothing there. Probably a squirrel, she decided uneasily. There were plenty of those around.

An odd, low, whistling cry drifted to her on a faint breeze, and her eyes widened. She swallowed once, her dry throat aching. The cry sounded again, drifting through the still air from directly behind her.

Slowly, she turned until she was facing the other direction, and her eyes fell on the stunted, twisted tree at the far end of the clearing. There, in the topmost branches, perched a large bird, which regarded her calmly through large, unblinking eyes. The light poured over its feathers, burnishing them in soft gold, but Sarah barely noticed its beauty; she was too busy trying not to hyperventilate.

The white owl slowly closed one eye, as if winking at her, and hooted again.