Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.
Benjamin Franklin
Sarah's chin slipped lower into her hand, her eyes flicking to the stately analog clock over the heavy wood door for the umpteenth time. As though she could will the ornate hands faster.
As though a gloved hand could advance it three hours…
With that her mind slipped right back into more dangerous territories.
That bastard had kissed her.
Worse – it had been the merest slanting of lips. A kiss you might be expected to give an older relative. Perfunctory. Quick. Platonic.
Except not really…
Nothing so benign. Because he wasn't a grandpa who smelled of BenGay and Altoids. No… He'd smelled of morning coffee, the kind of expensive herbal soap Edith thought was the only acceptable kind to use, and something uniquely him – masculine but magical… and twice as dangerous on account.
His thin lips had been surprisingly soft in the brief moment they'd touched hers. Soft but firm, and he'd not bumped his nose into hers. He'd angled his head just right…
"Do you have Herpes, Ms. Williams?"
Sarah's eyes blinked into focus at the unexpected question. "What?"
"Do you get cold sores? You know… the Herpes simplex virus type 1? You keep touching your mouth. You shouldn't do that by the way. You'll only make it worse." Jennifer was staring earnestly at her, the completed assignment clutched in hand.
As usual, she'd finished well before the deadline. Jennifer was the stereotypical nerd in the John Hughes movie. Always diligent in assignments. No discernable interest in anything other than academia. Average looking, but in a still-pleasantly-pretty-by-societal-norms-acceptable way. She was mostly hampered from passing as the typical elite students by a pair of ugly frames and an ill-fitting uniform.
She was also incredibly comfortable with her identity, which Sarah respected. She wasn't waiting for some A-list kid to ask her to prom, before which she got some magical movie montage makeover — where they just change her hair and take off her glasses off — and suddenly she's beautiful because really, she was beautiful all along. She was self-confident in a way few teenagers ever really were. Even affluent ones. Fewer adults either. And perhaps that's why a lot of the school bullies gave her a wide berth. No one would dare throw pig's blood on her at prom because a far worse fate than even Carrie could dream up would immediately follow.
"I get them too. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Jennifer continued, undaunted by her teacher's protracted silence.
Sarah removed the hand from her mouth in embarrassment and sat up straighter. "I don't actually have the virus, but thank you. And you are right. Nothing to be ashamed of." She took the paper from her student's outstretched hand. She didn't need to look to know the essay would be absolutely impeccable. "My mind was just wandering."
Jennifer brightened. "I was reading the preface of a paper in the Neuroscience of Consciousness — the whole article was behind a full paywall — anyway, it posited that when your mind wanders, it's actually a form of non-conscious guidance. Basically, if you aren't feeling rewarded, your cognitive control system begins looking for something more rewarding." Jennifer canted her head. "Are you not feeling rewarded by your career in shaping our young minds, Ms. Williams?"
Had any other student asked the question, Sarah would have suspected sarcasm. But not from Jennifer. And not when Jennifer's eyes tracked to Alyssa tellingly — by far one of the more challenging students Sarah had encountered in her young teaching career. Alyssa had once asked Sarah if they were supposed to write their names in "English or American" on an English grammar test. To that day, Sarah wasn't sure what the difference would have been but wished she had answered 'both' out of sheer curiosity.
Sarah might have been worried for Alyssa's prospects had it not been for the fact Sarah worked at a private school and Alyssa had been born on third base. Though literally speaking, Sarah held some doubt that Alyssa could find home plate even with the coach motioning her home.
"Very rewarding." Sarah smiled wanly.
"Then you must have been thinking of someone." Jennifer looked away from Alyssa. "Someone you like, I would guess. That's why you were touching your mouth then."
"That's not…" Sarah started uneasily. "That's not really an appropriate question, Jennifer."
"Why?" Her mousy-brown head canted even more. "Were they inappropriate thoughts?"
"I—"
"It wasn't really a question though," Jenner continued undaunted. "It was a deduction if anything." Her look shifted toward shrewd but there was no glibness in her tone." One that is very likely accurate given how red you are turning right now, Ms. Williams. I hope I didn't embarrass you."
Sarah could only stare dumbly as her too-bright student walked back to her desk and pulled a book out of her bag to do some silent reading while the rest of the class finished their tests. Jennifer was a force with which the world was not prepared to reckon.
The rest of the class passed with the same slow slog that the first half had. If her will was as strong as his, it certainly wasn't over the passage of time. It wasn't that she was eager to return home. Far from it. She was planning to head straight to her dad's place immediately after work in fact. Best way to avoid him tagging along was not to pick him up this time, Sarah. She needed to set her family straight before Karen put an announcement in the paper or her father really did buy a gun and accidentally shot himself.
When the last period bell finally rang — to the eagerness of all save those still frantically trying to remember who was the 21st president of the United States, Chester A. Arthur or Arthur T. Read — Sarah collected her satchel and purse faster than most of her students. When she glanced down at the stack of collected tests before shoving them haphazardly into her bag, she noticed that Kevin thought "Frankfurter" was the capital of Kentucky. He'd probably become a congressman one day.
It wasn't until she was out in the parking lot, slinging on her coat on that she was reminded again of the weight in the pocket.
His amulet.
Her fingers curled to stave off the itch to touch it and feel its otherworldly thrum again. That was another question begging for an answer. Why had he not asked for it back? She'd seen his reaction to it in the police station. He'd not mentioned it once, however. Curious and curiouser.
She was unlocking her car door when she heard the dreaded cleared throat. Not the polite pardon-me-but-do-you-have-any-Grey-Poupon kind, rather the passive aggressive I-would-like-to-speak-to-a-manager-and-ruin-your-day kind. She knew the speaker without turning.
Headmaster Plunkett.
The vilest, most snivelling, snot-nosed man to ever wear a poorly-concealed girdle under his ill-fitting shirt. He was the kind of administrator who perennially sucked up to parents in the hopes of more donations; the kind who fixed test results so that students like Alyssa would graduate with high marks and continue to fail upwards, marry even more money, pop out some future students and ensure the legacy would continue. The kind that looked at teachers as a means to an end… Ones you could milk to exhaustion if needs be.
Sarah suspected he had not actually come from money himself, though he did best to project that air. He was too effusively sycophantic for that. He had supposedly run a boys' school in England, and once lectured briefly at Oxford (though the reasons for his departure were somewhat nebulous), so to new money in the 'new world', that meant he was basically related to the Queen or something. His accent became proportionately more pronounced the more money he was speaking to.
"Headmaster," Sarah turned in resignation. He refused to answer to his given name of Percival. Not when said by inferiors. And he'd made it abundantly clear that Sarah was indeed such.
"Miss Williams," he emphasized the honorific in a way that gave Sarah pause. He was wearing a cat in the cream pot smile too, displaying his expensive veneers.
"I was actually leaving for the evening," she replied in a way she hoped was as subtly pointed as an icepick.
"Evidently," drawing a paper from behind his back, "but I thought it behooved me to ensure you received this before you left." He held it aloft like it was proof Sarah had brained Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick.
Sarah squinted at it in annoyance, expecting yet another one of his tiresome and pedantic memos, only to see the distinctive Rochester Police Department letterhead emblazoned on the top.
"It seems a constabulary officer named Briggs forgot to give you one of the forms last night. He called for you when he couldn't reach you at home." The headmaster's already beady eyes managed to narrow even further in glee. "Imagine my surprise to receive a call, at my prestigious institution, from members of the judiciary." He drew out the final word with a sibilant hiss like he was an Agatha Christie detective in a whodunnit on the BBC.
"I—"
"Naturally, I suppose, he didn't want to divulge the information directly to me."
Sarah could tell by his Chiclets' sneer that Plunkett counted it as a tick against poor Briggs.
"But I assured him that if he faxed me the form, I would discharge my duty in ensuring you received it."
Not before reading it first, Sarah thought sourly. He looked like he was gleefully waiting for her to fall to her knees and beg for absolution. Sarah chose to say nothing. She might not have decades of teaching under her belt, but she'd learned to never give a bully what he wanted.
She simply held out her hand. "Thank you, Headmaster. I'm sure you have more important things to do than deliver faxes."
He drew it just out of reach at the last second, his face faltering at her placid tone and tranquil expression. "And are congratulations in order then, Miss Williams?"
There it was again.
Sarah put on her most vapid expression. She channelled Alyssa trying to remember if Mississippi had five Ss or six. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what you mean." She would force him to admit he read it at the very least. If it was going to be awkward for her, it was would sure as hell be awkward for him too.
His lips thinned. "When I hired you, Miss Williams, you indicated you were unattached and unmarried and therefore able to devote your full attention to our students." By that he meant she'd been willing to take the laughably paltry salary as a trade off for more experience and smaller class sizes.
"And?" Sarah blinked back at him.
"And?!" He was beginning to bluster in earnest, the red creeping up his neck in a way Jennifer would deduce meant he was sorely vexed by her unwillingness to cower. "And this says you are married and that you bailed your husband out of jail last night!" His accent had decidedly slipped from less Oxford to more EastEnders. "You lied!"
"I did no such thing, sir. When you hired me, I was not married."
The headmaster looked doubtful. "… So, then you got married?"
Sarah gave a noncommittal and grating shrug. It irked her that the Goblin King's deception seemed to be invading her life more pervasively than a cold sore.
"This changes things." Percy shifted his weight uneasily. "Yes, this changes things. I do wonder if you are the best fit."
"Excuse me?" Sarah's façade began to crumble. "I fail to see how my ma—" she stumbled over the word, "Mar-i-tal status affects my ability to do my job."
"Well, there is the matter of the jail business." He waved the paper again.
This time Sarah snatched it from him. "A misunderstanding with no record. Though I am sure you already knew that given your thoroughness in vetting personal faxes."
Unused to such temerity from his staff, the headmaster recoiled as though slapped. "I am not sure I like your implication."
"And I am not sure I like your insinuation that I cannot do my job."
"B-but you have a husband to look after..." That there was an unspoken but loudly understood implication she should be home doing it, particularly rankled. He probably thought she should darn socks.
"He's house trained in fact," she replied wryly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have more papers to grade and I am expected at my father's house for dinner."
She included the last deliberately. Sarah was not from the kind of money Plunkett coveted but her father was a well-respected lawyer and had some big connections in the community. Sarah suspected it was one of the reasons she'd been hired.
It was also enough of a reminder to stave off whatever other objections Plunkett might have added. Sarah unlocked her car and got in.
"Just see…" He was posturing again already; she should have been faster. "Just see that there are no more incidents with the law. We can't afford to tarnish the reputation of this fine institution. Please ensure your… ah, husband behaves going forward."
Sarah said nothing. That was a promise she realistically couldn't make, as much as she would have like to. She didn't dare tempt fate. Nor could she promise there would be no more legal incidents. Not when she was feeling so spectacularly murderous. More so than the average high school teacher, she'd wager.
To say she'd violated the speed limits on the way to her parents' home, was an understatement. Her thoughts had apparently been prescient as the familiar red and blue caught her eye in her rear-view mirror, followed by the wail of a siren. She glanced at her speedometer and felt her bank account wince.
Pulling over to the shoulder, she practiced her most innocent and winsome "forgive-me-officer-I-have-to-get-home-to-assure-my-family-I-didn't-marry-a-casserole-destroying-convinct-last-night" face. When she rolled down her window, she turned her head, lips bowing into the attempt at a winsome smile, and made eye contact with none other than Briggs.
Sarah's smile faltered.
Briggs made eye contact with Sarah. His expression froze.
Sarah opened her mouth to explain.
Briggs held up a hand to cut her off. He turned and walked back to his cruiser wordlessly. He turned off the lights and peeled off at the twice the speed Sarah had clocked. He got back to the station and called out for a personal day.
When Sarah finally pulled into the drive way of her parents' stately Victorian, after a last-minute stop for three different kinds of pie at a much more civically responsible pace, she let out a body shuddering exhale and rested her head on the worn leather of her steering wheel for a moment.
A scant moment later, a loud slap against the driver's side window made her jolt. Shifting her head, she saw Toby pressing his open mouth as widely as he could right against the glass. She could see where he'd had his tonsils out the year before, and the spacer bar he'd had fitted by the orthodontist.
When she rolled down her window, a viscous rivulet of his drool slid down on the inside. It felt like an apt metaphor for the new direction in her life.
She scooped some up and smeared it on his cheek. "Aren't you getting a little old for that, Tobes?"
Toby grinned unrepentantly back as she wiped her hand on her skirt. "Aren't you a little old to be picking strange men up in prison and bringing them back to your apartment?"
Sarah frowned up at him. "I brought pie. You can't have any."
"That's fine," he grinned at her widely.
As she shuffled into the foyer of her parent's place, pies in hand, it took her a moment to register the dead silence; that her parents weren't instantly upon her, flooding her with questions…
Toby had helpfully taken the pies from her so she could hang her coat, shit-eating grin still planted firmly in place as he walked in the kitchen.
After a moment's hesitation she slipped the amulet from her coat pocket into the one in her blazer.
When she rounded the corner into the formal sitting room Karen insisted on maintaining, she saw the reason why she'd not been pounced upon.
"Well, hello, darling. Nice day at work?" Jareth offered up a dazzling smile that more closely resembled the one on her brother's face than anything benign.
He was seated on the uncomfortable chintz sofa Karen insisted was only for guests. His arms were spread across the back like it was a throne and not a floral monstrosity. His legs were crossed at the knee, somehow not putting any creases in the expensive looking suit. It was an older, classic cut, but of the timeless variety that never truly goes out of fashion. His eyes, still mismatched, were missing their usual markings, and more startling, his hair was short. Not conventionally so, but much more refined than its usual style — cut into a loose, but artfully styled, swag that fanned his collar.
Karen and her father were seated in the wingbacks opposite him, their backs to her. The former turned at Jareth's greeting.
"Sarah! Sweetheart," she gushed in a voice that immediately set off alarm bells, if only because it was so very different than the voice she'd used the evening before. Her head turned back towards the not-Goblin King. "He's just wonderful!"
Jareth winked at her stepmother, who then giggled. Karen had never giggled in her life. Sarah suspected even as a baby
Without looking back, Karen admonished, "Close your mouth, dear. You look like the fish we're having for dinner." Her eyes sparkled at Jareth. "Wild salmon in a fresh dill sauce."
Sarah's jaw clicked shut.
Toby returned to the main room in enough time to make a gagging sound. Fish was his least favourite meal and he made no secret of that. Sarah pretended it was at his mother's fulsome fawning.
"You're here." She hoped the accusation was clear in her tone. Surely the clenched teeth cemented it.
"Where else would I be? I live here, kiddo." Her dad chortled at his own joke for a beat too long to be comfortable. And then he stood and rounded the chair to give her a peck on the cheek.
"I'm… er, ah Bill."
Sarah's eyes turned to the other unseen occupant of the room. He was a middle-aged man of non-descript appearance. The sort one expected to come with a name like Bill.
He stood and closed the distance, holding out his hand. "We ah, spoke briefly on the phone."
"Right." Sarah shook it once. "Say, Bill?" Her eyes tracked back to Jareth's meaningfully. "Do you still have that shovel you borrowed?"
"What? Oh… oh no. No, I just returned it actually." Bill rubbed the back of his neck. Your mum invited me to supper. Insisted really."
"Stepmother," Sarah corrected by rote. She could feel Karen's lips pursing from across the room.
Bill sat back down awkwardly, as one can only do when sitting in a Queen Anne chair that is not meant to be sat in. Toby had plopped himself down beside Jareth on the stiff sofa. Sarah imagined Karen's eyes honing silently on his dirty jeans in silent horror as they made contact with the pristine fabric.
Her stepmother's horror was shadowed by her own, however, when Jareth reached out and ruffled her brother's hair. And he allowed it.
Every muscle in her body seemed to contract at once and she felt like a mountain lion ready to pouncing into action.
Catching her look, or perhaps having anticipated it, Jareth patted the space on his other side. "Come and sit, Sarah. You look worn out."
Karen nodded effusively. "She does. She does look worn out, doesn't she? So pale. I keep telling her winter palettes are not a right fit. Don't you agree, Bill?"
Bill, bless her heart, looked like a deer in the headlights and shifted in discomfit. The petite chair creaked ominously. "Well… I… ah… I've always like summers, myself. Golfing, fishing, barbeques…" he trailed off awkwardly.
"Autumn," Karen continued as though he hadn't spoke. "Autumn colours would do her a world of good! Don't you agree, Jareth?"
Karen had recently become a Mary Kay consultant. Not because their family needed more income, but because Toby was needing her less and less and she needed an outlet. The cosmetics company was a perfect fit, combining two of her favourite things — commenting on people's appearances critically and telling them how they could do almost everything better.
Jareth took an inordinate amount of time and an equal, if not greater, amount of pleasure scrutinizing her. She braced herself. When he finally spoke, it was not what she expected. "I think she looks perfect in any season."
Karen, who normally would have been annoyed to find herself contradicted in an area wherein she considered herself an expert, instead looked almost mawkish. "Oh, isn't that just the sweetest thing!"
Toby snorted.
Recovering, Sarah stared at the Goblin King but forced lightness she wasn't feeling into her tone. "So sweet my teeth hurt. Can I speak to you for a moment? Privately?"
"Don't be silly!" Karen protested. "Sit! We were just getting to know each other."
Bill, contrary to his milquetoast appearance, had become acutely aware of the strange current in the room and he rose hesitantly. "You know… I should really be getting ho—"
"Sit, Bill," Karen repeated a little too brightly.
Bill sat dutifully, suddenly regretting not chucking his daughter's guinea pig in the trash bin and lying about it.
Sarah, feeling the weight of expectation on her, reluctantly crossed the room and perched on the very edge of the sofa, as far away from the Goblin King as possible.
"How did you get here," Sarah asked quietly — aware all ears were on her. "You don't have a car."
"I borrowed Edith's." He gestured towards the window.
Sarah was unaware that her eccentric neighbour even had a car, but she followed the line of his finger. A pristine looking but very vintage Rolls Royce was parked askew out front.
"You don't drive."
"Evidentially I do now."
"You don't drive?" Toby asked dubiously. He'd never met an adult who didn't own a car, let alone not drive.
"I rather prefer flying." From anyone else it would have sounded pretentious. From Jareth it made Sarah realize into what dangerous waters they were treading.
"Really?" Toby breathed. "Cool."
"But how did you get here," Sarah pressed before Toby could ask anything more. "You didn't have the address."
"Edith again. She helpfully had it for emergency purposes. Perhaps if she ever needed to borrow a shovel." He clucked his tongue. "She also particularly wanted me to tell you that it was very 'gauche' of you not to invite to dinner."
The oven timer saved Sarah from whatever admonishment Karen had been about to levy in agreement. Her stepmother rose gracefully. "If you could all adjourn to the dining room, please. Robert?" she finished meaningfully, before disappearing into the kitchen.
By command, her father led them all to the tastefully appointed dining room, seating Bill next to Toby and Jareth and Sarah on the opposite side. Jareth held the chair out for her. She scowled at him but shivered just a little when his hand brushed her back as he sat beside her.
Robert filled their glasses from the Lalique crystal decanter, ignoring his son when Toby held his out cheekily.
Sarah took a deep draw from hers, relishing the initial acidic sting followed by the velvety finish of the wine.
"So," Robert began as he took his place at the head. "My wife and I are so happy you could join us tonight after all then, Jareth. Sarah gave us the impression you wouldn't be staying with her for long."
"I assure you, Robert, the pleasure is mine. It was so kind of you to invite me into your beautiful home. To share your food…"
The hair on Sarah's nape prickled. Half-remembered childhood tales of the fair folk and what it meant to let them into your home, to offer them something to eat…
The saloon door from the kitchen swung open. "Dinner is served!" Karen announced, proudly holding an artfully glazed salmon on her prized Wedgewood serving platter.
"And really, I have no choice," Jareth continued. "Sarah can't get rid of me that easily. Not when she is carrying something so very dear of my mine."
Sarah looked up at him in confusion, her eyes then flicking to Toby and back, wondering if her worst fears were about to be realized.
Jareth patted her hip beneath the table, where the pocket of her blazer contained his amulet.
"Oh, my god! You are pregnant!" The fish and platter alike fell from Karen's stunned hands to splatter in ruin against the floor.
"Yes!" Toby crowed, pumping his fist.
AN: Thank you for your patience! I've been trying to get this update out for far too long now. Summer is here suddenly and it feels like time is moving in triple speed. Going to take a moment to brag that my son was named valedictorian of his graduating grade 6 class. He's off to junior high next year and I am not ready… SNIFF. (My daughters are speeding along too quickly too.)
So over under on Sarah just straight up killing Jareth… What are your thoughts? Lol.