Chapter Two

Sarah

Are you trying to break my heart again?

Because I'm made of something different now

I'm made of everything you couldn't take with you

- Snow Patrol, Made Of Something Different Now

September 18th, 2002. Day 1 of the quarantine.

"What the hell did you do to my living room?"

Mismatched eyes on her. "Do you like it?"

There was a teasing edge to that voice, but Sarah ignored it. "Where's my couch? My TV? What did you do with them?"

"Oh, Sarah, do settle down. I'll put everything back the way it was."

She alternated between fisting her hands and tugging at her hair. What lay before her was not the admittedly messy living room she had left last night, but something else.

Her artwork—largely bought from local artisans and some old college friends—still hung on the wall unmolested, but underneath was no longer the off-white wallpaper, but glittering stone without any seams or cuts. The floor was changed, the flagstones smooth and sparkling in the early morning light. An enormous chandelier hung down the center of the room, made of horn and silver, dozens of unlit candles perched in the holders. An honest-to-god fireplace crackled in the place where her entertainment center had once been. A chaise lounge covered with furs sat near the bay window, but between it and her sat one of the largest beds Sarah had ever seen.

It was larger than a king-size, sunken into a sleigh-like stone and metal frame which had posts raised on all four corners, the metal twisting and winding around the stone columns like thorn vines. Jareth lounged in the middle of it, appearance back to—well, normal was not quite the word for it—the usual. A black linen shirt cut down to the naval draped over his arms and the back of his hands in folds of rich fabric. Matching leggings ended in bare white feet, and she noted with some degree of interest that he had long toes.

The bed was heaped with pillows, furs, silks, and duvets. It was artistic in its messiness, Jareth the perfectly poised model encased in black.

Sarah blinked, realizing the room had been silent while she stared at the Goblin King, and he stared right back at her. A lazy smile spread across his sharp features as he stretched—like a cat, Sarah thought—and rolled off one side of the monstrosity before padding around it to face her, gloved hands on his hips.

He canted his head to the side. "Sarah."

She waited for more, scowling as the stretch of silence continued. "What?"

His mouth split into a grin. "You're staring. Even now."

Heat seared the skin of her cheeks, and she glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck as she moved into the kitchen. "It's too early for this shit," she muttered. "I haven't even had my coffee."

"I took the liberty of making some for you," Jareth said. "The pot was fresh as of ten minutes ago."

She glared at him and eyed the full carafe offering sweet, sweet relief. "It's not... roofied or anything, right?"

"As though I would tell you if it were," he said, a gentle chiding to his tone. "You're going to have to learn to trust me, Sarah."

Sarah snorted but grabbed for the coffee anyway. He's going to be here for thirty days, she thought. And I know he's not interested in hurting me.

No, he had made his particular interest in her very well known.

Cream and sugar had been left out in silver pots near the coffee maker. She dropped in a cube of sugar and poured a liberal amount of cream into her coffee before turning, leaning back against the edge of the countertop with her mug cradled in her hands to regard the redecorating. Aside from the chaise and the bed, there were a few scattered chairs and furs along the floor that looked too inviting. None of the furs were from animals she could place—thick white pelts larger than even the largest of polar bears could ever possibly be, and some of the more exotic-looking ones had colors not found in her own natural world. Hues of purple and crimson, gold and silver.

There was a bar between the kitchen and the living room, so that you could be in one room and converse with someone in the other. The bar now contained large silver and horn bowls filled to the brim with the most delicious-looking fruits Sarah had ever put her eyes on. Each one of them looked—perfect. And their fragrance was tantalizing.

None of them, she noted with some curiosity, were peaches.

A plum was in her hand before she even realized she had reached out. She dropped it with a hiss, finding Jareth with his arms folded across his chest, watching her movements.

"This is faerie food, isn't it?" Sarah demanded.

His head tilted. "Is it?"

She set down her coffee with a loud clunk on the countertop, kicking the offending fruit away so it rolled into the hall. "If I ate it, would I be under your thrall? Like last time?"

"Is that what you think happened?" His smile was wide, showing off his sharp canines.

"You know damn right what happened." She wanted to stamp her foot in exasperation. She was tired, still. Last night she had tossed and turned, unable to sleep despite the relative silence. Even her neighbors seemed uncommonly subdued, no music or arguments or stomping feet. But every sound she did hear, she attributed to Jareth. What was he doing? What was he up to? Would he try to force his way into her bedroom, through the dresser and the locked door?

Jareth sat on one of the bar stools that still remained. Against the backdrop of her redecorated living room, he looked every inch the Goblin King. "Are you so afraid of me, Sarah?"

"I'm annoyed with you," she corrected. "Especially with the way you answer every question with another question. It's irritating." She cast a withering look at the bowl of fruit and picked up her coffee again, taking a long pull.

"Perhaps we can strike a bargain, while I remain in your domicile," he said, a touch of eagerness to his voice that she found unmistakable.

Sarah tilted her head. "Fae love bargains, don't they? And in every story I've ever read, you find some tricky, slimy way to wriggle out of it. You lot are tricksters and thieves. Stealing children and preying on hapless mortals."

"Do you think I would be here if you were an ordinary mortal? If you were so easily preyed upon?"

Her temper flared. "I am ordinary! Or I would be if you would leave me alone!"

"My proposal is a simple one," he said as though she had not spoken. "No trickery. A question for a question. I'll answer yours if you answer mine. Easy enough, isn't it?"

Sarah finished her coffee and rinsed out her mug in the sink. "You say it's simple, but what if you give all one-word answers while I go into detail? That's not exactly fair."

"You would be the expert on what is fair, wouldn't you Sarah?"

"It is way too early for this," she muttered again, keeping her back to the Goblin King as she started prepping her pile of dirty tableware and cutlery to go into the dishwasher. No time like the present to start on the chores, she thought. "I'm going to need my living room back," she said, louder this time. "I guess you can make it into whatever you want while you're sleeping, but I still live here. And I need to get work done, too."

There were a couple of freelance projects she could wrap up while this quarantine was in effect. She would have to call, too, to make sure they still wanted the projects finished or if they also needed to put everything on hold like her main job had.

"A question for a question, Sarah," he said, again acting as though she had not said a word. "An answer for an answer."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then back. "And if you refuse to answer?"

"We could up the stakes," he said, and that eagerness was back. "Absolute, raw honesty, in full, or..." he trailed off. "What punishment would you have of me?"

"Punishment?"

"For not answering a question, fully and openly."

She thought while she scrubbed at a particularly caked-on mess. This could be a good thing. There was much she wanted to know about the Labyrinth. About him. But he had always been quick to outmaneuver her. She continued to load the dishwasher while she thought, letting silence drape across them until she turned to face him yet again, drying her hands on a rough striped towel. She leaned back against the edge of the countertop. "Say I agreed to your bargain, what would my penalty be if I don't want to answer a question?"

He answered without hesitation. "A kiss."

"A kiss?" She asked, and her voice seemed to be far away. Her stomach twisted. "W-what do you mean?"

His expression morphed into something she could not quite placed, replacing the dry humor that had been there a moment before. "Surely you remember?" He said in a voice little over a whisper, his gaze intense.

Sarah swallowed, and felt the blush crawl up her neck to bloom in her cheeks. "Yes." There was no other answer to give. She felt like he had her pinned through the chest, like she was a butterfly in a lepidopterist collection. And there was no doubt in her mind that he wanted to possess her. To keep her, always.

He's a fae. He's not human. She could never forget. The desires and the needs of a fae were a foreign thing. Her heart continued to pound, and he hadn't moved. Only changed his expression and looked at her with those disarming mismatched eyes.

"A kiss, Sarah," he said. "That is your penalty. Now what is to be mine?"

She could smell ozone, and her nostrils flared. "Is this going to be binding?"

He gave her a long look. "Yes."

"When you say a kiss—what are the parameters?"

Jareth sighed, and some of that otherworldly presence faded, making it seem like oxygen had just flooded back into the room. Sarah sucked in a deep lungful of clean air as he spoke. "A kiss. More than a peck, and it needn't be deeply passionate, but it needs be a true kiss. One that would matter between lovers."

"We're not lovers," she said, and her voice was a rasp, as though she hadn't used it in some time. "But, fine. A kiss. I accept."

"And for me?" A crystal was suddenly in his gloved hand, and he rolled it over his fingers and between his palms, spinning and weaving it like a spider with its web.

Sarah watched the movement of the crystal and felt the pressure begin to build in the air again. The pressure she associated with magic. With him. "If you don't answer your question honestly, fully, and completely, then..." she stalled, mind whirling. There were so many things she could ask for. Her thoughts seemed to blur. Finally, she licked her dry lips and said, "If you do not answer your questions, you will have to do one task of my choosing."

"I cannot accept that." He said, his voice still soft and the crystal dancing over his fingers.

She crossed her arms over her stomach. "I won't ask for big things. Or for anything that will harm you, physically at least. The tasks will have to be within the realm of reason for our situation." She lifted her brows. "Does that please you?"

"Yes." The second the word left his mouth, the pressure in the room crested and cut off so fast she staggered. The crystal disappeared. "The bargain is struck."

"Woah—" Sarah braced herself on the countertop. "What was that?"

"That," Jareth said. "Is what happens when you strike a bargain with the fae. We're both held to the bargain. It's like a spell."

"You said it was binding, but it was a spell? You cast a spell on me?" She could not help the note of panic that crept into her voice.

"You did it as much as me," he said, and stood from the bar stool, walking back into the living room. "As soon as you begin a bargain with a fae, you begin to weave your own intentions into the spellwork. I am under it as much as you."

Sarah gaped as he waved a hand and the living room returned to normal as though he had flipped the pages of a book. Everything was where she had left it, dirty laundry, dishes, piles of mail, and all. Jareth was highlighted in the sunlight streaming through the windows, his hair shimmering.

"But I'm not magical," Sarah said, pursuing him into the newly normal space. "How can I weave spellwork if I'm nonmagical?"

Jareth moved to her bookshelf and began perusing the titles, running a gloved fingertip along the spines. "Everyone has a degree of magical affinity," he said. "And as I said, it is like a spell, a bargain. It is not an actual spell or, yes, you would need more than the latent magical talent you have. And you do have quite a bit, for a mortal." He pulled out a collection of Sylvia Plath and thumbed into the introduction. "How many lovers have you had?"

She about choked. "What?"

"How many lovers have you had?" He repeated, an edge to his voice now. "Come, now. I've answered three of your questions already. This is only the first of mine."

She did a quick mental calculation. "Four."

"And?"

"And they didn't work out. None of them," she crossed her arms over her chest and flopped onto her favorite spot on the sofa, staring at the floor. "There's not much to tell. Do you want their names?"

"Not particularly." He cradled the book and slid into the wingback chair he typically occupied. It had been in her bedroom or her apartment since she was twenty-three. It was upholstered in a deep velvet green fabric, worn a little at the arm rests. "Did you love any of them?"

She scrubbed her hands over her face. "This is getting very personal, very quickly."

"Answer the question, Sarah. Or..." his voice perked up. "Conceding defeat?"

"Fat chance." She took a deep breath and looked away. "No, I didn't love any of them. I think I thought I was in love with at least one of them, but even that wasn't—it didn't feel right."

His next words sounded so much closer, even though when she glanced back he had not moved from his chair. "Why do you think that is, precious?"

Scowling, she snarled, "Not why you think, you prick, and I don't know. I don't know, okay? But that doesn't mean I'm suppressing anything."

"As you say, precious."

"Stop calling me that." She got up and started to pace. Then she turned on him, finger pointed. "What about you? How many lovers have you had?"

His smile was entirely too self-satisfied for her liking. "Unlike what you undoubtedly think, I have had five lovers."

She frowned, then resumed her pacing. Five? He must me joking, or lying. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Oh, we'd both feel it," he said. "Ask me something else."

"D-did you ever love any of them?" She was startled by how hesitant the question left her, but there it was. Between them.

"Yes," he said.

As soon as the word left his lips, Sarah felt it. The lie. It was a combination of a sour taste in her mouth coupled with a bone-deep certainty he had not spoken the truth.

He smiled. "Ask me again."

She licked her lips. "Did you love any of your partners?"

"No," he said. There was a pause, and he inclined his head. "Do you see now? If you do not comply with the parameters of the bargain, I'll feel it. Just like you'll feel it if I do the same. Handy, isn't it?" He rose, setting the book down on the chair cushion, and took a step toward her. "Now. I lied to you. So, you get to use one of your penalties. What would you have of me?"

The way he regarded her screamed a warning. If she misused this power over him now, he'd return the courtesy ten-fold. She knew he would. He was demonstrating the constraints and limitations of the bargain they had struck, so she understood it. He was giving her some small measure of power over him, however, at this moment. And she felt it. Powerful. She could ask him to do almost anything.

Images of the Goblin King scrubbing her toilet or doing her laundry flashed through her mind with a wicked longing. Instead she ran a hand through her hair, using the extra time to think. "Okay, fine, my task for you is..." she looked around the room. "Open the window. We need some fresh air."

Jareth gave a soft snort. "Fresh air? In New York?" But he moved toward the windows anyway, unlocking them before sliding them up a few inches to let in the sounds of outside. Unlike usual, there were no blaring horns or the gentle murmuring of passing pedestrians. Instead, she heard the soft coo of pigeons and a strange sort of silence.

"What happens if you don't do my task? Or I don't—um, kiss you." She flushed at the words, annoyed at herself for her bodies reaction.

Jareth, who had been staring out the window to the street below, spoke so soft she barely heard him. "You face the ultimate penalty. A bargain broken means the other party can demand any price, any retribution, they see fit."

She felt a glimmer of hope. "Does that mean if you don't do as I ask, I could tell you to leave me alone? To never come back?"

"Yes," he said, then turned his head, so he could see her. "It also means, my dear Sarah, that if you renege on your bargain, I will pull you back into the Underground, for that is the greatest ambition of my heart."

She shivered. "Even if I said no?"

He stared at her, eyes flashing like a cats in the night. "Even if you said no."

A chill swept down her spine.

She had entered into a fae bargain. Magic now bound the both of them together.

You are a fucking idiot, Sarah Williams.

"That's never going to happen. I'm staying here. I have a life here."

A slow smile crept over his features. "Of course. But for the next twenty-nine days, you're stuck with me."