Hallows' Eve- Chapter Two

If looks could kill, Jareth would have been dead about one minute ago. Sarah was certain he had a hand in the elevator's mysterious malfunction, but without proof any accusation on her part would sound like petulance. And if there was one thing she wanted to show that puffed-up, smirking bighead, it was her maturity. She turned and eyed the stairs with trepidation. Even uninjured in heels they were an iffy proposition, but her knee continued to bleed and she thought she might have sprained something as well. The sudden warmth of breath on the back of her neck didn't help matters.

"Poor Sarah," said a voice like heated velvet, "unable to retreat to her tower. Funny how such a little fall can incapacitate the girl who singlehandedly bested my labyrinth."

"But it would seem that you are in need of my assistance," he continued. "And I'm quite willing to do the generous thing and offer it…for a price."

"There's always a catch, isn't there, Goblin King?" she said between clenched teeth.

"As it's always been. And for this, I shall ask…"

Sarah gripped the banister tightly enough to drive the blood from her knuckles and waited for him to ask for the moon. This "price" would be something extravagant, like power over her or an admission of loss, or simple yet devastating, like- a kiss, her mind supplied, but she clamped down on the thought and forced it away.

"…some candy."

The breath left her in a relieved gasp before she could stop it. "Candy? Isn't that a bit out of character for you?"

He brushed past her and climbed three steps to gaze down at his wounded former adversary. "I understand you mortals celebrate an autumnal holiday this night which entitles the revelers to candy," he explained. "I simply want my share."

Stifling a giggle, Sarah asked, "And there's no hidden catch? No clause you're going to tighten around my neck once you get a few chocolate bars?" When he shook his head, she added, emboldened by some unknown force, "Seem to have lost your touch, Your Majesty."

That was a mistake. He gave her a devious grin as if to say, "oh, really?" and twisted a crystal from the air, tossed it towards the ceiling, and raced down two steps to stand before her. The crystal burst above them, and as the tiny fragments glittered downwards, Sarah felt reality shift, warp, and then wink out altogether for an instant. Unpleasant as the experience was, it lasted only a moment before they stood outside a battered door whose red nameplate proclaimed, "147."

Sarah rooted in her pocket- once again blessing the ingenious fashion student who'd worked pockets into the voluminous Death gown- and pulled out a key on a keychain…shaped like an owl. Ye gods, why did I buy the one shaped like an owl? Despite her best efforts, thrusting the key into the lock as quickly as possible and attempting to shield the door with her body, Jareth caught sight of the little plastic bird and gave a throaty chuckle.

"Fond of owls now, Sarah?" he asked in a voice that would have made any heterosexual female blush.

"What I'm fond of is none of your business." She finally got the door open and turned to face him.

"Good night, Goblin King. It's been a lovely evening of disappointment, injury, and harassment, but I really have to get to bed now." And then, a grudging, "And thank you for helping me get home."

His hand shot out and gripped her shoulder, not painfully, but hard enough to keep her from moving. "Ah ah, my dear. We had a bargain; I've fulfilled my end-" he paused to brush a dark curl back into her chignon, and the place on her cheek his gloved finger had touched tingled- "so where's my candy?"

His tone fully suggested that he had a different sort of "candy" than Snickers in mind, but Sarah once again did her best to ignore the implication. Sighing, she pushed the dorm room door open and stepped aside, with a gesture for him to enter. He swept regally into the room with more flamboyance than anyone had the right to use when entering a college dorm, eliciting an eye roll from Sarah.

She flicked on the floor lamp, casting light on an overflowing laundry bag, half-dead houseplants, and rumpled bedcovers that proclaimed "Here there be college students."  Thank God I took the trash out this morning- wait, why am I worrying over him? Bad Sarah; he's a nuisance and nothing more!

But as she glanced toward her side of the room, a horrified gasp escaped her lips.

Shards of delicately-painted clay littered the floor, punctuated by glints of gold enamel. An obvious gap now showed in an arrangement of tiny Mardi Gras masks on the wall. And amidst the rubble, wearing an expression of intense chagrin, sat a familiar little demon.

"I sorry, Lady!" the goblin wailed as tears began to streak down his dirty face, "Just wanted to see the pretty!"

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden thumping noise from the pine wardrobe cut her off. Angry hisses followed, and what sounded like scratching.

"Nimue!" she exclaimed. Crossing the room as quickly as a floor-length gown allowed, she threw open the wardrobe door. A furry streak of black shot out and went straight for the still-sobbing goblin. The devil, whose costume was now looking worse for wear, tried to fend off the cat with his plastic pitchfork.

Jareth shouted, "Smudge, leave the cat alone!" and Sarah simultaneously yelled, "Nim, no!" Neither combatant listened (or perhaps they simply hadn't heard); the fight continued in a whirl of fur and red sequins. That's it, Sarah thought, and strode bravely towards the fray. But she couldn't catch hold of the rogue cat, and when one of her efforts garnered a claw to the injured knee, her patience gave out.

"He's your goblin; do something!" she called to Jareth over the din. The Goblin King flicked a crystal out of nothing and tossed it at the small battle. As it connected with the warriors, the crystal split into two bubbles, one to confine each fighter. Despite the valiant efforts of Nim's claws and Smudge's pitchfork, the amorphous barriers held firm. Jareth crossed the room and gave the goblin's bubble-cage a slight kick, sending it rolling across the floor.

Sarah watched its trajectory anxiously, fearing the sharp edges of the wardrobe or an end table, but Smudge rolled to a halt unharmed (though a bit green around the gills). Nimue, for her part, sat back on her haunches and began to wash with typical feline nonchalance.

Jareth didn't even give the enemies a second glance. Instead, his attention turned to the broken mask.  "I'm rather concerned about your lovely wall décor," he said. Kneeling, he picked up a golden shard and examined it so intently that Sarah felt she was watching someone else. Certainly she'd known of his appreciation for beauty; how could anyone without a severe concussion miss it? But the Goblin King she knew wouldn't appear transfixed by a little sliver of pottery, gold-painted or otherwise.

So interesting was this out-of-character behavior that he was through several sentences before she registered his voice. "…could perhaps assist in salvaging- Sarah?"

I've been staring, haven't I?

Her old adversary dropped the shard back with its fellows and rose gracefully to his feet. The look on his face dynamited Sarah's previous train of thought. She knew that look all too well.

The patented "I-Just-Caught-You-In-A-Moment-Of-Weakness-And-Intend-To-Milk-It-For-All-It's-Worth" expression, she realized with a sinking heart. Damn.

True to form, Jareth's maddeningly superior smirk returned. He slowly advanced towards her, mismatched eyes burning holes in hers. Tempted as she was to back up, Sarah held her ground. Behind her lay her bed, and at least ten thousand situations she emphatically wished to avoid. Letting him back her into a corner- so to speak- couldn't lead to anything good.

When only six inches or so separated them, the Goblin King stopped. The smirk had disappeared, she noted, which was probably a bad sign. On top of that, certain parts of her brain (and body) had begun loudly and persistently noting his proximity to her. Taking a deep breath in an effort to keep her heart rate down, she opened her mouth to snap at him-

"Sarah."

Oh, gods.

A single word, the rational part of her mind protested, her own name, shouldn't have this effect on her- indeed, no effect whatsoever. And yet, coming from his lips, spoken like a spell in a voice that was all velvet and bonfire heat… Sarah was suddenly unable to remember why not stepping back had seemed so important.

But that infuriating cad had to go and ruin the mood with the next words out of his mouth. In quite a different tone, he asked, "Would you like some help in cleaning up that mess?"

Watching her unsuccessful attempt to reconnect brain and tongue, Jareth chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He began to pace about the room, peering into every corner, around and under the beds, and into the closet. Finally, he seemed to find his quarry in Sarah's wardrobe. She waited, expecting the worst, to see what he could possibly want from among her mishmash of jeans, long skirts, and the occasional waistcoat- with a silent prayer of thanks that she'd decided to keep lingerie in her bureau.

The blond monarch emerged from her pine wardrobe with… a broom?

And its matching dustpan, she noticed in an odd moment of whimsy. This acquisition only added to her confusion; as she watched, he carried the cleaning implements to the wreck site. Laying the dustpan on the floor, he gripped the broom firmly and spoke a few words under his breath. Sarah couldn't make out what he'd said, and in days to come wasn't even certain she'd heard anything. But at that moment she didn't puzzle over his speech, because the broom and dustpan had begun to glow. Jareth released it and stepped back; seconds later, her blue plastic cleaning supplies began to move on their own.

Sarah gazed at the spectacle, and was strangely reminded of a Disney movie she'd seen as a child. The broom neatly swept her broken Mardi Gras souvenir into the dustpan, which flew across the room and neatly deposited the clay into the trash bin. The whole operation took less than a minute. Soon her broom and dustpan lay on the now-clear gray carpet, immobile once more.

"Wow." It occurred to her that this was hardly the most intelligent comment, but nothing else came readily to mind.

Get it together, Sarah. That was not the most impressive display of magic you've seen, by a long shot. In fact, it was quite-

Her train of thought was rather speedily derailed by the sudden placement of a black-gloved hand on her shoulder. Warm breath against her neck told her that Jareth was quite close; his proximity incited an odd tingling sensation. It was as if she could feel him, feel possibility crackling in the space between them.

And then he was even closer, whispering in her ear, "Cat got your tongue, precious thing? How unlike you." She started at his words and was eerily reminded of their first interaction.

"It's further than you think…"

Sarah turned, attempting to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. Managing a jaunty, entirely G-rated smile, she chirped, "Not really. Well, thank you for the help tonight, Your Majesty, and safe-"

"Just a moment," he cut in, raising an eyebrow. "What about our bargain?" Damn sexy voice making everything sound like an innuendo and being presumptuous and making me breathless- wait, not that last one!

She bit her lip. "Candy's in a bowl by the door. Take whatever you like." The words came out tighter than she'd intended, and from his catlike grin, he had taken the tiny hint and run with it.

His hand moved lazily upwards from her shoulder to her collarbone, brushing the skin bared by her gown and trailing fire in its wake. She was suddenly very aware of the situation: the Goblin King was in her dorm, oozing magic and glitter, wearing dangerously tight pants, and now caressing her cheek with tantalizingly light strokes of his fingertips that made knots form in her stomach. Before she knew what was happening, Sarah leaned involuntarily into his palm. A tiny part of her brain swore, but the rest began doing a celebratory dance.

There was a dark chuckle, and the next moment, he was no longer leaning against the wall but standing mere inches from her. Jareth tilted her chin up with one hand, she met his eyes and barely had time to think, Oh no, and their lips came together.

It was everything she'd dreamed of (in those dreams she'd stridently pushed from her mind), and more. Time and space fell away; there was nothing but the Goblin King- no, Jareth- holding her, touching her, kissing her as she'd never been kissed before. He tasted like cinnamon and her one coherent thought was More! It seemed like she'd never have enough of him, and, oddly enough, she was entirely comfortable with that idea.

Unfortunately, Jareth clearly had something else in mind. He broke away, standing back to smile at her in a way that suddenly brought all the usual protestations back.

This is Jareth, for heaven's sake! You were just kissing- scratch that, snogging the Goblin King! Remember, the one who sent the Cleaners after you, gave you a drugged peach, kidnapped your brother, and just now magically broke your elevator? What were you thinking?!

But a little voice, one she tried anew to silence, whispered, Oh, but Sarah…

After a moment of silent staring between them, Jareth spoke.

"So spricht das Liebe, my precious Sarah."

It wasn't until he'd been gone for three minutes that Sarah realized two very important things.

First, her knee had healed. And second, the bowl of candy had disappeared from its stool beside the