It is always the same story.

Girl meets Boy, Boy irritates Girl, Girl likes Boy, happy ending.

It is, until it isn't.

Girl meets Boy, Boy torments Girl, Girl is victorious over Boy, Boy haunts Girl for the rest of her life.

It's difficult to have a clear conscience about laying the full brunt of the blame on Boy's shoulders when the impetus that drew him to Girl in the first place was a wish for the disappearance of her little half-brother, and Boy is simply in the business of granting wishes, but I couldn't have known that at the time. I couldn't have known much of anything at the time.

Sometimes I think it might be the same story after all, and I've just gotten ahead of myself.

The meet-cute was Girl collecting her victory over Boy, because of course when Boy is really King, steeped in fae blood and mythos, collecting infant tithes in exchange for wishes and dreams, he sees many unremarkable girls. It was this Girl who was unlucky enough to become remarkable to a King.

And when a King is told he cannot have that for which he lusts, he grows angry. And when an angry King has the power even to reorder the stars in the sky and rearrange the ebb and flow of time, Boy irritates Girl is nothing to scoff at.

I've been running for my entire life. Just not in the direction you might expect.

They say that fate's golden thread connecting two souls cannot be broken. I should know. If anyone could tamper with it, that anyone ought to be me.

I, who, unlike Icarus, fly too close to the sun and remain unsinged. I, who hear the song of newly-formed stars. I, who collect the stuff of dreams and with it, spin time.

I, who wear the thorned golden circlet upon my brow, to whom all others bend the knee.

It happens the same way each time. Time does not stretch infinitely before and behind us, but rather is a circle: continuous, unbroken, destined to repeat itself whether or not we choose to remember what has come before. Time is the serpent, swallowing its own tail; it does not understand or mark its own beginning or ending, but is continuously reborn, sustained by its own remains.

Here is the harbinger of a new beginning: a woman makes a wish.

Young or old, slothful or spry, each possesses the certain strain of weakness of will that compels her to wish away her discontentment rather than to take action of her own volition. Mortals are droll in that particular way. They are capricious, mercurial.

They are simple-minded and obtuse.

After the woman makes her wish, I come to collect. The amusing little creature always offers the payment first, leaving her real wish unspoken. As the purveyor of dreams, it is not difficult to offer each one a gift in exchange, drawing on her own innermost desires.

Most are lost in the crystallized dream I offer them before I even say a word, reaching out blindly for it. It is an effortless transition into a tranquil, empty existence.

Some fight and cry, unable to grasp the power and the subsequent repercussions of language.

What's said is said. Accept the gift of ignorance.

Those who persist wander my labyrinth for hours. Some fall prey to the oubliettes, some to the fire-creatures, but most never even step foot inside the maze proper, unable even to find the entrance. I populate my court with their offerings as they return home to a changeling unfit for mortal existence, who shrivels away beneath the rain of their tears.

Then: a girl. Long, straight dark hair, sad green eyes, a wisp of a thing.

It happens the same way each time until the golden thread of destiny snags the gears of time, grinding them to a halt, and then there is hell to be paid.

It goes like this: there was once a young princess who wished she was not.

There was once a monster, prowling a maze.

There was once a boy, a beautiful boy, a boy whose bravery and cunning shone brightly in his eyes.

There was once a jealous god.

There was once a vengeful king.

In his quest for revenge, the king demanded a recurring penance from those who had wronged him, until the weight of the penance far outweighed the original wrong. Still the king sought vengeance, for he would not forget and his temper could not be soothed.

The boy - the beautiful boy - was to be offered as a sacrifice to the king by way of the monster.

The young princess, who wished she was not, loved the boy, though she had only seen him from afar. She came to him in the disguise of night and whispered to him the secret of the maze.

The boy slew the monster and escaped the maze, to the great displeasure of the wrathful king.

The boy eloped with the princess, who was determined to leave behind her title, her crown, her glory, all for the novelty of love and the chance to change the course of her life, which until now had seemed marble-hewn, immutable.

And what of the god?

We know this story, and we know that it does not have a happy ending, and we know that some monsters cannot be slain.

Who is the true monster? The king? The god? The boy?

Is it the princess?

When I think too hard about it, I get all tangled up in the metaphysical. What is victory? What does it mean to be victorious? My defeat of him should have been complete, but when I rejected his offer, he grew angry, and when he is angry, even the pillars of time and space quake.

When I returned Aboveground, he had returned a child to the cradle in the master bedroom, but the child was sickly. Toby has been pale and consumptive for his entire life, such as it's been. He coughs up blood at night, but the doctors can't find the source or tell us what's wrong with him. He can't focus, spends most of his days in bed, is plagued by headaches and fevers, sleeps fitfully, can't put any meat on his bones.

Victory may be in name only, especially when the nearly omnipotent arbitrator is personally involved. Of course Dad and Karen never suspected that I might have wished their plump, hearty little boy away, that he might have been taken by a god-king whose power defies understanding, and that even though I ran the labyrinth and won back my brother, maybe Toby's time Underground had changed him. Even if I chose to tell them the story, they'd brush it off as my overactive imagination. Shifting dimensions taking their toll on my brother? They'd have to be crazy to begin to consider it.

Still, I'd been around long enough afterward to hear them talking about it in hushed tones, my little brother's sudden conversion to invalid, even before he turned two. Medical professionals are at a loss. Toby is simply, mysteriously unlucky.

Unlucky is right. He was unlucky enough to have been born to a mother and father who gifted him with a wicked half-sister. Sometimes sorry can't mend fences.

So now I live with guilt, and I have spent my entire life in penance.

I've had a long time to think about it, many hours in hospital waiting rooms with my hands clasped in my lap, waiting for the nurse to tell me I can go to his bedside. Many hours in my bedroom next to his, listening to his rattling cough. The best I've been able to do so far is wonder how far the god-king's power reaches, for all I declared was that he had no power over me.

I hadn't thought about whether or not he might have still had power over Toby.

I've tried saying the words. I've wished myself away more times than I can count, and he has never come to spirit me away. He is not amenable to an exchange. He does not want to speak with me. He is punishing me with distance and silence, and it is far worse than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams, watching my brother wither away to a husk of a child, robbed of a normal childhood.

But maybe that's not the way it works, not anymore. Who's to say the rules can't change?

I started a degree in English literature and eventually walked it over to folklore, hoping against hope to find something that could help me figure out how to cure my brother. I spent hours poring over dusty textbooks in hushed study carrels, buried deep in the stacks of my university library. By the time I'd earned my cap and tassel, all I knew was that I didn't know enough, but my professors mistook my perseverance for dedication to the studies, and my advisor recommended that I look into graduate degrees in library science.

Library science.

Well, it didn't exactly fit the trajectory I'd expected for my life post-graduation, but then again, there's no degree tailored exactly for "I accidentally sold my brother's soul to the goblin king and need to win it back," so I had to improvise. A year and change into the degree, I found myself making more and more time to delve deeply into the resources this library had, and folklore seemed my best bet for figuring out how to stage a return to the Underground. Folklore and mythology. I earned myself a reputation for being well-read, but such a niche subject doesn't exactly bring students flocking to me for help, so most days I staffed the help desk, a towering stack of thick tomes gathering even more dust beside me.

Enter Joshua.

Josh is one of my fellow students. He's very into data science, and somehow found himself shunted over into my library to try to help better catalogue the books. I'm pretty sure "Dewey Decimal be damned" is his mantra, though I don't understand the depths of his hatred for the system. It always works well enough for me.

He showed up at the beginning of this year, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as only a first year graduate student can be, just brimming with optimism and enthusiasm. The first time he showed up, leaning against my desk and chattering on and on about efficiency in organization, I crooked an eyebrow at him and went back to the book. He talked too much, but his excitement was catching, at least for the first few minutes, and it drew a reluctant smile from my mouth.

Josh is the kind of kid that every girl's mother loves at first sight. He's the overachiever: the football captain, the science fair project winner, the valedictorian, the homecoming king, all rolled into one all-American package. He's tall, his shoulders are broad and muscular, he has a perpetually messy shock of dirty blond hair, his eyes are blue and his nose is always faintly sunburnt, smoothed over with freckles. He's well-spoken; he probably championed a debate team, too, and his smile is easy and contagious - and dimpled.

"Sarah, right?" he asked.

I decided against pointing out that we'd met several times before and indicated the little plaque on the desk where my name was printed.

"Awesome. I'm Josh. Getting your Master's degree here in the library, huh?"

"Trying to," I said, closing the book with a little teasing huff, "but cheeky little pipsqueaks like you keep getting in my way."

"Well, as long as you're distracted, want to run out for a beer with me?" His grin was saucy, kept me on my toes.

"I have to stay here until closing, which I'm sure you know already," I said. "You can bring me dinner, though, if you want. I like bacon on my cheeseburgers."

He clutched his chest. "A woman after my own heart. I'll see you in twenty minutes." Reaching over the desk, he tweaked the end of my braid and then sauntered out of the library. I returned to Peer Gynt, but with the detachment that I've come to nurture within my breast to crowd out the constant hope-despair cycles. Silly to pin my hopes on books from the fiction section, but I can't stop looking for anything that might clue me in. The mountain king may be a goblin king, but he is not my Goblin King. I flipped the whisper-thin pages, my eyes skimming over the pages until the smell of food roused me from my studies.

"Got you a surprise," he said, and produced two burgers, wrapped in foil.

"Isn't this what I ordered? I'm not surprised yet."

With a flourish, he procured two beers in frosty green glass bottles. They clinked softly against each other. "If you can't go out for a beer, we'll have one here."

I laughed despite myself, but couldn't help looking nervously around the room. "If we get caught with those in here, we'll face serious disciplinary action. They'll make examples of us!"

"Not if they don't catch us," he replied, popping the cap off of the first with a bottle opener attached to his keys. The keys jangled, loudly, and I shrunk in my chair. "Come on, Sarah, there are two people in here and they're not paying attention. Peel your label off and pretend it's soda if that will help soothe your nerves."

He was right; the library was nearly deserted, as was usually the case at 9:00pm on any given Friday night. The first student was sleeping on the library's copy of a physics textbook, probably drooling on it, and the second had his back to us, huge noise-canceling headphones snapped securely over his ears. I took the beer.

"So, Sarah, tell me about yourself," he said, unwrapping his burger halfway and taking a bite. A drop of ketchup fell onto the desk, and I wiped it up with a tissue from the box next to me.

"I'm a second year student," I said. "I'm particularly interested in mythology and folklore about ancient kings and magical creatures, which basically makes me unhirable, so here I am, honing my librarian skill set. I can find you a book in under two minutes flat, as long as we have it here in stock. And if we don't, I can arrange to have it sent here from one of our partner libraries."

"Gods and kings and magic, huh?" A shit-eating grin creased his likable face. "I knew you'd be interesting. No one with hair that long is uninteresting."

"You'd be surprised," I retorted, taking a bite of my own burger. I swallowed, then burped, the carbonation from the beer making its noisy escape. I blushed, but Josh just laughed.

"I like a girl to be a real person."

"Well, you're in luck, because I haven't met a single woman in my travels on earth so far who wasn't a real person."

He laughed again. "When the library closes in an hour, come with me to the closest dive bar. I'll bet you're a whiskey drinker, too, and let me tell you, their well whiskey is far better than any of their other well drinks."

"As long as it's on you, I'm down," I said, grinning at him.

"I already got dinner, so you'll have to buy us the first round, but I'll get the rest. It's only because you look like a person with a story, and I love stories."

"You think I'm just going to spill my secrets because you loosened me up a little?"

"What else is whiskey for? I'm a great conversationalist. I'll help us break the ice, and then I expect to hear the interesting parts of your life story."

It had been a while since I'd gone out drinking, and he was just the type of guy Karen would love, and it was this chance conglomerate that solidified my resolve to see it through. He struck my fancy, too. Cute guy, skilled flirt, bought me dinner. It was the least I could do to let him buy me some drinks tonight, too.

When I locked the library up, he was practically bouncing beside me, plaid flannel shirt hanging open over a white undershirt, backpack hanging loosely from one strap over one shoulder. Sometimes life is lonely as a graduate student, even as a brand new member of the next eager class of overachievers. Maybe he was tired of the constant and inevitable one-upmanship that happens at the start of every new graduate program. Maybe he just has a thing for thin, dark-haired, bookish girls.

The bar was packed with undergraduate students, most of whom were probably underage, and by the time we showed up, most of them were too far gone to recognize me anyway. I came away from the counter bearing a couple of tumblers of whiskey and set one down on the wet table where Josh and I had settled.

"The bartender gave me the most awful look," I yelled above the din, laughing. "I don't think he usually pours well whiskey into anything other than plastic cups of coke. Should have ordered shots."

"Well, we'll take them like men," Josh said, lifting his glass, and we clinked them together before downing them. It tasted awful and burned like fire down my throat, but our eyes met across the table and before I knew it, he had slid around to the other side of the booth and was sitting next to me, his leg pressed warmly against mine. "If we're going to discuss your life tonight," he said into my ear, "We're going to have to be able to hear each other."

I laughed at him and told him to go get round two, and when he came back, he was carrying two beers and two shots. "This is how the alcoholics do it, they tell me, and since I'm a graduate student, I'd better get started on the long and storied tradition of efficiency in drinking!"

We took the shots, and they were even worse than the first round, but I could feel my sobriety being slowly tugged away, inch by inch, as I chased it with equally terrible beer. "This is some date," I said, my mouth brushing against his ear, "Next time maybe we can drink something a little more palatable."

"Who said it was a date?" he grinned, and soon headed off to pick up round three.

We got drunk much more quickly than we should have before he finally asked the question. "So, Sarah, what is it about you that brought you here to study fairies and gods?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"Well, explain to me why it isn't."

Normally this would have made me feel defensive, but my head already felt a little bit too heavy for my body, and everything seemed at least twice as funny as it had before the drinks, so I indulged him. "I'm interested in the distinction between our world and whatever the next is. Whatever else is out there. I want to cross over."

"So you believe in this stuff," he said, his eyes dancing. "Have you had some experiences with the paranormal, Sarah Williams?"

"I don't know, but I think I might have," I said. "I had an… experience when I was fifteen, and then-"

"Hold that thought right there," he said. "We're out of cheap beer and terrible whiskey again. You can tell me about it when I get back with reinforcements."

The next thing I knew, I woke up to a dry mouth, heaving stomach, and splitting headache. Pressing fingers to my temples, I tried to sit up in bed, but the room spun.

It wasn't my room.

I was lying in an unfamiliar bed, my jeans and sweater still on, and I was uncomfortably hot, my clothes damp with sweat. I eased myself more slowly into a sitting position and tried to keep my stomach from rebelling completely. A long, unhappy groan floated out of my lungs on sour breath.

"Oh, hey," he said, poking his head in through the door. "Don't freak out. I promise my intentions are only the best. I brought you toast! And Advil! And I ran down to the gas station and got you a Gatorade, so I hope you don't hate orange flavor. It was what my mom always got me when I had the flu. Old habits."

I was still clutching my head, my fingers pressed tightly against my scalp, because my head hurt fit to burst. He took a few cautious steps into the room as I looked around. The bed was just a mattress on a box spring, no frame. A pile of wrinkled, worn clothes lay on the ground next to the bed, and a pile of reasonably freshly-laundered clothes sat in a hamper. A few books were strewn around the room, on the bedside table, on the dresser, on the floor, but otherwise the room was pretty spartan.

"Don't worry," he said, pressing the pills into my hand. "I promise. Garden-variety generic painkillers, butter on toast, the Gatorade's still sealed. Wouldn't even consider drugging you after what we already did to ourselves last night."

I snapped the seal on the bottle with my wrist, tossed the pills into my mouth and washed them down with the tiniest sip of Gatorade. A wave of nausea swept over me and my head pounded, but I kept it down. "I guess I can't keep drinking like I just turned 21, huh?"

"Age creeps up on you," he said. He looked eager to help, but he also looked like he felt nearly as terrible as I did. His eyes were puffy and he was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a white t-shirt. "Never thought I'd feel so old at 23, but I guess anyone can drink enough shitty whiskey to earn himself the greatest hangover of his life."

"This is your place, then?" I asked.

"Yeah. Don't judge too hard. I just moved in a few months ago, and I didn't realize that I basically own nothing until I got here and fit all of my stuff into about two percent of my living space. I don't need much, but then again, I didn't think I'd have you here last night."

My eyes narrowed as I took a bite of toast.

"Oh, no! No, I just put you to bed in your clothes last night. I slept out in the recliner in the living room. No funny business, I swear." He held his hands up, palms toward me.

"Well, as long as you swear," I said, offering him a little half-smile. "I should get home, though. I'm dying for a shower and a tooth-brushing and a change of clothes."

"I'll walk you! I was trying to figure out where you lived last night, but between the two of us, we couldn't put more than two sentences together, so I just walked you back here."

"My knight in shining armor," I quipped, managing to stand. I swayed slightly.

"I hope you'll let me take you out again sometime," he said. "I think we've broken the ice well enough by now. We're doing this all backwards, you know. I'm supposed to have to work a lot harder than this to get you to spend the night in my bed."

I didn't even blush at this, but grinned at him without missing a beat. "I think you'll find I'm not a straightforward girl, anyway."

"I've already got some idea."

We walked in companionable conversation down the few blocks to my apartment. It wasn't surprising that he should live so close: most graduate students are living on a pittance, and tend to congregate in one specific neighborhood close to the school.

"So what exactly did I end up telling you last night?" I asked him.

He looked sideways at me. "I think I'm in luck because it sounds like you prefer blonds. Though otherwise I might not entirely be your type."

"Oh, god." I buried my face in my hands. "So I spilled everything, huh? And you still want to walk me home?"

"A gentleman always makes sure a lady gets home safely. And besides, I was right about you. You do have an interesting story, and I want to hear more of it. Preferably while we're both capable of making and retaining memories."

We stopped at my door. "This is my stop," I said, "Don't stalk me. Come find me at work next week, and we can continue our conversation."

"I was thinking maybe we could talk over breakfast tomorrow. I make a mean pancake."

"No big breakfast plans, but maybe we could push it back to brunch? I'm not much of a morning person."

"Whenever you feel like pancakes, you know where to find me," he said. "Seriously, come over tomorrow."

Impulsively, I leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"I figured if we're going to do this backwards, that was next in line. Tomorrow we can hold hands, but after brunch, I'm afraid we won't know each other anymore."

"I'll try my damnedest to re-reverse time, then. We'll work it out."

I laughed and gently closed the door as he turned to go.

I'd never really given much thought to relationships before, but I had to admit that it was nice to have a boy look at me the way Josh did. He was transparently fascinated and infatuated with me, and when his eyes went soft - which was often - I could lose myself in them. After perfectly average pancakes on Sunday, which he whipped up from a box of mix, we walked around the campus. As I'd promised, I let him take my hand, and our fingers interlocked. His hand was huge and warm around mine, and the cool October air didn't bother me so much after he let me wear his scarf.

At some point, I must have let him re-reverse time on me, because at the end of the day, he pressed a chaste kiss to my lips and I smiled up at him. I explained the Underground, my misgivings about whether or not it was a dream, Toby's mysterious health issues, and my inability to figure out how to return.

"Doesn't sound like a place you'd want to go back to," he said, and I agreed.

"It sounds kind of childish and stupid, but it felt so sinister. I can't shake the feeling that whatever happened there is the key to Toby's sickness." Thinking about it often made my eyes well up, and today was no exception. I dabbed at them with a tissue.

"Listen, Sarah, you can't blame yourself. It probably has nothing to do with you."

"You don't believe me," I said flatly. "I guess I couldn't expect you to. The story makes me sound crazy, and the fact that I've been holding onto it for eight years doesn't help."

He frowned and tugged me closer. "I know we're in the middle of a whirlwind romance right now, but I want to help you, and if that means assuming that your story about the labyrinth is true and figuring out how to wrangle your goblin king to save your little brother - again - then that's what I'll do."

"I want to show you something," I said, and led him up the stairs to my apartment door. He followed as I entered the studio, hung my coat on a hook and walked over to my dresser. In a little wooden bowl, there sat a small crystal sphere. I picked it up delicately, cradled it in my palm. "I brought this back with me after I rescued Toby. It was an accident, but here it is."

"One of his magic crystals, huh?" Josh asked, his deep-dimpled grin spreading. He reached for it, and I let him take it from me.

"Don't laugh. It isn't funny. I don't even like to touch it, because sometimes I think I see things in it."

He peered at it. "It's heavier than I expected." Holding it in two fingers, he brought it right up to his eye, and I could see his pupil and iris magnified in the curve of the crystal.

"I thought he wanted me to have it, but he's never answered me when I try to talk to him."

"Hey!" called Josh, "King! You in there! I'm holding one of your balls! Come talk to us, we need to strike ourselves a bargain for the young master Toby's soul!"

"Stop!" I hissed, grabbing the crystal from him. "It's not funny! Don't mess with him. I'm not prepared to deal with him if he shows up."

"How do we get ready?"

I could tell he still didn't really believe me, but it was a game to him and he was intrigued. I set the crystal back in the little bowl, cushioned on an old handkerchief, and as I turned away, I thought I saw a flicker in its depths. The cursed thing was forever catching my eye and then refusing to spill any of its secrets, so I didn't think twice about it.

"I don't know," I admitted. "There's not exactly a how-to book for it. How to Solve the Labyrinth, Twice!"

"Hmm," he said, and then, "Speaking of, have you looked into Theseus and the Minotaur?"

"Are you joking? The Greek myth specifically centered on a monster in a labyrinth, to which parents lost their children because of a vengeful king, and you ask if I've looked into it? Of course I've 'looked into it.' I could write my thesis on it. I've been over it again and again, and the best I can do is the surface similarity. Labyrinth and labyrinth."

He shrugged. "Just trying to help. Only story I know where the hero vanquished a monster after solving a labyrinth. Only story I know that's specifically about labyrinths."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that Greek mythology doesn't really offer many clues to build a return around. It's practically history. There aren't any magic words to take me there."

"There aren't any magic words to take you anywhere, Sarah," he said, "That's the problem."

The remainder of our fall semester passed in classes, in books, in libraries where we huddled together over faded pages, in our apartments, in papers written and exams taken and nights out at rowdy bars, where we sat in the corners and discussed my labyrinth, my brother, and my king. Having a confidant made me feel less unhinged, and having a partner in my research made my work feel less futile. Having a lover made me feel less alone.

And if, sometimes, on nights that he took me into his arms and into his bed, I found myself picturing another face, fair-haired and blue-eyed, let it nudge me over the recalcitrant edge, I always followed by hiding it, pushing it deep down inside myself, down into a lockbox in a quiet corner of my mind where nothing could disturb it.

After my final fall exam, I ran to intercept Josh as he left his. "How does it feel to have your last exam done?" I asked him, and he ran his hand across my face, leaned in and kissed me.

"One semester down," he said when we parted, red-cheeked and starry-eyed. "Let's celebrate."

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and adjusted the scarf that was keeping the wintry air from slinking down beneath my collar. "With snow angels?" I asked, indicating the unbroken white plains of the quad.

"With beers!" he answered, but scooped me up into his arms and deposited me unceremoniously into the snowbank at the edge of the path anyway. I squawked at the ice that crept between my coat and my pants, but laughed anyway and spread my arms back and forth until he relented, holding out a hand. I grabbed it, used it to haul myself up, and surveyed my work.

"Solid angel," I said, worming my wet glove under his scarf to plaster it against his neck. He yelped. "Fair's fair. How about those beers?"

When we were seated in a booth, the snow that had crusted in my hair dripping uncomfortably down my back, he took my hand from across the table. "So, about Project Ariadne."

"I told you not to call it that," I said. "If he's listening in from somewhere out there, he won't like it. It's trite."

"It's clever," he said. "He deserves a little indignation. Eavesdropping is terrible manners. And don't you think it's time we gave it a shot? We've been talking about it for six weeks."

"I've been thinking about it for eight years, Josh. We can take our time. Anyway, Karen wants to meet you, and I think you should come to dinner soon. Spend a couple of nights at my place, then go home for Christmas. It'll be a change of pace for you, I can get Karen off of my back about dating a nice guy, you can meet Toby-"

"I'm sold. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," I said, grinning at him. "I'm driving back in the morning and you can follow me if you're interested in a couple of home-cooked dinners and meeting the famous invalid."

"Guess that means we're not having many more beers tonight," he said, downing the remainder of his.

"Guess not. Are you packed?"

"As packed as I'll ever be."

We returned to my apartment, tipsy and laughing and tugging at each other's hands. I tripped on the first step and he caught me, his hands around my waist, then he bent his head to mine and kissed me. "One for the road?"

I opened the door, ushered him in without even turning on the lights. "We won't be sharing a bedroom when we get to my dad's place, so we'd better have at least one."

He undressed me, slowly, outerwear discarded by the door, trail of clothes to the bed, and by the time he pushed me back onto the mattress we were both naked, reaching for each other. He palmed my breast; I shuddered against him and ran my hands into his hair. When we finally moved together, it was perfect.

The sun had just risen when Josh and I locked up our respective apartments, loaded a suitcase or two into the backseats of our respective cars, and set out on the road. The drive to Dad and Karen's took a little more than two hours, and though snow lay thickly on the ground, the highways were clear and mostly dry beneath the too-bright winter sun.

Karen and Dad came walking out to meet us when we pulled into the driveway, their coats zipped up to their throats, hands in pockets, rosy cheeks. Dad has salt-and-pepper hair these days, and I tease him about it mercilessly though privately I think it looks sort of dashing.

"Hey there, old man silver," I said, hugging him tightly.

He just shook his head and, with a little smile, said, "Just proof of my wisdom and mortality. You know who put them there, don't you, Sarah?"

"Couldn't have been me," I said, "Must've been some higher power."

Karen kissed my cheek. "Good to see you, darling."

I heard Josh step from his door, his feet crunching in the salt sprinkled liberally over the driveway. "Dad, Karen, this is Josh. Josh, meet my parents." It took me a long time to welcome Karen into the specific fold of parenthood, but she and I have grown close over the years, bonding over hours spent at bedsides and in waiting rooms. She's always meant well, and she doesn't hold the angst of my teenage years against me.

Dad shook Josh's hand, his gaze appraising. Karen gave him a hug. I could see that dimpled smile I loved so much putting them at ease. "It's great to meet you two," he said. "Thanks for hosting me for a couple of nights. I can't wait to meet the Tobester."

Dad took my bags, and Josh carried his own, and Karen linked her arm through mine as we walked into the house. "He's very handsome," she whispered in my ear. "And charming. Not bad for your first serious boyfriend."

"Who says he's my first serious boyfriend? Maybe I just know which ones will be parent-approved."

She laughed. "I roasted a chicken for a welcome lunch and it should be out of the oven soon. I hope you'll be hungry."

"Sarah!" Toby stepped carefully down the last few stairs and then wrapped my legs up in a hug. He's almost ten now, but he's short for his age. "Mom says you're home for Christmas! Did you bring me anything?"

"I haven't had time to shop for you yet," I laughed, dropping to my knees so that I could hug him properly. "But don't worry, I'll get you the best Christmas present you've ever seen."

"What is it?" he asked, excitement dancing in his eyes. I ruffled his dark blond hair.

"That would be telling, wouldn't it, Tobe? Gotta keep some surprises."

"Hey Toby, I brought you something," Josh said, coming up behind me and dropping his hand on my shoulder. "Here."

Toby extended pale fingers to take the small, newspaper-wrapped box, looking curiously up at Josh. "Who are you?"

"I'm Josh, and I'm crazy about your sister, too, so I think we'll get along great," he said, and Toby beamed at him.

"You brought me a present?"

"Don't get too excited about it. It's not the best Christmas present ever or anything. I didn't want to steal Sarah's thunder," he said, nudging my chin with his fist. I mock-glared at him. "But go ahead and open it up."

Toby peeled the paper from the box to reveal a Lego set that, once assembled, would be a red dragon - flame-breath included. His little mouth made an o of surprise, and then he gave Josh a hug. "Cool! Thank you!" he cried, "I love dragons!"

"He loves dragons," Josh said to me. I couldn't help but laugh as he slipped his hand into mine. "See, I do listen to you. Sometimes."

"Now I have to top your dragon-gift. Thanks a lot."

Josh slid right into the family at lunch, as if he had always been a part of it. Karen was thrilled that he wanted to help set the table and then wanted to help do the dishes, and Dad was impressed with his manners and the way that Toby had taken to him. I explained what my last semester of school had entailed to Dad and Karen, and Toby, for his part, picked at the food on his plate, too excited to talk about Lego sets with my boyfriend, who was more than happy to oblige.

Many naps were taken after lunch; Josh and I settled on the couch, snuggling into each other to doze off in the afternoon sunlight, while Toby retired to his room. Karen gently woke us for dinner, and then we watched a movie, the five of us together faintly illuminated by the white lights strung around the Christmas tree.

"Time for bed, Toby," she said, lifting him off of the couch. "It's been a long and exciting day for you." He didn't protest, but laid his little head against her shoulder as she took him upstairs.

I woke to the sound of Toby having a coughing fit. I heard the opening of my parents' door as they went to him, soothing him in low voices as he sobbed between fits of wet, wracking coughs. Josh stole into my room, silent as a shadow, and sat beside me on my bed, curling his body around mine. He looked into my face and wiped tears away from my eyes with his fingers.

"It's not your fault," he whispered. "You have to stop blaming yourself."

"I don't know how to stop blaming myself." I listened to the slow subsiding of Toby's crying, the hushed voices of Dad and Karen, the quiet footsteps back down the hall.

"Let's try it. Right now, let's try it."

"What?" I looked at his face, and he was solemn and stoic. He wasn't teasing me, he was dead serious. "You really want to try to summon the goblin king? You don't even believe in him."

"Your brother's a sweet kid," he said, "And I can't watch you do this to yourself for the rest of your life. Let's try."

I reached into my suitcase where it lay, unzipped and propped open, by the side of the bed. My fingers closed around a couple of chains, and then found a knife where it was wrapped in a dish towel. I brought them up to rest on the bed. Iron. "I don't know if he's fae," I said, "I don't really know anything about him at all. But it's better to be safe, isn't it?" Then I plucked the crystal out of the suitcase where it was tied securely in a handkerchief.

We looked at each other, eyes large and scared, before I rose from the bed and unlatched the window. It fell slightly open and frigid air curled through the room. I took a breath. Josh watched me, waiting; I could see him clenching his jaw. In the witching hour, it was impossible to maintain the levity that infused our sunlit efforts. A chill that was unrelated to the temperature outside settled over us.

I cleared my throat. "I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now." My voice shook. We waited.

Nothing.

No different than it had ever been. I had said the words so many times that they'd worn a groove in my tongue, and he had never come for me, no matter how loudly I screamed them or how softly I whispered them. Still, it felt different in the room. Something was here. Something was observing.

"I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now," I repeated, a little bit louder, my voice steady and defiant. A breeze pushed the window open further. An owl hooted out in the night. I shivered and Josh came up beside me, wrapping his arms around my torso.

"I wish the goblins would come and take you away, right now?" he said, uncertain, his tone just a hair shy of facetious reverence.

The window flew wide to crash against the wall. I gasped. His arms around me tightened, and I could feel his heartbeat racing with mine, jumpstarted by a painful dose of adrenaline.

"How fascinating."

We whirled as one, my hands grasping at Josh's fingers.

"Quite novel, a runner enlisting a lover to aid in her return."

Too tall, too thin, otherworldly, draped in robes of perfect black, collar curling around his face, armor peeking through the opening of the robes. His mild expression chilled me to the bone. I felt Josh's face go slack against my shoulder. It was all real. It had always been real, all of it.

I was relieved and I was petrified and I had never felt such a contrary stirring of emotion before.

"Are you going to take me?" I asked, mustering up all of the defiance I could find.

"Oh, Sarah," he purred, "I would like nothing more than to… take you." His tongue wet his lips, hunger rippling in his eyes.

Color rose in my cheeks. Josh stiffened, and I could feel anger warring with disbelief through his tense frame.

"Unfortunately for us both, you have already run my labyrinth, and you may not return. You are a rarity; most runners never make it back to a position from which they might request a second run, and those who do would never consider it. Was it not enough to escape with your brother's life?"

"He's not the same as he was before. You took something from him," I choked.

"I may have, or he may have left it," he replied. "It's a hazard of the whole unsavory business. One rarely emerges from the Underground unscathed. You certainly didn't."

"He was just a baby! He couldn't even walk or talk! You can't hold him responsible for leaving part of himself behind!"

"Rules are rules."

"Wish me," said Josh, urgently. "Wish me, and I'll go in after Toby." Interest flickered deep in the goblin king's eyes, bringing them to life.

Though my mind was blank, I found the words, guilt roiling within me at the prospect of wishing him into enemy hands. "Then I wish that the goblins would come and take him away, right now."

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he said, and his laughter was low and wicked. "You've had your wish granted already. Your time has come and gone. You'll have to do better than that to save the child."

Josh looked at me, turned me to face him. "I'm going to go," he said. I looked over my shoulder at the cruel smile that smoldered on the king's face.

"Wait," I begged, "Wait. Don't say it." And I scooped the iron off of the bed, looped the simple chains around his neck, pressed the knife into his hand. He kissed me, long and slow and deep, and I responded in turn, his warmth against my body, the muscles in his arms tensing where I held them, my fingers splayed across his skin.

I slipped the crystal into the pocket of his pants. "Be safe," I whispered against his lips, "Be smart. Come back to me."

"Sword and thread," he murmured into my mouth, and then he withdrew his lips, pressed me against himself, and said, "I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now."

His comforting, protective arms were gone, and I was alone. The sharp scent of ozone burned in my nose. I opened my eyes to see the king standing before me, imperious and amused and radiating dangerous, angry power.

"The labyrinth isn't as welcoming as it once was," he said. He reached out, drew his fingers across my cheekbone. "We are a jealous people. Say your prayers, Sarah."

He stole an icy kiss from my trembling lips, and then he, too, disappeared, leaving me to push the window shut with frozen fingers, fumbling with the latch, and then crawl into my cold, empty bed, shivering and wondering if I would wake up in the morning to find it had all been a dream.

Author's Note: As always, feel free to come find me on AO3 (Exulansist there, too) for rambling author's notes and easier interaction. We'll make a party out of it.