“What?” he demands. Then a light of recognition sparkles in his eyes. “Oh.” He yanks the fake handlebar mustache from his upper lip and removes the floppy wig on top of his head. He throws me a sheepish grin. “I forgot about my little disguise.”
“What were you going for? One of the Village People?” I tease, settling down on his lap and kissing him thoroughly on his now hair-free mouth. “One of Ke$ha’s bearded boyfriends?”
“You know, there was a time when mustaches were quite the gentlemanly accoutrement,” he reminds me when I come up for air. “For at least a century I had to wear a fake one, to fit in with the locals.”
“Poor baby,” I coo, running a finger over his smooth upper lip. “I don’t know what I’d find worse: life without penicillin and the Internet or the ridiculous fashions. I mean, however did you survive the seventies?”
His smile fades and I immediately regret my bad joke. To Jareth, who lived through the Black Plague that consumed Europe, there was nothing funny about the medicine that could have saved all his family and friends. The magical cure made from simple mold that could have allowed them all to live normal, human lives, instead of being forced to turn into monsters.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” he assures me, attempting a smile, though I can tell he’s still a bit shaken. “It’s just… all this talk about Slayer Inc. and your sister has brought back some painful memories.” He shrugs uneasily. “It’s hard to believe how much I still miss them,” he says, staring down at his lap. “I mean, it’s been centuries!”
“Yeah, I always figured that whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing was a bit suspect,” I commiserate.
“I wish you could have met my sister. The two of you would have gotten on like a house on fire,” he says. “She was so spirited. So full of life—even after she was technically dead.” His voice cracks on the last sentence and my heart melts for him. I curl my body into his own, stroking the back of his head.
“I would have been honored to meet her,” I whisper in his ear. After all, I know how hard it must be for him to speak of his sister—he who likes to keep everything emotional buried deep inside, like I do. And I want desperately for him to know how much it means to me that he’s willing to open up and share. “I bet she was amazing.”
For a moment he surrenders, allowing me to cuddle him, to soothe his trembling body. Then he stiffens under my touch. “Excuse me,” he says abruptly, removing me from his lap and rising from his seat. “I’m going to check with the pilot. See if he’s ready to go.”
I sigh, curling up in the soft leather seat, watching him practically run in his emotional retreat. I know half the reason the past is so hard for him to face is the fact that he still hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened to his family. And, to be honest, I’m not sure he ever will.
Not that I blame him. If something were to happen to Sunny—if I fell down in my duty and allowed a monster like Pyrus to take her life—I don’t think I could forgive myself either. Which is why we’re on this plane to begin with.
“We’ll be taking off in a minute,” Jareth says, all businesslike as he returns to the cabin. “Buckle your seatbelt.” He sits down in the seat beside me and straps in, even though it’s ridiculous to do so. Not like a vampire can die from turbulence.
“We’ll land in approximately five hours,” he informs me. “Just before dawn. And then we’ll head straight to the tunnels. Hopefully we’ll be able to get to them before Pyrus does.”
“Do you think he’ll go himself?” I ask. “I mean, now that Bertha’s no longer doing his bidding?”
Jareth shakes his head. “That’s not his style,” he tells me. “He wants to appear above it all, that he’s only asking that the two of them are brought back to face trial with a jury of their peers. If he went himself, it would raise too many questions.”
“I suppose that makes sense. He gets them back and coerces the other coven leaders to convict them—and then he can do whatever he wants.”
“Pyrus is a very patient vampire,” Jareth adds, as the plane starts rising into the air. “He didn’t get where he is today by being impulsive.” He pauses, staring out the window at the Vegas strip. “I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.”
“Well, at least Bertha’s now on our side,” I remind him. “That definitely helps.”
Jareth turns and gives me a sharp look. “Don’t be too sure,” he says. “You don’t know she was telling the truth. Which reminds me, I need to check the recordings from the bug you placed in her bathroom.”
Er… Ugh. “Um, about that…”
Jareth looks at me questioningly.
“I may have… forgotten to actually put the bug in. I mean with everything else going on.” I feel my face flaming with embarrassment. “But I swear, she was done with Pyrus. I mean, the guy hit her. He told her to get lost. I’m sure there’s no way…” I trail off. I am so fired from James Bond duty.
Jareth lets out a long sigh. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see for ourselves,” he says at last. “And hope we’re not too late.”
8
“So do you think there are rats down here?” I ask worriedly as I watch Jareth pry open a large metal grate embedded in the pavement with his crowbar. It groans as it slides from its decades-old resting point, revealing a slime-covered rusty ladder leading down into the darkness. I stifle a shiver as I stare down into the black pit we’re about to descend. Really, Sunny? Would it have been so hard for you and Magnus to hole up in the Four Seasons with a room service menu and downloadable movies while on the lam?