Page 58 of First Snow
“You’ve manipulated me quite a bit,” Jareth says ruefully. “But we’re beyond pretenses now, aren’t we?”
“Yes.” Arttu no longer has the heart to lie to Jareth.
“So, what’s your real name, sweetheart?”
“Arttu—” He hesitates for a second. “Palosaari.”
“Good. You did very well for me,” Jareth purrs.
Arttu’s consciousness fades. He only vaguely notices how Jareth lifts him out of the tub, dries him off, and carries him into a bedroom.
“Sleep now,” Jareth whispers as he tucks him in. Arttu is painfully reminded of the first night he spent atThe Worship.
Jareth presses a kiss to Arttu’s brow, so gently that Arttu isn’t sure whether he imagined it. Then Jareth rises and turns to leave the room. The idea of spending the night alone in this large room fills Arttu with sudden dread. The shadows suddenly seem ominous, and the images of what happened in the last hours threaten to overwhelm him.
“Don’t go,” Arttu blurts.
Right now, he doesn’t care that Jareth is a murderer. He doesn’t want to be left alone for he fears the darkness might swallow him.
“You will be angry with me in the morning if I share the bed with you tonight,” Jareth says, but squats down beside the bed.
On some level, Arttu knows he’s right. He probably won’t be able to forgive himself for seeking comfort in Mikael’s killer. But that’s a problem he’ll have to take care of in the daylight. Right now he needs Jareth.
“Please.” Arttu’s hand closes over Jareth’s.
In the dim light he can’t be sure, but Arttu imagines that Jareth’s expression softens at his words.
“Anything you want, sweetheart.”
Arttu sighs in relief as Jareth slips under the covers with him. He cuddles close, resting his head on Jareth’s shoulder before he can lose his nerve. He can hate himself for this tomorrow. Tonight he needs any comfort he can get.
“Sleep. I’ll watch over you,” Jareth promises.
Arttu falls fast asleep within a few minutes.
He yawns and stretches lazily. Last night he’d had the strangest dreams.
The faint light of a cloudy winter day falls into the room, but Jareth must have stoked the fire while Arttu slept, for it crackles merrily and the room is cozily warm. Arttu rubs his eyes and gets up. He’s naked under the covers and his clothes are nowhere in sight, but he spots a bathrobe hanging over a plush armchair. It’ll do. He’s hungry and willing to forgo his search for clothes in favor of hunting for breakfast.
Getting up on slightly wobbly legs, he slips on the bathrobe. It’s made of rich, heavy fabric and smells like Jareth. Arttu deeply breathes in the scent and enjoys the soft feeling of the garment on his skin.
He has almost reached the door when something yanks at his right leg, making him stumble and almost fall to his knees. The comfortable feeling of the morning gives way to sudden panic as Arttu stares uncomprehendingly at the golden cuff encircling his ankle. It’s attached to the bed by an equally golden chain.
Arttu’s stomach turns. The memories of last night hit him like a wave that threatens to drown him. He stumbles and catches himself on the armchair at the last second. He can’t tell dreams from reality anymore. Did he really see Jareth wearing antlers on his head, stabbing a girl? Did he see Phyllis’ body contort and shrink until the corpse of akeiju, a fairy, was lying in the snow? And the things that happened before that? Did Arttu fight her? Did she hurt him?
He tears at the bathrobe, exposing his shoulder. He vividly remembers the sharp pain of claws digging into his flesh, but the deep cuts are gone. With trembling fingers, Arttu touches the light scars that run across his shoulder and upper arm. He can feel their slight elevation on his skin. These are new.
Head spinning, Arttu sinks to the floor. He’s either still drugged, or—
No, he can’t go there. If he lets his mind wander down that road he’s lost, and Jareth has won.
Arttu bites down on his bottom lip, hoping the pain will clear his mind. He found out everything he wanted to know about Jareth, right? He can be certain now that Jareth is a murderer. After all, he saw him stab Phyllis, and Jareth practically admitted to killing Suoranta and Scott. And on top of that, Jareth has, at the very least, convinced Lord Briar and the poor girl that he’s a supernatural being. All victims must’ve been in a cult. Arttu can imagine how Mikael fell for Jareth’s grandiose displays of ‘magic’ and his promises of power and fame. And there must be others; Lord Briar’s bodyguard, for example. And Arttu is pretty sure Jareth convinced Annikki that he’s the real thing too—some kind of magical deity. Arttu just hopes that Annikki isn’t part of the murderous side of Jareth’s business.
His confusion gradually gives way to fury.
Footsteps in the hallway make Arttu scramble to his feet. The door opens, revealing Jareth standing in its frame. He’s balancing a breakfast tray in his hands.
Arttu’s breath hitches as he takes in Jareth’s appearance. In broad daylight, and while Arttu’s senses aren’t clouded by fear and pain, the costume’s effect is even more chilling. The antlers Arttu tried to tear off still crown Jareth’s head, making him appear even taller. Now that Arttu has time to look at him properly, he can see that Jareth’s ears are slightly pointy. If he accompanied Tuulia like this to one of her conventions, he would be the center of everyone’s undivided attention. He looks more like a perfectly made up actor on set than a crazy serial killer in a costume.