My gaze met the Goblin King’s over my sister’s head. He leaned against the entrance, his arms crossed, his smile mocking. Even from where I stood, I saw the tips of his pointed teeth gleaming in the fairy lights.
Did you think I would make it so easy? his smile seemed to say.
I had won the second round. I had made my way to the Underground. This was the third and final round of our game: getting Käthe back to the world above.
Well, I thought. I would drag my sister back to life, even if I had to drag her out by her hair. The Goblin King had his tricks, but I had my stubbornness. We would see who prevailed in the end.
“All right, then,” I said to Käthe. “Let’s dance.”
On cue, the goblin musicians struck up a tune. The violinist took back his instrument with a sour expression. The musicians played another old air from my childhood, a fast-paced Zweifacher. Even Käthe stirred when she heard it, and I smiled at her.
“Just like when we were little,” I said. “Come!”
Käthe fitted her goblin mask over her face, and we clasped our arms together. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two, one-two, our bodies followed the turns and pivots in the music. The other ballgoers took up the Zweifacher, and soon the entire cavern was filled with twirling, whirling dancers.
My sister and I laughed as we stumbled over each other’s feet and collided into other dancing pairs, out of breath and giddy. As we turned about the dance floor, I tried my best to maneuver Käthe toward the exit. My eyes kept darting to where the Goblin King was standing. He alone did not join the throng, apart and untouchable.
“Do you remember,” I said, breathing hard, “when you, me, Sepperl, and Hans used to dance the Zweifacher while Papa played his fiddle?”
“Hmmm?” Käthe seemed distracted, her eyes wandering over to the tables laden with food. “What did you say?”
“I said, do you remember when you, me, Hans, and Sepperl danced to this when we were young?”
“Who’s Hans?”
A laugh stuck in my throat. “Handsome Hans, you used to call him,” I said. “Your betrothed.”
“Me, betrothed?” Käthe giggled. “Whyever would I do a thing like that?” She cut a glance at a tall, slender goblin man and gave him a coquettish wink.
Cold pins of guilt pricked me. Whyever would she do a thing like that, indeed? “Yes, betrothed,” I said.
She raised her brow. “And who is Sepperl?” Another goblin man caught her hand and dropped a quick kiss as we spun past.
“Käthe.” Despair slowed my limbs, weighing them down. “Sepperl is your brother. Our younger brother.”
“Oh,” Käthe said indifferently. She blew a kiss to yet another goblin man.
“Käthe!” I stopped dancing, and my sister stumbled. Another swain was there to catch her before she fell.
“What?” she asked irritably. A goblin server offered us a platter of hors d’oeuvres. Käthe smiled at him and grabbed a few grapes. To my horror, the “grapes” on the platter were staring eyeballs, the chocolate bonbons beetles, and the luscious bloody peaches that had been my sister’s downfall were putrid and rotten, their split flesh looking like spilled guts in the goblin’s hands.
“Käthe.” I grabbed her wrist, and she dropped the food in her hand. Her blue eyes behind the goblin mask were startled, and behind the fever-spell, I caught a glimpse of my sister, my real sister. “Wake up. Wake up from this dream and come back to me.”
Her gaze wavered, and for a moment, flesh and life returned to her face. But her eyes turned glassy once more, and her color faded.
“Oh, come off of it, Liesl,” she said gaily. “Let’s enjoy ourselves. There are men to dance with and men to flirt with!”
With that, one of the goblin swains hovering over her shoulder whisked her away.
“Käthe!” I cried, but a press of bodies suddenly swarmed in front of me. I reached out for my sister, but there was always another person, another goblin in my way. I pushed through the dancing crowd, following the flash of sky blue through the revelers. But each time I thought I drew near, it was another woman, another lady wearing Käthe’s face, those humanlike masks ghoulishly realistic in the flickering fairy lights of the ball.
In the tumult of heated bodies, a sea of identical faces stared back at me. But they no longer looked like Hans or Käthe; they looked like the Goblin King. And me. My face, reflected back at me, a million little mirrors. His face, many of his faces, laughing and mocking me. His face, more human than the others, sharp, languid, and cruel. A beauty that cut like a blade. A dozen knife wounds slashed me to the heart.
“Why are you not partaking of my generosity, Elisabeth?”
A cool breath upon my neck. It smelled faintly of the wind before a snowstorm.
“There is a feast laid before you, yet you touch nothing.” The Goblin King came into view. In the shifting, mercurial fairy light, he was even more beautiful than he was in the world above, and even more frightening. “Why?”
“I am not hungry,” I lied. I was starving. I was starving for food, for music, for gluttony.
“Does the food not tempt you?”
I thought of the “bonbons” on the table. “No, mein Herr.”
“A pity.” His smile was a snarl. “Well, I did promise that your eyes would remain open, but my gifts do have consequences, my dear.”