Käthe had come in on the Goblin King’s arm, but she dropped it at the sight of me. She ran down the steps, parting a path between the sea of identical Käthe faces, holding out her arms to embrace me. In her hand she carried a mask fashioned into the shape of a goblin’s face.
“Liesl, my darling!” My sister wrapped her arms about my waist.
“Käthe!” I hugged her tightly, feeling the thud of her heart against mine.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” she said.
“I know, I’m sorry.” Tears clotted my throat. “I’m sorry I took so long. But I’m here now, my dear, never fear.”
“Wonderful!” Käthe exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. “Now we must dance.”
“What?” I drew back to give her a proper look. “No, no. We must leave. We must go home.”
She screwed up her face in a childish pout. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Liesl.”
Beneath the maquillage, Käthe’s complexion was wan and pale. No amount of powder could disguise the bruised hollows beneath her eyes, no amount of rouge distract from the bloodlessness of her lips. Only her eyes were bright and brilliant: the shine of fever. Or enchantment.
I believed I had abandoned my sister to the goblins’ untender mercies. I had imagined her in torment or agony, crying out for the world above. I had thought I would find her, and we would run back home, back to the inn, back to safety.
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.