aromas this gobling would have collected from the forest. Of the gobling itself, there was nothing. Though it looked real and felt real and tasted real enough, it didn't seem to exist at all in smell. Such an anomaly could only be magic.
Newt watched but had other interests. "What's it like to fly?"
"It's nice," I answered while running my fingers across the goblings square face.
"Nice?"
"As a form of travel, it is very convenient. Although I think I prefer walking."
"You're not just saying that, are you? Just to make me not feel bad about not being able to."
"Not at all."
"Because I've always been led to believe that flying is wonderful."
I flipped the gobling on its stomach and prodded it along its spine. "Flying is like most talents. Everyone who can't do it assumes it must be greater than it is, and everyone who can knows it for what it is."
"You're talking in circles," he said.
"I know."
"I wish you wouldn't. It's confusing sometimes."
"It's meant to be."
"So is flying good or not?"
"It's good, but I prefer having hands to wings."
"They're very practical, I grant you."
I flipped the gobling back over and tore open its belly. I stuck my hands wrist deep into the cold innards. They were already dried and shriveled.
Newt hopped on the table and watched as I yanked the goblings insides out. Again, there was no odor and barely any fluids. I catalogued the various organs as I spread them before me. Everything seemed in order.
I dipped a finger in the brackish slime leaking from the gobling and licked it. I offered Newt a lick for a second opinion.
"Not bad. Kind of bland."
"Exactly. But when it was fresh, it tasted delicious. So unless gobling meat turns in a matter of hours, this fellow is gradually fading away, one sense at a time."
"Yes, so?"
"That means something. Something important."
"What?"
"I don't know."
I hunched over the gobling and stared at it. Its one half-opened, orange eye stared back, defying me to glean its secrets.
Newt abruptly brought up a new subject. "I made some observations about your body while I was in it. Would you like to hear them?"
I didn't reply, engrossed in contemplation of the gutted corpse.
Newt took this as a sign to keep talking. "For one thing, you're much stronger than you let on. I bet you could break a man's neck."
Only half listening, I replied, "At the proper angle, most easily, but a good witch doesn't resort to brute tactics."
"And another thing, I was studying your naked body earlier."
I frowned.
"Don't worry. I was inside. No one could see me."
I was too intent on the gobling to bother with a lecture.
"And I started thinking," Newt said. "If this is a curse, why should you be so beautiful? At first, I thought a mistake had been made. Then I remembered our mistress saying once or twice that magic doesn't make mistakes."
As did I, and my attention shifted more to my familiar than the corpse.
"That is right, isn't it?" asked Newt.
"Yes. Magic lacks only the will to act on its own," I said. "That's where witches and wizards and the like come in. Through us, it finds purpose."
"You offer suggestions, and the magic acts upon those suggestions. Usually exactly as requested of it, since it isn't very creative on its own. But sometimes, just sometimes, it does come up with an idea it likes better."
"You're saying my curse made me beautiful on purpose."
His head bobbed up and down. "If mistakes are impossible, then I'd have to believe so. And if you were intentionally made as beautiful as you are, then I asked myself to what end?"
"I trust you came up with a theory."
"You're not a horrible beast meant to be skulking around in graveyards. You're a seductive predator, a ghoul wrapped in soft flesh that might draw men into your arms where they might find death in your loving embrace."
My carnal desires were closely linked to my appetite. Almost inseparable. In my undead mind, a good man and a good meal were one and the same. This bothered me. I
Newt watched but had other interests. "What's it like to fly?"
"It's nice," I answered while running my fingers across the goblings square face.
"Nice?"
"As a form of travel, it is very convenient. Although I think I prefer walking."
"You're not just saying that, are you? Just to make me not feel bad about not being able to."
"Not at all."
"Because I've always been led to believe that flying is wonderful."
I flipped the gobling on its stomach and prodded it along its spine. "Flying is like most talents. Everyone who can't do it assumes it must be greater than it is, and everyone who can knows it for what it is."
"You're talking in circles," he said.
"I know."
"I wish you wouldn't. It's confusing sometimes."
"It's meant to be."
"So is flying good or not?"
"It's good, but I prefer having hands to wings."
"They're very practical, I grant you."
I flipped the gobling back over and tore open its belly. I stuck my hands wrist deep into the cold innards. They were already dried and shriveled.
Newt hopped on the table and watched as I yanked the goblings insides out. Again, there was no odor and barely any fluids. I catalogued the various organs as I spread them before me. Everything seemed in order.
I dipped a finger in the brackish slime leaking from the gobling and licked it. I offered Newt a lick for a second opinion.
"Not bad. Kind of bland."
"Exactly. But when it was fresh, it tasted delicious. So unless gobling meat turns in a matter of hours, this fellow is gradually fading away, one sense at a time."
"Yes, so?"
"That means something. Something important."
"What?"
"I don't know."
I hunched over the gobling and stared at it. Its one half-opened, orange eye stared back, defying me to glean its secrets.
Newt abruptly brought up a new subject. "I made some observations about your body while I was in it. Would you like to hear them?"
I didn't reply, engrossed in contemplation of the gutted corpse.
Newt took this as a sign to keep talking. "For one thing, you're much stronger than you let on. I bet you could break a man's neck."
Only half listening, I replied, "At the proper angle, most easily, but a good witch doesn't resort to brute tactics."
"And another thing, I was studying your naked body earlier."
I frowned.
"Don't worry. I was inside. No one could see me."
I was too intent on the gobling to bother with a lecture.
"And I started thinking," Newt said. "If this is a curse, why should you be so beautiful? At first, I thought a mistake had been made. Then I remembered our mistress saying once or twice that magic doesn't make mistakes."
As did I, and my attention shifted more to my familiar than the corpse.
"That is right, isn't it?" asked Newt.
"Yes. Magic lacks only the will to act on its own," I said. "That's where witches and wizards and the like come in. Through us, it finds purpose."
"You offer suggestions, and the magic acts upon those suggestions. Usually exactly as requested of it, since it isn't very creative on its own. But sometimes, just sometimes, it does come up with an idea it likes better."
"You're saying my curse made me beautiful on purpose."
His head bobbed up and down. "If mistakes are impossible, then I'd have to believe so. And if you were intentionally made as beautiful as you are, then I asked myself to what end?"
"I trust you came up with a theory."
"You're not a horrible beast meant to be skulking around in graveyards. You're a seductive predator, a ghoul wrapped in soft flesh that might draw men into your arms where they might find death in your loving embrace."
My carnal desires were closely linked to my appetite. Almost inseparable. In my undead mind, a good man and a good meal were one and the same. This bothered me. I
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