couldn't know this for certain, but I suspected it was true. Ghastly Edna had sacrificed herself for me.
Again, I wondered if the magic told me this. I listened. Hard. All I heard was the wind rustling the leaves.
'So I guess I'm yours now,' said Newt.
'Yes.'
'What now, mistress?' He chuckled lightly at the title. I ignored that for the moment.
I glanced back to the darkened cabin. It was the only home I'd known since crawling from my parents' musty cellar. But now it seemed an empty box without Ghastly Edna's cool, comforting presence. Leaving it behind would not be so difficult. Only fear of what lay outside these woods held me back.
'Fear is not a bad thing,' Ghastly Edna had once explained. 'Among everyday creatures, it is a great motivation. Fear of being eaten, or of not getting enough to eat, are why men gather together in villages. Villages which become towns. Towns which become cities. Cities which become countries. Countries which become civilizations. Remember this, child. Even the greatest kingdoms are founded, however distantly, on fear.
'But we are witches, and we are not of civilization. Not the mundane civilization of men at least. We understand fear. We know when to listen to its whispers and when to ignore its shouts.'
Remembering this put a smile on my lips. Ghastly Edna was not gone. She was always with me now. If it wasn't technically magic, it should have been.
'We leave within the hour. Get your things together.'
Newt quacked. 'Things? What things? I'm a duck.'
I ignored him again and went inside to prepare. I stuffed as much as I could into two old satchels. Mostly clothes, a handful of herbs, a small box of witchly implements, the locket my mother had thrown lovingly down the stairs on my fifth birthday, and a moldy squirrel hide Ghastly Edna had tacked on the wall to brighten my room. Witches travel light.
I spent the rest of the hour getting dressed. I buried myself beneath layers of clothing. Any traces of the svelte creature underneath were soon obscured to my satisfaction. I put on my crooked, pointed hat and smeared some soot on my face. I grabbed a broom and held it, handle down, as if necessary to balance my weight. For a finishing touch, I wrapped a billowing vomit green cloak around my shoulders. I measured myself in the mirror. It was adequate, but I would never be as good a witch as Ghastly Edna.
I cast one last glance at my mistress, sprawled facedown across the table. I was proper this time and didn't weep.
I limped from the cabin. There was no one around to appreciate the act, but it was good practice. Newt waited by the door, and a pack of wolves had gathered around the mangled bodies of Ghastly Edna's killers. They had not been drawn here by the scent of blood.
The leader, a thick brown hound, approached. 'It is time for another to return to the earth.'
Talking to beasts was the first trick Ghastly Edna had taught me. 'She's inside.'
'Very good.'
The leader barked, and his pack filed into the cabin. The sounds of tearing flesh issued forth.
'I would ask a favor of you. Please do not eat those two.' I nodded toward the dead killers. 'They do not deserve the honor of your stomachs.'
The wolf bowed his head. 'As you request, but you need not have asked. They are false flesh, not true men at all.'
'What do you mean?'
'Just as I say.' He shrugged. 'I cannot explain. I am, after all, only a wolf, and can only understand the world through a wolf's eyes. And nose. They do not smell of men. Or of anything natural. I would not eat them if I were starved half to death.'
'You're quite welcome. My sympathies for your loss. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm famished.'
'Certainly.'
He strode inside and joined his family in their meal.
I checked the bodies. They looked of real flesh and blood. But then again, not quite. It was hard to tell with the condition Newt had left them in, but I trusted the wolf's nose. Something larger was at work here than two thugs happening upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Something more sinister.
'Perhaps you should try to raise them,' Newt suggested.
'Too late for that. Their souls must be gone already. Even if they remain, you left little to work with.'
'Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away.'
'Quite all right.'
He milled about in an embarrassed fashion. 'It's the demon in me. I can't always control it.'
'I understand.'
'I'll try to be more careful in the future.'
'Very good. Come along, Newt.'
I limped away from the cabin and my old life. And I didn't look back.
WE WALKED IN SILENCE. The woods were deathly quiet. There was no wind off the lake, no singing birds, not even the rustling of leaves. The forest mourned Ghastly Edna. Neither Newt nor I broke the silence. Only after the wind returned did we know it respectful to speak.
'Nice limp,' he said.
'Thank you.'
'Have you decided yet? The path, I mean.'
'I haven't really thought about it.'
'No rush, I suppose.'
We walked awhile more without speaking. I didn't think about the fork ahead. It was a decision I wasn't ready to make.
'What would you do?' I asked.
Newt stopped. 'You're asking my opinion?'
'Yes.'
He squinted at the sun. 'Strange. All those years, the mistress never asked my opinion on anything. It was always 'Newt, do this,' 'Newt, fetch that,' 'Newt, find my woolen socks.' But never once did she ask my advice.'
'You're my familiar now, and I'm asking for it.'
He rubbed his bill with the tip of a wing. 'I don't know. Give me a minute to think it over.'
We walked around the lake and into the hills, knowing that each step brought me closer to a decision I was no more ready to make than before.
'I'd go west,' Newt finally said.
'That wasn't one of the choices.'
'Exactly.'
I got an inkling of why Ghastly Edna had never asked his opinion.
'That's me though,' he said. 'I'm part demon, and demons despise being told what to do. They aren't very fond of fate either. And they greatly enjoy being contrary for its own sake.'
'I'm not a demon. Nor even part demon.'
'True enough. In which case, if I were not part demon, and a witch, and in your position, I suppose, taking everything into consideration, then I would go east.'
'Any reasons?'
'Seems a simple decision. North, you'll find happiness. Nothing against happiness, and there's no rule saying a witch must be miserable. But, ultimately, it isn't a very witchly reason to do anything. But east, you'll get a chance to avenge your mistress. Vengeance. Now there is a witchly motivation.'
'Or horrible death,' I added.
'Exactly. A horrible death seems a goal every witch should aspire to. In fact, it seems to me that too many people are neglectful of their deaths. It is the last act of their lives. Give me a memorably gruesome demise over a long, boring life any day. Just ask Skewered Bob.'
