Page 25 of Goblin Candy

Stuffing the items into a pillowcase, I head into the kitchen to find Grimsal. Surely he’s managed better. I barely take more than a step inside, however, before I’m forced to bite back a laugh at the sight of his twitching tail waving back and forth in the air from where he’s bent over, inspecting the contents of the fridge.

I sneak over to his side and grab ahold of his wavering tail, giving it a small tug. He stills and moans, the deep, raspy sound shooting straight through me. My body heats instinctively, but I have the sense to let his tail go and step back, putting much needed distance between us before we totally lose sight of what we are supposed to be doing. The look he turns on me over his shoulder is full of promise with no small amount of frustration when he sees my retreat.

My grin widens apologetically. “Any luck?”

“Yes, though I was certain that I was about to become infinitely luckier,” he retorts as he straightens with a teasing smile. Lifting a familiar red bottle, he squirts a stream of red ketchup onto his tongue. “I found the vampire’s blood… and the dead man’s fingers,” he says, proudly holding up a jar of pickles. A grin steals over his face as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a smaller jar full of olives. “And the eye of newt!”

The green globes bob in the jar, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at an olive the same way again.”

Grimsal’s grin widens as he unscrews the lid and pops one into his mouth. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Those are the best tasting newt eyes I’ve ever had.”

I slap a hand across his mouth, a snicker of laughter escaping me. “That’s disgusting. Way to ruin olives forever for me. And I don’t want to know how you know what newt eyes taste like.”

He dumps several olives and pickles into plastic containers before throwing those in the sack and shrugs, though his eyes still gleam with humor. “When you’re traveling long distances through the wilderness, you do find yourself eating quite a few unpleasant things. Many of said things I would prefer not to think too long on,” he adds, his eyebrows waggling as if silently daring me.

Not one to rise to the bait—because eww, no thanks, that’s something I can live without further details of—I grab the sack and stick my tongue out with a look of disgust. “Think I’ll pass on that. No offense, but I prefer where I am and choosing what morbidity I expose myself to. Plus, I like having access to a twenty-four-hour supermarket and my Buick.”

He picks up my jack-o’-lantern and tucks it under one arm as mouth curls in a devious smirk. “No offense taken. I find those parts of your world very appealing as well… among other things,” he adds with a lascivious stare at my bottom as I head toward the door.

I don’t even bother to hold back the grin that breaks out across my face as we leave the apartment. Gods, he’s good for my ego.

The trip to the park ends up being far more fruitful. Once we are outside and beginning the hunt for the remaining ingredients, Grimsal seems to drop right into his element. His tail flicks merrily as he weaves among the trees, his glowing eyes all the brighter in the fading daylight. More often than not, he seems to be a part of the shadows, breaking from them at startling intervals to grab some small thing to add to our growing collection.

A cicada carapace for the siren’s song, a mushroom as the mad god’s elixir. I find a particularly large white-cap mushroom for the fairy queen’s parasol, which just makes Grimsal break out into a round of laughter when I explain exactly what it is. The cemetery that borders the park is a looming presence on our periphery. As much as I enjoy the dark and esoteric, I’m not one to sit in graveyards by habit. I find them sad rather than evocative of the sort of powerful energies that others seem to find in them. It is for this reason that I intentionally push our hunt further from it. Besides, it strikes me as the height of disrespect to scavenge among the resting place of the dead.

As much as I’m trying to ignore it, Grimsal’s attention keeps straying in that direction. His head turns, and his long ears seem to perk slightly. Even the slash of his tail slows every time his attention turns toward those darker shadows that seem resistant even to the light of a full moon shining down upon them.

Now that I think of it, that is a bit odd. I pause, a large red maple leaf held between my fingertips as my “taste of fall” ingredient. A shiver runs up my spine as I stare in the direction he is peering and the skin of my arms prickles. He slinks back a step closer to me, and I swallow.

“What is it?” I whisper.

He shakes his head slowly, but then tips it to the side as if listening to something that I can’t hear. It lasts for only a moment. His entire back arches and goes rigid like a spitting cat as he lets out a vicious hiss.

Then I see it. A pair of red glowing eyes blinks back at us, and a shadowy figure at the edge of the cemetery moves closer and steps into the moonlight. Large dark wings that resemble those of a moth except that they’re edged with numerous points lift and flutter lightly from the back of a male who stares at us. Of similar height and possessing the same lean, athletic build as my goblin, his dark hair falls over a moonlight-pale face that bears an androgynous elegance and beauty spoiled by the sharp teeth he bares at Grimsal.

The male’s wings tip forward, the edges humming as they begin to move, and a glittering cloud of dust rises from them and floats toward us.

“What the fuck is that!?”

No sooner than the words are out of my mouth, Grimsal spins around and grabs me up into his arms. The world around us spins and contorts, and with a pop we’re suddenly several feet away and the strange male has tracked our new position, his eyes boring into us. Thankfully, his posture has gone from aggressive to one I would consider to be more curious as he has straightened at peers at us like a meerkat at an unknown curiosity.

My fingernails dig into Grimsal’s bicep as I eye the winged male warily.

“Grimsal?”

“He’s a fairy,” my goblin growls, never taking his eyes off the other male and his body not relaxing against mine despite the more casual stance the other has adopted. “He’s on the hunt and thought he found suitable prey.”

Suitable prey? I pale as the implication hits me. “Me?”

Grimsal’s yellow gaze flicks over to me and he gives me a small smile. “Don’t worry, my sweet. We’ve intruded on his hunting ground quite by accident, but I’ve demonstrated my claim by portaling with you to safety away from his spores—a difficult feat for goblins to do with another—and it appears that he isn’t going to challenge.”

I crane my neck to look, and sure enough the fairy has turned away and is heading back toward the cemetery, appearing somewhat downcast if I’m not mistaken. It almost makes me feel sorry for the little would-be woman snatcher. He gives us one last look over his shoulder, his wings catching the moonlight as they flick, before disappearing back into the shadows of what I presume must be his “hunting ground.” Grimsal’s nostrils flare and ears twitch as he scans our surroundings, but when minutes pass without the fairy’s reappearance, he begins to relax and his tail which had wound tightly around his waist loosens to flick along my thigh affectionately.

Releasing a shuddering sigh, Grimsal gently sets me back on my feet as his head cants back to look up into the branches of a bush hanging just above our heads. With a quick flick of his wrist, there is a small crack, and he spins something in his fingers as he brings his arm down, dropping a messy clump into my bag.

“The web of fate,” he says cheerfully, shifting gears that fast now that the danger seems to have passed. “I believe that was the last on our list.”

I stare down into my sack and sigh. “You just dropped a rolled-up spider web into this sack, didn’t you?” At his nod, I wrinkle my nose at it. “Well, you’re going to be pulling it right back out when we get to our cauldron. Spiders don’t bother me, but touching webs is a no go. That feeling makes my skin crawl,” I point out as I drop my leaf in after it. “By the way, what did you mean about spores? Like fungi?”

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