Page 2 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

The other children were quiet a moment—some of the younger ones looked shocked. With a smirk, Bea whipped back around and continued on to her favorite tree.

Her heart was a wild rabbit scrabbling in her ribs. Would her letter work? She’d given up on other children and her own sisters for sources of companionship. Once, she had asked her father why she never received any letters, as he always had a great stack of them at the breakfast table. He’d told her, “letters do not appear by magic—you must write a letter first if you hope to get one in return.”

As Beatrix approached the tree, she saw a tightly folded paper inside the hollowed knot. Squealing, she tripped and stumbled to grab it with shaking hands. The writing was almost as poorly formed as her own. It looked scrawled from charcoal pencils rather than ink, with dust and smears all over the edges.

Little Buzzing Bea,

You came sniffing for a rose and found foxglove instead. I am not a thing that dear little girls ought to seek out for fellowship.

I am that dark thing in the woods. I am that shadow with naught to cast it. I shall creep into your closet and fill it with flies and feast upon your tiny screams of terror.

There was a large area with no writing, as if the author had meant to conclude, but hastily added, just at the very bottom:

I liked the cake.

“What a funny creature!’’ Bea said, looking around as if she could see him somewhere. “And quite rude too! No name and no thank yous and no happy All Soul’s…”

Entirely undeterred by her new friend’s cryptic response, Bea sat in the grass, pulled out her work book, and started a new letter on the back of her last spelling sheet.

Deer Mister Dark Scary Fellow,

Or I think I shall corl you Jack Of The Tree, since Hallowe’en has past and now I shall think of you as looking like my carved turnip lantaern.

Above Little Bea, lounging on a low hanging tree branch, Sahar read over her shoulder as each misspelled and badly formed word appeared. He... resembled a turnip lantern? He was tempted to hop down and reveal his true form to her right there, though he was not permitted to do so without an official request.

He was many times the size of this girl, and even after she was fully grown he would surely tower over her half again. He was built with the lean muscles of a boatman, broad arms and shoulders swooped down to a narrower frame where his carved hips held a sash tying his loose trousers—his only item of clothing. His black hair was a mess of unruly curls, forever crackling at the edges as if trying to escape his head and become a storm cloud. His skin was the indigo of night upon the desert, bluish-purple with a tapestry of stars.

The little one seemed to have the reverse—her star patterns were smaller sprays of brown speckles across her nose and cheeks. She liked sunlight while he thrived in darkness.

What an odd child.

Or, had children changed since his last visit? In spite of his confusion and frustration at her refusal to be afraid of him, Sahar’s curiosity only grew. Very shortly it became something like fondness.

The rhymes the other children say at me are nasty, even if they are cleva and I would be proud had I rit them.

If you are so dark and scary, do people say nasty things at you? I might liek to be scary too, if it would make them leave me be.

I can bring you more cakes if you want them for tomorrow is All Soul’s Day and we shall be giving them out as treets.

Sahar wrinkled his nose. She was giving cakes out to the same simpletons who plagued her with insults? When the neighborhood was positively silly with animal dung that she could gift them instead? Resentment crept in toward these ingrates who hadn’t earned her kindness. Then he unfortunately realized that he hadn't earned it either.

But she’d given him a cake all the same.

His life’s purpose was catering to the whims of others when called upon. Bea hadn’t asked for anything—not yet, not officially. Where grown men had demanded palaces of gold and gems, harems stretching into infinity, or riches that could never be depleted, this girl only wanted companionship.

And, in spite of his initial attempt to scare her off, she seemed determined to get it.

Fine, thought Sahar, hiding himself away as she placed her letter in the tree again. I will respond once more.

After all, the next day—All Soul’s Day—was the last day of the year in which he would be free to walk among the people, to drink and dance and play with the sumptuous bodies of grown humans until the rise of the sun. After that, he’d be bound to the ether again until called upon, or next year’s Hallowe’en.

He may as well play nice and get one more cake out of her.

2

IF YOU’VE GOT NO APPLES, PEARS WILL DO

Her cakes the next year were slightly better. Sahar had slumbered peacefully for twelve months with no one discovering his talisman or true name. With no one to answer to but himself for too many years to count, the world had grown dull. He told himself he had no intention of seeing the amusing human girl again, but curiosity and the scent of currants and spices drew him back to the same tree.