Page 4 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

Bea had grown from an amusing little joke into a voice upon which he depended. She’d become his only tether to the physical world in so short a time that it left Sahar breathless. He’d hidden his talisman where no man on earth could find and call upon him with a wish. Yet more and more the idea flitted past that he could offer it to Bea, bind himself to her, and be there for her even on the days of the year when his kind were not granted access to the human world.

His sojourns to the mortal realm on All Soul’s Day were once a blur of debauchery where he’d return to his slumber sore and sticky and full and still drunk. He’d often carefully extricate himself from a lattice of nude beauties to sneak off before dawn. This had slowed to a standstill of late. Instead, he found himself watching Bea between letters as she sketched birds and insects, or snuck off from her governess to read a novel about an innocent young lady kidnapped by a murderous pirate and sold to the King Of Skulls. He saw her at those public dances, too proud to sit and be shy, but also too damaged by the rejection from her family and peers to put herself forward.

At fifteen, she still had those soft features he’d first seen when she was so tiny—wide brown eyes in a round face scattered with freckles, teeth that ever so slightly struck her bottom lip. He was confused and alarmed when her style of dress changed to fitting more snugly at the waist, her hair from an unruly tangle to an attempt at curls, and the boys from throwing crab apples as she passed to catching at her skirts with sticks.

Soon after such a stunt, the three boys in question found themselves walking into low hanging tree branches and arriving home with broken noses.

That was the same year Sahar received the first letter that truly shook him.

Watching Little Bea grow had already given him an alarming sense of the mortal’s impermanence, how time zipped along without mercy, crumbling everything from men to mountains. Even seeing the evidence for himself, he’d never imagined that he would lose her.

Sahar almost prepared himself to be annoyed at whatever new nonsense this letter might contain—another description of a social gathering or synopsis of a fanciful book—but after reading the first line his heart stopped a few painful thumps.

My dear Jack,

It may be some years before I can write you again. It seems I’m being sent away to the city for an education, although what education I might receive at my aunt’s home apart from how many drams of gin to pour her before midday, I couldn’t guess.

I’m sure I will be introduced to young men even more self important and intolerable than these at home. At least it will be somewhere new, and however I may resent being sent off to become a lady, I will relish any adventure I can grab hold of. Perhaps by the time I return I will be old enough that you can finally tell me some of yours.

I will miss you dearly each Hallowe’en that I am away.

With affection,

Beatrix

Sahar stared at the paper for a few long moments, telling himself that there had to be more, that she must be tricking him somehow. This was the first letter she hadn’t signed Love, Bea, a silly, girlish salutation he had often sneered at, but now its absence felt like the paper had a hole cut through it. There was something so carefree and limitless about the way a child showed friendship. Now she was a guarded young lady, protecting something she did not yet know the value of.

Well.

If she insisted on going away with such coldness, let her.

Let her stay gone.

He had far better things to do than remain friends with some foolish mortal girl.

Bea checked back at the tree with a heart that skipped and chittered like a squirrel. Jack might be sad, might ask her to stay, might finally offer to take her away to those far off lands he’d only ever hinted at. Her bags were already packed in her room but she’d leave everything she owned behind if he made her the offer.

She snatched at the letter poking out of the hollow of the tree, tearing it slightly in her haste to open it.

Be gone to the city, then.

Enjoy the coal infused air and endeavor not to come down with consumption—a vain hope.

Bea’s hand shook as she held the paper.

Her eyes stung and blurred.

The autumn air that had felt so crisp and clean and delicious when she’d left her house. was now cold and damp as creeping fingers of frost worked their way into her skin.

Jack’s rudeness had always amused her because she’d known it was all in fun. He still listened to her, as no one else in her household would do. He had never spoken to her as if she didn’t matter—as if she were just a child.

She crumpled the paper and left it there in the knot of the tree, hoping he would check back and see what she thought of him.

3

UP WITH YOUR KETTLES AND DOWN WITH YOUR PANS

Each year, Sahar checked back at the tree. He told himself it was mere curiosity, and that when she hadn’t appeared and he could not bring himself to leave, that it was out of concern for her safety. By the seventh year, he’d stopped returning to his home at all. When All Soul’s Day ended, he’d simply curled up in the hollow of their gifting tree and let the mists of the in-between lands close around him until they opened again.