Page 7 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

Bea was about to let her free hand fly across his face when something brushed her back.

Something that felt very large.

“Mr. Adams,” said a voice from behind her so low she felt it in her hip bones. The accent was strange, curving around some words and coming to a flourish at the point of others. It made Bea shiver with fear and delight. “It is clear you’ve had too much to drink. Everyone can see it.”

The next moment, Thomas yelped and looked down at the front of his trousers where an enormous wet patch appeared. With a screech, he jammed the mask over his face again before tearing away from the lights and the crowd.

Bea’s heart beat like a war drum living in her throat. The noise seemed to dull around her and the crowd felt as if they were behind glass. She dared not turn around.

“Jack O’ the Tree?” she whispered over her shoulder.

Sahar chuckled low, itching to reach out to her while knowing he had better keep to the shadows as much as possible.

“That is not my true name, you know,” he said. “But I do find it amusing the way you English assign your own monikers to whatever you feel you discovered.”

Bea scoffed and turned around, trying to catch sight of him, but all she saw was a dark cloak pulling back into the shadows between buildings. The bonfire was so bright that everything outside its orbit was blackness.

“Why do you always scold me for guessing while you continue to show me nothing of yourself?” she asked, her indignance helping to overcome her fear. “I’m here. I came back. Tell me, sir, where are you? Who are you?”

There was a pause as Sahar watched her from the shadows. This felt like where he was supposed to be—hidden in the dark, watching her be bright and glittering and stubborn. And beautiful. When had that happened? To look at her was painful.

“I am here, Little Bea, as I have always been,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “And I am your friend, as I have always been.”

Bea was startled by his height. She had never seen a man so tall—fully two heads above her or possibly more. He was so broad at the arms and shoulders that the image of him hefting her into the air with one hand came to her mind unbidden, flustering her even more than she already was.

His mask was a half skull made from paper, showing the bottom half of his face beneath, which he must have painted dark purple, though it seemed to shimmer when it caught the firelight. His lips, Bea had never taken half a second to imagine what they must look like before, were all she could see of him. They were perfectly shaped and plush in a way that embarrassed her. She could not say why.

“Take off your mask,” she said.

“Not tonight.” His teeth flashed so white she thought he had swallowed the moon.

“Tell me your true name.”

“Not tonight.”

Bea felt tears gathering and fought the urge to stamp at the ground as if she were still the child he once knew.

“Take me away with you.”

Sahar hissed softly as if she was causing him pain that he rather enjoyed. He reached for her hand, holding her fingers with the soft leather gloves he wore; he had dressed for the night with every intention of hiding himself away, even from the touch of her hand.

“Oh, my Little Bea,” he said. “Not tonight.”

Beatrix cried out in frustration, yanking her hand away.

“Then why did you ask me to come to you?! You toy with my patience all my life and offer me nothing! Be gone and leave me alone!”

She spun around toward the bonfire where a cider or four might improve her spirits.

“It pains me that I can do neither of those things!” Sahar said in a low growl as he pursued her, weaving through a crowd that paid him no mind. “I need to see you because—will you stop a moment, you foolish little girl?!”

He grabbed her hand again. She turned around, glaring up into his mask that gave her nothing back, only the mockery of a grin on a long dead skull.

“I am a foolish little girl, Jack, and I hope I always will be!” she hissed. “I hope I never learn better or fit in or stop believing in things like you even when things like you behave like… like monsters!”

“Now see here.” He gripped her hands, his gloves creaking as they held tightly to her. “You must understand that I cannot simply take you away with me. Just as I cannot see or write you whenever I like. There are rules I must follow.”

He swallowed hard, loosening his grip to press her hands between his instead. He needed a moment to think, to piece together this new strange and entirely unwelcome feeling that had been assaulting him since her return. In another breath, he would name it. In another breath, he would offer her everything.