Page 4 of The Beauty and the Griffin

“I followed a cinder sprite.” I grinned at the memory. “Have you seen one yet? Nobody warned me they have horns.” I held my forefingers to my temples and spiraled them upward, almost inviting him to mock me.

“You followed a cinder sprite here?”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “My grandaunt lets me explore the gardens. She’s with a bunch of other old ladies having tea in the cottage garden this morning. I followed the cinder sprite. It looked kind of like a white wig on feet.”

The boy nodded, frowning a little, but not in an angry way. “You followed him here?” He repeated the question as if he hadn’t heard my first answer.

“Yes, he led me through a rose arbor in the box hedges, right back there.” I jerked one thumb over my shoulder. “But then he must’ve hidden somewhere. I haven’t seen this part of the garden before.” I looked up and around at the trees. “Huh! You can’t even see the castle from here.”

“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly.

“Beatrice. It means ‘voyager’ or ‘blessed.’ I like name meanings. What’s your name?”

“Othniel,” he said as if expecting a bad reaction.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before. What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “My grandfather says it means ‘God’s lion.’ Would you like to see more cinder sprites, Beatrice?”

My heart nearly skipped a beat at his switch from wary to friendly. “Sure!” I paused, then dared to attempt his name. “Othniel.”

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you around.”

My guard lowered further as he led me into a wilder-looking part of the gardens, with fir trees and rocky slopes. “Cinder sprites like to nest around here. If we sit quietly, they might come out to greet you.”

Once we both sat cross-legged on a sunny patch of grass, I felt brave enough to say, “You’re the politest boy I’ve ever met.” Othniel didn’t respond, but a whole troop of cinder sprites emerged, one by one, from their hiding places to graze, chatter, fight mock battles, and chase each other around.

The baby cinder sprites were just about the cutest things I’d ever seen, with their big heads and feet and ears and itty-bitty nubs of horns. When they opened their tiny mouths to squeak or ran after their mothers, I laughed so hard I got hiccups.

“What do you call cinder sprite babies? Squeakers? Spritelets?”

Othniel laughed at me, but I didn’t care. I liked him. His short wavy hair shone like gold with the sun on it. Even his skin had a golden tint from the sun.

“They’re called pups,” he said with a shrug, “but ‘squeakers’ is better.”

Just then, I was too shy to look at him again. I’d never felt like that about a boy before—most of them were just annoying. I think he felt awkward too, but we both could talk easily about cinder sprites, so we did.

The sprites moved on after a while, but one mother and her pups stuck around, nibbling at weeds. She was glossy black, and her hair parted neatly down the middle of her back, but the hair around her horns fell forward like a silky veil over her face with a white streak spreading down its center. When her two tiny pups scrambled into my lap and fell asleep, using my skirt like a hammock, I could hardly breathe for delight.

The gentle mother chortled at me and nibbled at my sandal’s strap. “I don’t think you’ll find my shoe very appetizing,” I told her, offering her a dandelion leaf, which she devoured.

“You talk almost like a grownup,” Othniel observed from his perch on a rock. “How old are you?”

“Seven. I read a lot.” Then I dared to ask, “How old are you?”

“Ten.”

How thrilling, to be friends with an older boy!

I heard a cheery whistle, and the white cinder sprite I’d followed appeared near us. “That’s him!” I said in a near whisper. He greeted the mother sprite with a nuzzle, peered at the babies in my lap, then looked directly up at me through his hair. For the first time I saw that his eyes were black, and his nose and ears were dark gray like his horns and feet.

“That’s Starfire,” Othniel said. “I figured he was the sprite you saw. He’s . . . well, he’s very magical.”

“Hello, Starfire!” I addressed the sprite. “Thank you for leading me here.”

When he chirped back at me, his head jerked, making his heavy “bangs” flop up and down. Did he just say you’re welcome? I blinked hard and admonished myself not to be silly. He then greeted Othniel with a dip of his head and horns.

Othniel quirked a brow. “Sorry, fella. I didn’t bring any carrots. Next time. Maybe some apples too.”

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