Tap-tap-tap ...

Groggily, I open my eyes and roll toward the window. It's still dark outside and the full moon shines over the gently-lapping waves. Passing the noise off as the house settling, as dwellings constructed of rocks tend to do, I roll over and go back to sleep.

Tap-tap-tap!

That's not the groan of rocks straining against the mortar. Awake and alert, I toss the covers off and pads across my small room to the window. Standing there in my thin nightgown and bare feet, I stare across the moonlit landscape. Maybe, I think, it's one of the boys, out to make some mischief because I interrupted their "fun". My hand strays towards the little slingshot Papa made for me to scare gulls off his traps.

Slowly opening the window, I load the slingshot and loosely pull back. "Fabien?" I call out in a whisper. "Hans? Mikal? If it's one of you dodders, you better run off home before I unload this shot in your bottom!"

I lean out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of Hans's red shoes or Fabien's insufferable blond quiff. There's nothing to hide behind on this side of the house, for it's directly opposite Papa's workshop. All I can see is the beach and the sea beyond.

"Down here."

I let out a tiny gasp and releases my grip on the slingshot's band. The sea-smoothed red stone tumbles from the leather pocket and bounces next to a small black octopus.

"Hello," the creature says, waving one tentacle.

"Y-you can talk!" I exclaim, dropping the slingshot. It ricochets off the windowsill and falls to the floor of my bedroom. The resulting clatter is so loud that I whip around, half-expecting Papa to come to my room and ask what is the matter.

"Indeed I can. May I enter?"

I race to my bedroom door and carefully open it, listening for Papa's tell-tale snores. When I'm confident that Papa is still asleep, I shut the door and turn back to the window. "Yes, you can," I tell the creature, "but you must be quiet."

The octopus curls one tentacle under its body and tilts itself to one side, giving off the impression of being mildly amused. I blink, wondering why I should attribute such a human emotion to an octopus.

But it is a black octopus after all—and a talking one at that, so why not?

I take a step back from the window and watch as the octopus swiftly but silently scales my window. It pauses a moment, surveying my tiny bedroom with those large blue eyes, before rolling end over end to the floor. Quickly glancing around, the octopus proceeds to climb my dresser and perches there like a tentacled sea hawk.

"This will do," the octopus declares with a nod of its bulbous body. "Now, what is your name, child?"

"S-sina," I stammer, taking a seat on my bed.

"Sina?" the octopus repeats with that curious body tilt. "Such a small name for a large personality. What is your true name?"

"Melusine."

"Powerful," the octopus breathes, impressed.

That one word sends a strange thrill through my body. No one has ever called me powerful before and I rather like it. It tastes right on my tongue. Taking a deep breath, I say, "May I ask what brings you here?"

"Ah, yes." The octopus folds two tentacles in front of itself. "I have come to offer you one wish in thanks for protecting me today."

"A wish?" I repeat, chest expanding in awe. My eyes dart to a round miniature portrait on my dresser. The black octopus follows my gaze, its expression growing sad.

"I cannot bring back the dead, child."

Oh. I might as well be crushed under Papa's lobster traps. "I thought ..." I slump on the bed, a single tear forming in the corner of one eye. The octopus sighs softly, echoing the whisper of waves on the beach.

"But I might bring your mother word when I am bid to journey through the Everlands," it adds. "That I can do for free."

I hiccup but smile. "Thank you."

The octopus lifts itself on the dresser. "Now, have you another wish in mind?"

Oh! The wish! But, what to wish for ...? As I contemplate this grave task, my eye catches a stack of books—Mama's books—right by her portrait.

"I want to learn."

"Ahh ... " The octopus hums in approval, rocking back and forth. "A wise choice, child."

I lean forward eagerly, but the octopus does nothing. No books materialize; no knowledge imprints itself in my head. Did I do something wrong?

"I don't mean to be ungrateful, but ..."

"Ah, yes," the octopus says, quickly rolling down the dresser and landing on the floor. Its suckers pull at the old wooden floorboards as it crosses to the window. Tentacle over tentacle, it hauls itself to the sill and perches there for a moment, looking back at me with those large blue eyes. "I will return."

In a blink, the octopus rolls over the sill. I jump up and dart to the window, but the creature has vanished. Dazed, a little confused, but mostly happy, I return to my bed and sit back down, watching the window and waiting for it to return.

What sort of books will it bring? I wonder, clasping my hands together. History? Geography? Perhaps a novel or two? I've sometimes caught a glimpse of Miss Kesseler with a novel, despite Miss Templeton frowning upon such "frivolous" material. Whatever Miss Kesseler reads, they make her blush and she hastily stuffs them away whenever the head teacher walks by.

An hour goes by, then two. I rock back and forth on the bed, trying and failing to stifle the yawns that stretch my jaw and make it pop. They seem to build and build and sleep crashes into me like persistent waves. Before I know it, the waves have won; my head hits the pillow and I'm fast asleep.