Page 34 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Mystified, Beatrice watched as Minna rose and took a metal can from behind the door to the kitchen, and then placed it on top of the table.
She held the paper over a candle’s flame. The page caught, the drawn symbol turning black and disappearing. Minna dropped what was left of the paper into the can.
The moment should have been mildly exciting. Perhaps amusing. Definitely strange and confusing.
But instead, Beatrice felt something.
A warmth spread inside her chest, a pool of something liquid and sweet. It feltgood, like when you stood in a sunbeam on a chilly morning, or like pulling up the covers after a long, hard day. It came out of nowhere, and she knew it came from a place outside herself.Shewasn’t making herself feel like this, which should have been worrisome, but it wasn’t. It was, instead, deeply comforting. Like being hugged but from the inside.
She pressed her hand to her chest. “What—Minna, what did youdo?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Honestly, I love that you asked me to comment on this, but I have to take issue with your terminology. Social-media terms like “witchling” and “baby witch” are at best, infantilizing, and at worst, gatekeeping. Don’t other our new siblings. They’re simply witches who are learning, and aren’t we all? Call them a novice, or a novitiate, if you’re feeling fancy. And remember: a novice’s first spell is special. It might be wonky and misaligned, and lights that weren’t meant to blink might flicker, but no matter what, it’s always a lovely moment. Celebrate it.
—Evie Oxby, “Advice for Baby Witches,”Slate
Clapping, Minna laughed. “You felt it!”
An icy finger of fear traced the edges of the warmth. “No. Wait. Felt what?”
“I wrote your name, only it didn’t look like that, I know. But each line and loop was a letter in your name, and then I added a word on top of that.”
“What word?” The answer felt unbearably important.
“Don’t laugh, okay? Love.”
“Huh.” The puffed syllable was inadequate—it couldn’t hold both the melted warmth and the chilled fear coursing through her veins.Love.
As if she was overwhelmed, too, Minna said quickly, “Andthat’swhat a sigil does. Some people draw images, others do letters, but the point is the intention you put into them, followed by the energy you charge them with. For this one, I used the energy of fire to give it the boost it needed to work.”
“How did you spell my name? Beatrice? Or with theX?”
“Beatrice, of course. NoX.” Minna looked at her carefully. “I would only ever call you what you want to be called.”
The leg of Astrid’s chair squeaked.
Minna continued, “A sigil is what you create it to be. There are sigils on the doorjambs, see? We put them in all the rooms.”
Beatrice had noticed them, actually, delicate decorative symbols painted over the doors and next to windows.What an artistic family, she’d thought.
Once she was out of here, she’d lie very still for a long time, preferably with a cold compress over her eyes. A little spa music, perhaps. Some chocolate. And this would feel like the night she had the flu, took too much Nyquil, watched too many episodes ofSabrina, and ended up convinced that if she tried hard enough, she could snap her fingers and travel back in time to meet the dead mother she didn’t remember.
The one who was in front of her now, quite alive.
True: everyone, at some point, wanted magic to be real.
Also true: everyone knew it wasn’t.
But if Beatrice didn’t say it now, she might not be able to say it later. “I think I drew one of—those—at the beach today. The house, where I live—I drew it in flames in the sand. I wanted itto burn to the ground. Then I got that text from Grant, and…” She held her breath for one tight second. “Did Idothat?”
“No!” Cordelia set her knitting down so hard, her wineglass sloshed red onto the tabletop. “You didn’t. That was just a coincidence.”
“Hmph! A pretty big one, if you ask me,” said Astrid.
“You were too far away. And you didn’t charge it with power.”
The candle’s flame had eaten Minna’s sigil. “A wave washed it away.”
