Page 4 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Winnie turned, her eyes large and ice-blue. Her hand whipped out to grasp Beatrice’s. “Beatrix, you’re going to die. Soon.”
CHAPTER TWO
When the universe speaks, your one job is to listen.
—Evie Oxby, on Mastadon
Beatrice stuffed down her impatience. She’d already been short with the woman—there was no need to be impolite. “Sorry, but that’s not my name. With respect, I don’t believe in… what you’re doing here.”
“Fuck.” Winnie’s entire demeanor changed as she slumped into the booth, her shoulders dropping. She was older than she’d looked from across the cabin, Beatrice realized, maybe late thirties or even mid-forties.
Beatrice felt an unwelcome surge of sympathy. “Really, I don’t want to—”
“Lord, I hate this shit.” Winnie leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. “I’m moving here, you know that? All my stuff is in boxes somewhere on this ferry. I thought I might getawayfrom accidentally touching people if I left the city. Not have it happen on the damn way here.”
“I’m, um, sorry?” Beatrice itched to step away, to escape. “But you must have heard someone—the ticket taker?—say my name when we boarded, but you misheard. My name is Beatrice, not Beatrix.”
Winnie’s head snapped up. “You’re the one who touchedme.”
This woman was upset, and Beatrice had only wanted to go to the bathroom, not freak out a stranger. “Again, very sorry. I lost my balance. I didn’t mean to bother you while you’re doing… this. Telling fortunes or whatever.”
Winnie grimaced. “Reading tarot cards is a good moneymaker, but that’s not my true skill. Look. I have premonitions sometimes when I touch someone. And I got one with you. I get words and numbers and names and predictions.”
“That must be hell on a crowded bus.” Beatrice kept her voice light, but Winnie’s face darkened.
“I don’tgoon crowded buses because of this bullshit, and yes, it’s a pain in my ass. But I don’t get them for everyone—only when someone needs to hear something. And I don’t have any idea how to sugarcoat this message, so I’m just going to tell you what I got, okay? It’s like I’m sending you a ZIP file—I’ll tell you what I know, and then it’s up to you to open it and deal with what’s inside.”
This woman couldn’t be serious, could she? Beatrice opened her mouth to protest one last time before walking away, but Winnie looked tortured.
“Fine. Tell me.”
“Your name isn’t Beatrice, it’s Beatrix. I’m sure of that, even if you aren’t. And you’re going to die. Soon. I’m getting the number one but I can’t tell if that’s weeks or months. It feels longer than one day, and shorter than one year.”
“Mm.” This was idiotic. Literally everyone in the whole world was going to die at some point. It must have been the surestprediction to make for anyone, ever. But even though Beatrice—yes,Beatrice—didn’t believe a word of it, the hairs rose on the arms. “And?”
“Not an and. It’s more like a but. You’re going to die soon, but you’ll also experience seven miracles.”
“Oh,comeon. Is this a social media trend? Like, is there a YouTube channel where y’all chat about what the hottest predictions will be this season?”Taupe and black are in, along with fuzzy clutch purses, glitter boots, and predicting seven miracles and sudden death.
“Someone told you this already.” Winnie leaned forward. “They did. I can see it in your eyes.”
“No.” The lie felt stupid and dry in her mouth.
The boat lurched again as it turned to move toward the dock.
“If you’ve heard it from two psychics already…” Winnie lifted her hands before letting them drop to the table. “I see numbers in my mind—I can’t explain it or prove it, and I won’t try. But I’ve never been wrong.”
It was the first thing Beatrice could almost understand. “I’m an accountant. I see numbers in my head all day long.”
“You get it, then. I saw the number two floating on the image of a calendar with a red circle around today’s date. So you’ll experience the first two miracles today. Then five more, and…”
Beatrice was good at counting. “Two miracles today. Then five. Then I kick the bucket. Got it.” At least it would make a great dinner party story someday. The ferry thunked as it made contact with its mooring. “Anything else?”
Winnie laced her fingers together and stared at them. “I’m sorry. I am. But maybe, now that you know, you can change some things?”
“Your numbers said I need to change things, too? Like what?”
“Way above my pay grade. Maybe let people know how you feel about them or something?”
