Page 71 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“Her guides. Right. Clairvoyant, she said.”
“Yeah. And Astrid, she can hear them in her mind, and I think she can do even more, but I try to stay out of her way so I’m not sure exactly what other skills she has. And you, you’ve got the writing. Right?”
Holy crap. Presumably, she did. “Wait, so is that, like, their special flavor of magic? Talking to dead people? Or is that something that all, um, witchy people can do?”
“No clue,” Reno said. “I didn’t know what Cordelia could do, either, until about ten minutes after Scarlett died. I’m sitting on the bed with my wife, not even able to cry, and Cordelia’s holding both our hands. She tells me that Scarlett’s fine where she is.”
But anyone would say that, right? It was what everyone needed to hear. If someone had said that to her when Naya’s hand was still cooling in Beatrice’s own, she would have done anything to believe it.
Reno apparently saw the look pass over her face. “No, it was more than that. Cordelia gave me Scarlett’s words.I love you, Popper. I’m fine. I’ll be with you whenever you need me.”
“Popper?”
“Jalapeño popper—she was half-Mexican and teased me for being unable to handle even Tex-Mex spice.” She held out her arms. “I’m darker-skinned than she was, but my heritage is mostly Italian. Northern Italian, at that. I don’t do heat.”
“So Cordelia must have heard you call each other that.”
She shook her head. “We’d only known Cordelia for about a year then. And Scarlett hadn’t called me that in years. I’d totally forgotten it until that moment. Scarlett was telling me she was still there.” Reno looked up at another star so bright and still, it must have been a planet. “That she’s still here.”
“You believe that.”
Reno put her hand on her chest, as if she was rubbing away heartburn. “I do.”
“Buthow?” She was unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How does it work? If it actually does.”
“You still don’t believe?”
Beatrice wiggled her jaw to unclench it. “I do believe. I’mchoosingto believe. I mean, I’m trying like hell. But I need to learn so much more. Whymyfamily? What are we supposed to do with it? What’s behind it, and how do we affect it?”
Reno only shrugged. “I don’t understand how electricity works, not really. But I know enough to respect it. I don’t need to know much to be able to flip the light switch.”
Funny that she put it that way. In the darkness, each word Reno spoke seemed to spark a tiny flame inside Beatrice. Was it desire? Simple curiosity? Sudden loneliness?
Whatever it was, though, the feeling wouldn’t help her understand magic.
“Yeah, well.” Beatrice wrapped her arms around herself as a chill crept over her. “I want to be a master electrician.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Feel free to be creative in how you seek Spirit. She’s tougher than you think.
—Evie Oxby,I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts
Two days later, Cordelia didn’t look the slightest bit surprised when Beatrice entered Which Craft in the late afternoon and acted from herLife Expectancy: If I have one year leftchecklist:Accept Cordelia’s offer to teach me how to knit.
Within minutes, Cordelia had cast on and knit a row for her. “I can’t in good conscience let any baby knitter learn how to cast on first—it’s a ridiculous way to learn. Get the hang of the knit stitch andthenI’ll teach you how to cast on.”
So Beatrice knitted. From time to time, Cordelia would walk past and peer over her shoulder.
“There. You’re doing it!” Cordelia’s voice was warm, and the tension between Beatrice’s shoulder blades melted the smallest bit. Of course, holding the needles and peering down at them ratcheted the tension back up, but shewasknitting. Well, she was doing something with yarn anyway.
The yarn in question was light purple, thick, and strong, and the dark wooden needles had already warmed in Beatrice’s hands. Cordelia had opinions about them, too. “Straight needles are good for beginners, but soon I’ll move you to circular needles. Better for everything, including healthy wrists. Making things is powerful, you know. That’s why we have this store. We put energy into intention and help others to do the same.”
Beatrice would have knitted asbestos rope with ski poles if Cordelia told her it was the best way to learn. Did she care about knitting? Apart from it being something to bring her closer to her sister, nope. Not in the slightest. She didn’t care if what left her needles was a scarf or a bath mat.
She just wanted to be here. Near Cordelia.
Which meant being near Astrid, of course, but even that felt easier now, as if the edges of the woman had been sanded off a little. Now, when she looked at Astrid, it was as if a subtle Zoom filter had been turned on. The way the woman clattered around the shop—greeting customers with a piercing, singsong, “Tell me if you need help deciding Which Craft to tackle!”—was actually kind of funny. Colorful. If Beatrice had been a tourist in this town (like she had been just two weeks ago), she probably would have found it charming.
