Page 73 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
It’s really that bad at the library?” Even though Beatrice had been spending so much study time there, she rarely saw Minna, whose summer intern job had something to do with archiving in the basement.
They’d already finished the churros and most of their hot chocolate. Minna’s hair was still up in a towel, and she’d changed into a green-and-black argyle robe (which, in a masterful feat of textile engineering, was also glittery). The angry tightness of her body had softened, and she slumped so low on the sofa that she might slide right off into a sparkly argyle puddle.
“It’s not bad at all. I’m just in a stupid mood.” Her eyes were shut tight.
Surely, Beatrice hadn’t been so self-aware, so clear about how she felt, at that age. “Is there anything that might help you feel better?”
Minna opened her eyes. “We could do manicures. I mean—oh, never mind.”
“Why do you sound so sure I wouldn’t love that?”
“Gran and Mom think manicures are dumb, and your nails look like they haven’t been polished in a year. No offense.”
“None taken.” Beatrice held them up. At least she kept them filed and rounded. “But you’re wrong—it’s been way longer than a year. Six years, I think? I had them done for my wedding day.”
A small screech. “Sixyears? That is sosad.”
Ten minutes later, the room smelled of acetone and polish. Minna insisted on being the manicurist, allowing Beatrice to touch neither her own nor Minna’s nails. “I’m the expert here. Let me do my thing.” They both sat on the floor, Minna on the opposite side of the coffee table. The afternoon sun streamed in, lighting the top of her black hair with a brightness that glowed almost blue. Outside, the afternoon shadows lengthened, and inside, music poured from Minna’s phone through the living room speakers, a dark techno-pop Beatrice didn’t know but liked immediately.
Then Minna said, “Have you been thinking about your tattoo?”
Beatrice felt almost drunk as she watched Minna wield the nail polish brush. Maybe she was high on the fumes? Her body felt relaxed and warm, her limbs heavy and content. “Not much.” It wasn’t a no.
A bright flash of a smile was Beatrice’s reward. “I’ve been working on a couple of new designs. But of course, you could design it if you wanted. Or I could help you.”
“You mean a sigil tattoo?”
“If that’s what you wanted.”
“Like Reno’s.”
“Lots of people have sigil tattoos. They just don’t always know it. You know that if you get someone’s name tattooed in a heart on your upper arm, it’s a kind of spell, right?”
I choose to believe in spells now, unless someone proves otherwise.But she couldn’t help asking, “How do you explain such a big laser removal market, then?”
“Good point. Maybe the people doing the spells aren’t very powerful.”
“You’re powerful.” Beatrice didn’t mean it as a question.
“Yeah. I think maybe sometimes Mom gets scared because of it, but that’s dumb. She’s more powerful than I’ll ever be, and I can tell that when the two of you are together, that’s even more off the charts.” She paused. “I wishIhad a twin.”
“But you’re unique. There’s no one like you in the entire world, not a single copy of you anywhere.”
“Ha. That would be too much of this fabulosity for the world to handle.”
“I’m sure it would. So what are the designs you’re working on?”
A look—was it slyness?—crossed Minna’s face. “Iwantto tell you. I’m just not sure I should.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t trust you.”
It stung only a little. “I get it. We met two weeks ago. That’s fair.”
“Nooo.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “I know I cantrustyou, like, I get that. I just can’t trust you not to go to Mom with something I tell you.”
Beatrice longed so much to have a secret with Minna that the tips of her fingers ached with it. “As long as it’s not illegal andyou’re not going to hurt someone else, I promise I won’t tell your mom.”
