Page 75 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Minna’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. “I want you to. It makes me feel smart. And I’msohappy you believe us. So now, will you helpme?”
“Nothing illegal, right?”
“One thousand percent.”
Beatrice lifted a polka-dotted fingertip. “As your accountant, I must point out that a thousand percent is an impossibility.”
“It’s one hundred percent legal. I just want you to try your writing thing again.”
Beatrice should have seen that coming. Minna had seemed so brokenhearted when nothing from her father came through the week before. But then she’d lied about it to her mother. “Why did you say that about your friend? Sienna, right?”
Minna heaved a sigh. “Because whenever I bring Dad up, Mom ends up crying. Sometimes she even gets headaches. Migraines. Then I feel like it’s all my fault. But it’s not fair, that she gets to know everything about him, while I know literally nothing.”
But could Beatrice risk it? She had only three miracles left, and what if Cordelia had been wrong about auto-writing being simple magic and (probably) not a miracle trigger? “Idon’t think that’s the best idea. It didn’t even work last time, honestly.”
Her niece spoke quickly. “I know we didn’t hear from him, even when I asked you to think about him—you heard from randoms instead, and that had to be hard. But I’m wondering if your mediumship doesn’t rely on something physical from the person who’s on the other side to make that connection. Like, Evie Oxby—have you seen her Netflix series?”
Beatrice hadn’t watched it yet, but she didn’t feel like admitting to Minna that by now she practically had certain sections of Grant’s client’s latest book committed to memory. She knew exactly how Evie Oxby felt about holding objects while reading for a subject. “No.”
“She’s real deal as fuck, and a lot of the time, she holds something to call the spirit. You could try that? Maybe get a leftover vibration, right?”
And that, exactly, was what Beatrice had been trying to untangle for the previous couple of days. Italmostmade sense to her. It wasn’t just a hippy seventies idea: According to Einstein and everyone who came after him, all physical objects actually did vibrate at particular frequencies. If a person had an object they loved very much, an object that was frequently close to their body, then it made a certain sense that the object and the person might have shared a frequency overlap.
Beatrice had dived down this rabbit hole so deeply in the last three days that, yes, she probably did know enough about it to move forward. And if she understood it, she could keep control of it. Surely she could prevent another miracle.
But there was one problem with Minna’s logic. Beatrice kept her voice gentle. “What about those others I heard from?” Holy shit, she was admittingout loudthat she’d written words thatcame from dead people. “I wasn’t holding anything that belonged to them.”
“Yeah, I know, but you could try, right? Would you do that? For me?”
I’d sleep in the snow wearing a swimsuit for you. I’d jump out of a plane with no parachute and build one on the way down out of my hair if it helped you in any way at all.
I’d die for you.
“Yes,” Beatrice said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
You know better than anyone else what the voice of your loved one will sound like. If you hear them, you can trust you’ve tuned into the right radio station.
—Evie Oxby,All Things Considered,NPR
Minna wanted to try their experiment in the hideout—it had been Taurus’s favorite place, after all.
Beatrice expected Minna to prop the door of the shed open—it was stuffy inside, still holding the day’s heat, and outside, the dropping night’s air was cool. But Minna pulled the door shut behind them. “If Reno comes home, we don’t want her just popping in to see what we’re doing.”
They didn’t? Why not? “Okay, let’s ignore for a moment that I’m supposed to be a grown-up. If you’re saying we have to hide from the grown-ups, that’s not really inspiring confidence in me that this is a great idea.”
“No! I don’t mean that! She just worries too much. I don’t want to upset her.”
Reno did seem to be a worrier. “Okay. But I’m going on record as saying I’ll shut this down the second I feel weird about it.”
“I get it, I get it.” Minna flicked on the light and went to the cart that held her tattoo equipment. “Here’s a notepad.”
Beatrice dropped into the couch. She held out her hand. “Sharpie.”
As if it were a scalpel, Minna slapped it onto her palm. “Sharpie.”
“And… what’s the thingie I’m going to hold?”
