Page 79 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Then something ripped the gun out of her hands and hurled it through the air, violently smashing it against the wall.
And the buzz growing inside Beatrice changed—the feeling of Taurus was gone, a thicker, bleakersomethingbackfilling into the space where he’d been. The vibrating drone went dark and cold. The noise of it spiraled upward as a tornado crashed through her mind, her thoughts buckling into rubble at the sound of a thin scream.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Spirit isn’t always predictable. Would you really want it to be, though? Life is so damn expected. Let Spirit shake you up a little.
—Evie Oxby,Yoga Journal
Reno’s voice was soothing. Why, exactly, did Beatrice like Reno’s voice so much? Listening to her was like drinking a hot toddy, all warm and sweet and smoky. It was so comforting, a weighted blanket of words. She could just lie here and let the sounds wash over her—ah, yes, so nice. She didn’t even have to understand what she was saying.
But Beatrice’s feet were cold. Was there a blanket maybe? Could she ask for one? Because it wasn’t just her feet; her whole body was shaking. Freezing. God, she wasfreezing, and Reno’s voice, warm as it was, wasn’t warm enough.
She heard Minna’s voice, too—shit, what was happening?
With what felt like a mighty, groan-worthy effort, she pried her eyelids open. She was lying flat on the sofa in the hideout, a pillow under her head. Reno’s big brown eyes were inches from hers. She looked sorelieved.
“S’up?” Beatrice’s throat felt sore, as if she’d been smoking. Or screaming.
“Aunt Bea!” Minna grabbed at her arm. “What did you see? What happened?”
It all flooded back—Minna’s request, the lock’s keyhole, the crash of the storm in Beatrice’s mind, the sound that dragged her away… Taurushadbeen there.
Then he’d been shoved out by something—someone—else, and that feeling… no. “I don’t want to do that again.”
“You shouldn’t.” Reno’s gaze was steady, but there was a shake in her voice. “That was bad.”
The door of the shed slammed open. Astrid and Cordelia tumbled in, both of them panting.
“Got your text,” Cordelia said to Reno. “Are you sure?”
Reno nodded.
Astrid strode to Beatrice. When she spoke, icicles hung from her words. “Get up.”
Beatrice struggled to sit up. “What—”
“Not here.” Astrid’s fingers dug painfully into her upper arm. “We have to be in the house for this. Move quickly through the dark and don’t look back.”
In the parlor, Cordelia lit candles, placing them on every surface—the big table, the windowsills, on the broad wooden arms of the chairs. She directed Minna to the kitchen to turn on the kettle while Astrid disappeared somewhere with a threat-like promise to return in a moment.
Reno said to Beatrice, “They know what they’re doing.”
I thought I did, too.“Whatarethey doing?”
Reno rubbed her sternum with one hand but said nothing.
“How did you know to come?”
Still Reno didn’t answer.
Astrid reentered the room carrying a small carved woodenbox. “Sit.” She nodded toward the smaller table, the round one surrounded by five dark wooden chairs.
Minna carried in a tray with a teapot and five cups. She placed it in the center of the table.
“Good girl,” said Astrid. “Everyone, take a cup.”
Minna looked hopefully at Beatrice from the seat she’d taken. “Sit by me?”
