Page 86 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“Their main desire is to avenge Theodore’s demise, to destroy the Hollands completely. Our power is like that of the island—it pools in places. And our power pools matrilineally. Theirs is patrilineal, and therefore weaker.”
Minna’s expression fell.
Continuing, Astrid said, “But they’ve been biding their time, accumulating their rage for a long time.”
“That’s… terrifying.”
“To be very clear, because I’m worried you’re not truly understanding this, they want to do more than simply kill us. When we are subsumed by death at their hands, they absorb the strength of our power. All humans carry some magic—that’s what souls are made of. So if they take our soul, there’s nothing left of us. At all. We disappear from all planes of existence. Permanently.”
Beatrice could actually see the color leaching from Minna’s cheeks.
“Well,” said Reno slowly.
As one, they turned to look at her.
“Fuckthat.”
Crisply, Astrid said, “Quite right, Reno. Though I hoped we wouldn’t ever get here, this has gone past simple sigils. We need bigger magic. So. All of you. Pierce the meat of your thumb with the needle.”
“Pardon?” Surely Beatrice hadn’t heard that correctly.
With a sigh, Cordelia said, “Just do what she says. It’s almost always easier than arguing with her about spells. She’s infuriating but usually right.”
“I can hear you, Cordelia, in case you forgot that I, too, have ears. Everyone, now. Pierce all the way through. We need actual blood for this one. No faking, Minna.”
Beatrice watched as Cordelia pushed the needle through the pad of her thumb without even wincing. Minna gave a little squeal but did it, too. Reno, like Beatrice, was moving more slowly toward the idea, holding the needle to her thumb as if trying to imagine what it would feel like.
“Do you want me to do it for you, like I threaded your needles?” asked Astrid.
Beatrice yelped, “No!” as Reno shook her head.
It didn’t hurt that much—the difficulty was more mental than anything else. A quick punch, and it was done, the needlegoing through the skin and some of the meat of her thumb and out again.
Now what? Was Astrid going to make them sew themselves to each other? Because that would be too much.
“Now pull the thread through. Slowly. You need to bleed on it. If you don’t, you’ll just have to do it again.” Astrid waited.
When they all held up the stained threads, she said, “Give them to me.”
Shuddering, Beatrice pulled hers out of the needle and handed over her small biohazard.
Astrid draped all five strands over her right palm, then rolled them together into a small ball, whispering words under her breath that Beatrice couldn’t quite hear.
“Thread of red, bind the dead.” Astrid looked around the circle of the table, her expression stern enough that she didn’t need to explain what she wanted them to do.
Together, they chanted, “Thread of red, bind the dead.” Then they repeated it. And again.
It felt a little ridiculous. Maybe a lot ridiculous, honestly, smacking as it did of standing in front of bathroom mirrors on sleepovers and calling for Bloody Mary. That apparition never rose, but the idea of her was always scary enough that at least one girl had to phone their mother and go home early.
Astrid frowned at Beatrice. She’d missed saying the last two words on that round.
“Sorry. Thread of red, bind the dead.” Surely Beatrice’s wasn’t the only rapidly beating heart at the table.
After a dozen more times through the phrases, Astrid raised her arms dramatically. “With my hand, I burn the strand, now burial ground, repel the bound.”
She thrust the ball of thread into the flame of the tallest candle on the table, and instead of simply catching and burning, itflashed bright white and made a startlingpop. Then it flared red and disappeared into a wisp of black smoke.
Something enormous smashed against the side of the house, shaking the walls and the floor.
