Page 87 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Beatrice grasped the table with one hand and grabbed Minna’s with the other.
Then a lawn chair crashed through the window. Minna screamed at the shattering of the glass, and Beatrice tightened her grip. Reno went pale.
Cordelia nodded, seemingly unruffled. “I’ll get the dustpan.”
“Well.” Astrid gathered her cards, blew out the candles, and reached to collect their empty needles. “That went better than I expected it would.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It’s not a bad thing that I can’t pick who comes through to me. Sure, I’d be a better medium, but I’d probably be a worse human.
—Evie Oxby,Come at Me, Boo
Beatrice’s dreams were full of screams, breaking glass, and flashes of light reflected against the sheen of monsters’ teeth. As she gasped awake, she could still see the sewing scissors rising into the air before plunging into Astrid’s left eye.
But between the nightmares, she surprised herself and slept, the bed warm, the sheets soft, and the water below a rhythmic lullaby.
In the morning, when she rolled to her side to squint at her cell phone, she found a text from Reno.Ten okay?
Apparently, what happened in this town was you worked a protection spell (against what, exactly, undead hotheads?) one night, and then got right back to work the next morning.
Beatrice could respect it even if she didn’t understand it.
She had, of course, asked Cordelia to explain why, exactly, a chair had sailed through the window after what was supposed tobe a spell of protection. She hadn’t felt very safe in that moment.We’re just trying to prevent anything worse. Glass is easy to replace.The answer had been both unsatisfying and chilling.
Now, at the café, Fritz made her an extra-hot cappuccino without being asked. “Justin said he’s going to Cordelia’s to fix a smashed window this morning. I thought the Un-alive party was tonight. Did you kick it off early?”
That had all been real, then. The chair through the window. The blood on the threads. “Is that how Holland parties normally go? Chairs through windows?”
“Not normally, but that was before you came to town, raising our Holland quotient.” They dropped a wink before turning to the espresso machine.
Fritz thought Beatrice was one of the Hollands.
She had no idea how to feel about that.
“Beatrice!” Keelia raced in from the street. “Oh, thank god, someone said they saw you come in here. We need you.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Fritz called, “I’ll keep your drink warm.”
Winnie’s fortune-telling annex was draped with dark velvet curtains, and as they pushed into the dimness, Beatrice could just make out the form of an older woman sitting at the table with Winnie.
“Come in!” Relief laced Winnie’s voice. “Mrs. Jumai, this is Beatrice, the one who wrote—the one who received the message.”
Mrs. Jumai resembled an old chair, creased and wrinkled and smooshed with a few too many pillows. She wore a beige blouse and brown slacks, and she wore slippers instead of shoes, as if she’d left her house in a hurry.
“You? You wrote this down?” The woman tried to stand but only got halfway up before her pins started to wobble.
Winnie said, “Mrs. Jumai, how about you just stay where you are? I’ll trade places with Beatrice.”
It was obvious that Winnie, with her rapid blinks and intent gaze, was trying to telegraph something to Beatrice, but if Winnie was trying to psychically communicate with her, it wasn’t working.
Clueless, Beatrice sank into Winnie’s seat and tried to pull her face into something appropriate. “So. You’re saying this had specific meaning for you?”
Mrs. Jumai pushed a wrinkled piece of paper across the table to her.
