Page 97 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“Are you okay?”
Another shrug.
“Are you high?”
Minna snorted. “I look that couch-locked?”
“You do.”
She wriggled into an upright position. “While it’s true that many of my friends are budding professional potheads, I don’t actually enjoy feeling paranoid.”
“Yeah,” said Beatrice easily. It was nice, this camaraderie. “I never really liked that, either.”
Minna made a face. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what adults say. All buddy-buddy, allhangovers suck so bad am I right?”
Okay, being lumped in with clueless adults didn’t feel quite as good. “What’s wrong?”
Minna laced her fingers together and stared at the white-and-red polish. “I canfeelmy dad trying to reach me. It’s like he’s so close… but he just can’t get to me.” She threw herself backward on the couch again. “I’m so frustrated.”
What was Beatrice supposed to say to this? “I’m sorry. That sounds hard.”
“You’re not sorry.”
Ouch.“I am, actually. Don’t you think I understand what it’s like to not know a birth parent?” Whoops, she still sounded like a know-it-all adult, didn’t she?
Tears filled Minna’s eyes. “Last night, he was in a dream I had about being at the library, but it wasn’t a visitation dream, it was just a stupid one where he was trying to return a book and I wanted to give him a hug, but he didn’t have any idea who I was and pushed me away. Gran always says that you know when it’s a visitation in a dream. And that wasn’t one.”
“How do you know?”
“She says they’re short and sharp and clear. Maybe you just see the person for a few seconds, or you hear them say one really direct thing, and you know your brain isn’t making it up. But last night, it was totally stupid. He rode off on an elephant, and then the whole building turned into a chocolate factory, and I was in charge of roasting the almonds.Idiotic.”
“That would be a good-smelling job, though.”
Minna rolled her eyes. “Can you try the writing for me again?”
Nope. Her gut didn’t like that one bit. “Why don’t you ask one of your guides?”
“They won’t talk to me about it.”
“Huh.” Seemed like a pretty good indication it was a bad idea, then.
“Please try the writing?”
This time, Beatrice’s response was instant. “No.”
“Please.”
“Hey.” She needed to distract Minna, get her mind off this. “Your mom sent me to wrangle you into the house. Within the hour, she wants you to start making eleventy-million deviled eggs—did you know that?”
Minna reached for the tattoo gun. “You don’t even have to hold this. I can hold it. I think that might work.”
A bigger distraction was called for, then. “You know, I actually might want a tattoo from you at some point.”
It was like releasing a mouse into the middle of the room. Minna gave a little scream, bounced into the air and then back down, all while clapping. “Yes.Yes!What do you want?”
“Wait, I didn’t mean right now—”
“No time like the present!” She jumped up and started clattering tools on the work cart, arranging bottles of alcohol, boxes of needles, and wipes. “I’m a good artist, so you can basically tell me whatever you want, and I’ll sketch it—wait.” Minna spun to stare at her. “Oh. You already know what you want. It’s a sigil, isn’t it?”
