Page 98 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Beatrice lost her breath. She hadn’t, actually, known what she wanted until that exact second. “Maybe.”
“Show it to me.”
So Beatrice pulled it up on her phone. The photo of the sigil in the sand.
“Ohhh,” breathed Minna. “That’s pretty.” Without asking, she reached forward to flick to the next photo.
Beatrice gasped. She hadn’t looked at the photo after shetook it. In it, she and her father smiled at the camera. A nice, normal photo of a father and daughter at the beach.
What wasn’t normal was the light. A blinding ray of blue-white sunlight hit the top of her father’s head. Another one lit the top of her own head. The rays streaked down from the top right of the shot.
But judging by the shadows cast by the streetlight on the sidewalk behind them, the sun had been to their left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Don’t overcomplicate magic. Keep it simple, sister.
—Evie Oxby, onRadiolab
Minna grinned. “Amazing.”
“That’s…” Beatrice zoomed in, then out again. “Why… why would the sunlight do this?”
“It wouldn’t. That’s not sunlight. That looks likeloveto me.” Minna extended the word out long, almost singing it. “What—or who—was the sigil for?”
“My stepmother. His wife.”
“Her light’s super pretty.”
“Holy shit.”
“So.” Minna held up the gun. “Black ink?”
“Don’t be silly, Minna. We have to get ready for the party.”
“I can do line drawings like this in my sleep. Fifteen minutes, and done.”
Beatrice bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t actually considering this, was she?
Permanently marking the sigil on her skin, the sigil that hadproved Naya was always near? The very idea felt lovely. “Really, fifteen minutes?”
Minna nodded, her face bright. “Then I’ll make one squillionty deviled eggs.”
“Your mother won’t kill you?”
“She’d kill me if I tattooed myself, or anyone else under voting age, but I can tattoo adults.”
“Like Reno and who else?”
“Okay, like only Reno so far. But that’s because I’ve only asked you and Mom, and Mom always says no.”
It was silly to feel so flattered, and yet, she did. Beatrice held out her arms. “Where should I get it?”
“Wherever you want, maybe somewhere you can see it easily and remember her? Your forearm, or inner wrist?”
Why the hell not? “Inner wrist.” She’d never gotten one before because of pure vanity. How would a tattoo age on her? How it would look on wrinkled, crepey skin? But if her skin never had the time to wrinkle…
And what was the big deal about a little ink in memory of a woman she’d loved, who’d managed to send her a letter through the years on the ocean’s waves? Even Naya herself had a tattoo on her left shoulder, a goldfinch lighting on a gardenia flower to commemorate her own mother. “Purple was her favorite color. Can you do it in that?”
