Page 105 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“We’re up to five miracles now.”
Her sister didn’t even ask what the miracle was. It didn’t really matter anyway. “Fuck.”
“You know that sealed page in the grimoire? Do you think it could help us?” Every time she opened the ancient book to study, her fingers played with the edges of the wax seal.
Shaking her head, Cordelia said, “The opposite. Don’t do it. Remember that it’s the Velamen power Xenia removed from her twins. It can’t do anything but hurt us.”
She felt seasick as a low swell of fear rolled through her. “You’re the expert in dying. Anything I should know?”
“I…” Cordelia took a deep breath. “No matter what, I won’t let you be alone.”
And it turned out that was enough. For now. It was enough to sit there with her sister in the dark, holding hands.
Beatrice wasn’t alone.
She wouldn’t be alone, no matter what happened.
That was plenty.
A minute or an eternity later, Cordelia stood, brushing off her skirt. “I wish I could hide in here all night with you.”
“I wish you could, too.” Her throat felt thick. “Wait, I have a few more things to tell you about.”
“Oooh, secrets?”
“Maybe. About Minna, and what she wants from her guides. I’m a little worried…”
Cordelia glanced at her phone. “Oh, them. They want the best for her. You think it can wait? I didn’t know it was so late already. The ceremony’s about to start.”
Minna was smart, and she trusted Beatrice. “Sure. It can wait.”
“Hey, have you seen Reno?”
Confused by the subject change, Beatrice stammered, “Not in a while.”
“Huh.” Cordelia’s voice was light. “Maybe you should look for her. She likes to hide the same way you do. You have a lot in common.”
CHAPTER FORTY
You can think of emotion like a fire. Grief is the center of the flame, as painful as it gets. It’s destructive and terrible and absolutely necessary for life. I wish I could tell you how to go through it, but each person’s fire burns differently.
—Evie Oxby, to the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, Harry and Meghan
The bonfire roared, the high red flames gnawing on the inky black sky. Children awake long past their bedtimes raced around it, and small groups of laughing people shifted as the smoke changed directions and chased them.
Honestly, none of it felt very safe.
But it wasn’t Beatrice’s job to police any of this. Okay, true, shehadallowed herself to prowl the edge of the house until she found the hose, so that if anything caught fire, she’d be able to race for it. That was it, though. She wasn’t responsible for anything else here.
That included her father. He’d apparently made a couple offriends, other older men who liked fly-fishing as much as he did. She heard them chattering on about dead drifts and hollow hairs and hackles—were they working spells, too? He gave her a wave as she passed by.
She’d forced herself to come out of hiding, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be good for. It was already after eleven, and the party seemed in no danger of sputtering out like she was.
Minna, freed of the drinks table duty, raced past wearing a short black dress and blue sneakers, an identically dressed Olive on her heels. “Aunt Bea! Someone brought red velvet cupcakes! Don’t forget to meet me at midnight! Ceremony of the Dead’s about to start!” In a blur, before any of that made complete sense, they were gone.
Shit, meeting Minna in the graveyard. She’d almost forgotten. She should never have agreed to that. She’d grab Cordelia as soon as this ceremony—whatever it was—was finished, and no matter what, she’d tell her about Minna’s obsession with hearing from her father. Then they would both meet her in the graveyard. Minna would be pissed, but she’d have to get over it.
The sound of a gong being struck rang through the night, the noise shivering through the air and raising goose bumps on Beatrice’s arms. Everyone turned, moving in their small, shifting groups toward the bonfire. Beatrice followed.
