Page 129 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
The answer had simply come to her, without trying. The answer had just been there.
But how the hell was she supposed to try tonottry? It was a riddle that would have been amusing to parse while sitting on a meditation cushion in a yoga studio, but she was here, facing a closed, silent marble tomb, which was real as fuck.
Wasit real?
A chill ran through her.
That illusion of water, of drowning, had been so real—she’dfeltit. She’d been soaked. And freezing. Choking on the water and struggling to breathe had been real. And at the same time, she’d been safe on board her dry houseboat.
This—this crypt could be under the veil of an illusion, too.
But crap, that would require a spell to reverse, right? And she didn’t know that kind of spell…
Something like serenity lifted the weight at the top of her lungs.I can write the spell.
Beatrice took a deep breath and planted her feet firmly, hip distance apart. She sent her roots back into the earth and connected with that molten ore. Did it matter if the connection was real or not? She might be imagining all of it, but the cool stream of energy that flowed into her bones felt real enough.
Was she a good enough witch to pull this off?
Probably not.
But a novice witch was still better than no witch at all.
Again, she kept it as simple as possible. Placing her hands against the door of the crypt, she said calmly and clearly, “One, two, three, reveal Minna to me.”
Then she fell forward through the marble as if it were only cool air and not stone.
There she was.
Minna sat inside with her back to Beatrice.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Fear is its own sort of magic and requires a set of tools that I’m only starting to learn how to use.
—Evie Oxby, in conversation with Brené Brown
Beatrice had never been in an aboveground crypt. The tomb had seen better days, and cracks ran through the marble. Part of Anna’s final resting place seemed to have collapsed in on itself on one side, but it was bigger inside than Beatrice would have thought, maybe eight feet square. Three candles burned at the front of the space on a raised dais of stone. At one time, it must have been used as a small altar, and a vase still stood there, whatever flowers it might have held long turned to dust. The air smelled of mildew and cold dirt. Behind her was the door, transformed back to marble. To the left and right were seats chiseled into the stone. Above each seat were dark, carved plaques.Anna Holland. Rosalind Holland.So Anna was here with her daughter, Rosalind. Was Anna’s lost twin, Louise, here, too? Or somewhere nearby?
After her cursory glance, Beatrice returned her gaze to her niece, sitting alone on the dusty floor, her father’s tattoo gunpressed against her arm. Even though it wasn’t plugged into power, the metallic buzz of it echoed through Beatrice’s teeth.
“Minna.”
The sound stopped, and the girl spun around. “What the fuck? How did you get in?”
Beatrice said honestly, “I’m not quite sure. I said some words, and they worked.”
A breeze moved through the room, moving the dust into small eddies.
Oh, god. In a sealed tomb, the dust could only come from one thing.
Minna shook her head. “You can’t be here.”
On her arm, Beatrice could see the sameTthat the girl had been drawing on Taurus’s grave. A small ooze of blood rose up along the lines. “What are you doing?”
Her niece’s face looked carved of marble itself, her expression stubborn. “I’m going to assume you don’t actually need me to answer that.”
“Minna, your father—”
