Page 134 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
With every ounce of will she had left, Beatrice placed a whiteboard in her mind. She chose the one from her home office, the triple-size one that she used daily. In her mind, she erased the calendar and her to-do list. Then she focused on the new lines she drew with her mind.
She drew a capitalBand made the top and bottom holes into a pair of handcuffs.The simplest spells are the strongest.
Carefully, she drew a horizontal line through the middle of theB. That was the fuse.
Her breathing continued, autonomous. She could neither take a deeper breath nor hold one. But she couldpictureblowing air out of her mouth, flammable air that took only one flick of an imagined yellow lighter to light the end of that fuse.
The line through theBwobbled as it burned.
And then the midsection blew, separating theB-shaped handcuffs.
Beatrice was free. She blinked as she fell sideways, catching herself painfully against the marble chair underneath Anna’s name.
In front of her, Minna swam back into focus. She’d slumped, and sweat mixed with the tears rolling down her face. “I can’t make it stop,” she whispered in Beatrice’s direction. “Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
Beatrice leaped at Minna, but the tattoo gun made one last buzz, connecting the tip of the teardrop to the scale, before clattering to the floor.
Minna collapsed sideways.
Frantically, she grabbed Minna’s shoulders. “No.No.”
But the sigil was complete. A cold wind kicked up the dust inside the tomb, and Minna’s body slumped, as Beatrice heard her last breath leave her lungs.
Beatrice knew what to do.
Finally, she knewexactlywhat to do. She’d done so many CPR certification classes, just to be on the safe side, that she knew more about the recent Heart Association changes than some of the instructors did. She knew she should flip Minna from her side to her back and start compressions. With a huge amount of luck, that would get Minna’s heart started, and it would have to, because it wasn’t like she could call an ambulance, but maybe if she screamed so loud, the sound made it through the slab of marble…
But she didn’t flip Minna in order to start compressions.
She didn’t do the one thing she knew she should do.
Instead, she stood.
She threw back her head.
And then Beatrice roared, “Give her back, you fucking son of abitch.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Sometimes the ones we hear from are the angry ones. Take care with them. For a soul to manage to stay angry once they understand the magnificent workings of the Universe, well. That’s not fun for anyone.
—Evie Oxby,Palm Springs and Bat Wings,Netflix
The wind in the tomb increased, the dust thickening in the air. Beatrice could feel that Taurus was furious, and she didn’t know why—hadn’t he just gotten exactly what he wanted? His daughter?
No, he wanted the son he’d never had. He could get fucked and die, except that had already happened, and now what?
Now Beatrice knew nothing, except that she had to move, and move fast. Minna had—what—four minutes of not breathing before brain damage started to set in? Eight minutes and she’d be gone forever.
Beatrice had one motherfucking miracle left to spend.
What she didn’t have was time to figure out the right way to do this.
There was only one way. Somehow, she’dmakethat way right.
She dropped to her knees, ignoring the howl of the wind that grew in her ears. It didn’t matter if it was an illusion or real. She didn’t care.
The fountain pen—there it was. It felt perfect in her hand. Red ink still dripped from it, but she honestly didn’t need the ink.
