Page 15 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Astrid turned to face Beatrice, the bells at her neck jingling like the bells on a dangerous cat’s collar. That cranberry and cinnamon scent Beatrice had always wondered if her mother smelled of—nope, that wasn’t possible. This woman probably smelled of sulfur and fury. Not that Beatrice planned to get close enough to find out. “Do you have it?” Astrid hissed.
Beatrice jerked. “Have what?”
That sinuous eyebrow wave again. “Don’t be coy. Did you get the Knock? Is that how you got here?”
“I took a ferry.”
“Oh, goddess, you’re not evenactivated. But I can feel it coming off you. Unused and dusty, perhaps, but it’s there.”
Beatrice tried to smile. “That’s quite a personal attack.”
Astrid barely blinked. “She called you Beatrice. But that’s not your name.” Her voice held none of the comforting tone she’d offered Tim.
“It is.”
“You areBeatrix.”
“No.” Beatrice’s jaw tightened with stubbornness.
Minna rolled her eyes in an unmissable, almost audible way. “Great. Another name for her to accidentally get wrong on purpose.”
Astrid whirled to her. “And you! You must love this! Yet one more name for me to screw up. But I’ve been getting your pronouns right most of the time and I haven’t called you—”
Reno leaned forward, a knife cutting through flesh, placingher body between Astrid and the girl. “You will not deadname her.”
“I won’t! Ihaven’tcalled you by your boy name in so long. Have I?”
“Not this week,” whispered Minna.
Minna was trans? It felt like a lovely thing to know. But Astrid shouldn’t have outed her like that, and something about the girl’s abashed response made Beatrice feel feral. She could leap forward—she could bite Astrid on the leg, straight through to the bone—
Astrid, unaware of the danger her limb was in, turned back toward Beatrice. “And your last name is?”
When Beatrice had married Grant, she’d kept her father’s name as her last, since their shared company was Barnard Family Finance. Now she was grateful she wouldn’t have to change it back. But she owed this woman nothing, not even the privilege of knowing her full name. “Minna, thank you. Astrid…”
The older woman drew herself up very straight and tall. “I’mnotscared that you’re here.”
What? Who said she was? In Astrid’s gaze was a flash of an emotion Beatrice couldn’t parse. It didn’t seem to be fear. And it couldn’t possibly be love, obviously. It wasn’t hate, and it certainly wasn’t indifference.
Astrid’s scowl grew deeper.
Whew.All of this was way too much, and Beatrice needed to be anywhere but here.
And since she had never known she had a mother who wasn’t dead, she had spent exactly zero time in her life working on the perfect parting shot.
So Beatrice just left.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For betrayal: light a black candle. Carefully gather your reserves along with your herbs and crystals. Then cry for a while before you do anything else. This part is very important.
—Evie Oxby, Instagram post
Both of Beatrice’s legs were asleep. She hadn’t noticed them getting tingly, just as she hadn’t realized the sunset she’d been watching had turned into dimness and then dark. Night had fallen at some point as she’d sat on the hotel room’s balcony, her wine untouched beside her. In the dark, a couple’s laughter drifted up to her from the beach below, their forms as invisible as the scent of brine.
All Beatrice could see in front of her eyes were Cordelia and Minna’s faces.
She tottered to her feet, zombie-walking back into the hotel room as the feeling returned. At some point, she’d need to connect to the internet. Perhaps that point was now? It was a small task; she knew that. It wasn’t insurmountable. Was it?
