Page 46 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“And that means…”
“I manipulate energy, shaping it a bit, to make things around me and my loved ones a little better.”
“That sounds really witchy.”
“Okay, fine, I do call myself a witch, but I don’t do it in the hearing of the nonmagical. Makes ’em nervous. Even at Which Craft, I play dumb if it comes up. I’m just one in a very long line of people who’ve learned how to harness an ancient gift.”
She, Beatrice, was presumably part of that long line. It was nice of Cordelia not to push that. “So, is it Wicca? Is that what it’s called?”
“No—Wicca was started in the forties and fifties, and while I respect it, I don’t practice it.”
Beatrice boggled. “As in thenineteenfifties?” She’d imagined centuries of women standing in circles in forests, calling upon—something.
“Yeah. While they’ve reclaimed some ancient traditions, we Hollands use magic that’s somewhat longer in the tooth.”
“And you keep your last name.”
“We tend to keep it, yes. Matrilineally.” Cordelia leaned forward. “But you can do whatever you want with your powers, including ignoring them entirely.”
Maybe they’d circle back to that, but Beatrice’s big questions were busy having lots of squirrely little question babies. “So, let’s assume I buy that magic exists. Which I don’t. But for the sake of argument, I’m going to pretend I do.” She ignored Cordelia’s look of satisfaction. “Is everyone in this town magical?”
“Not like us, no.”
“Does everyone know about the family… talent?”
“Only those we’ve deemed safe to know. You can imagine that it’s dangerous for the wrong people to learn about us.”
“How much of this town knows?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it that deeply. Maybe forty percent of them?”
“How do you keep the ones who know from talking to the dangerous ones?”
“Spells of safety. And hoping for the best.”
That didn’t sound very safe, but Beatrice only said, “Why does magic work for you and not for others?”
Cordelia gave her a proud smile. “Good one. Magic is in the land and sea and sky, and it tends to puddle up where those things meet. Islands, like this one, are great for collecting it, especially if magic has been practiced in the same place over many years. Minna is the seventh-generation Holland to live in Skerry Cove.”
“Really?” Beatrice couldn’t even remember the names of her father’s grandparents, all of whom had died before she was born. She couldn’t fathom seven generations of her kin, all in one place.
“We’ll show you at the cemetery. It’s kind of astonishing. Anyone with a sensitivity to magic—and I believe that’s most people, though Astrid would definitely disagree with me—can learn to use magic. It’s just that, in some families, we’ve built up some extra talent, if you will. Just like the land has. When you combine pooled magic in the land with a familial gift, and if you know how to jump-start that talent—”
“With that Knock thing. Which didn’t feel like a knock, by the way.” It hadn’t felt like much of anything.
“Yeah, I have no idea why we call it that. When you activate your strengths with it, that strength grows, fast.”
“But whatisit?”
Cordelia slipped a ziplock bag of oatmeal cookies out of herbag. “Mom made them, but I swear they’re not poisoned. Okay, how to explain it. You know how the immune system works, right? It’s just kind of hanging out, waiting for a threat to activate it. The Knock is like that—it’s in your body but it can’t really get to work until someone starts it up. Before you’re activated, any magic you do is either accidental or the kind that nonwitches can do. Afterward, once it’s been fired up… well, the sky’s the limit, really.”
“But I didn’t feel anything. Did Minna? How are you supposed to know it worked?”
“You don’t feel anything when the immune system turns on, either. It’s autonomous, just happening, the same way your heart beats and your lungs breathe. As to how we know—we all saw it work when the butter flew.”
“Technically, no one saw it.” It still could have all been a coincidence. That wasn’t out of the question.
“Mmmm.”
