Page 74 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Minna peeled one eye open. “Hmm.”
How should she play it? Did Minna want to be persuaded to share? Or would that make her clam up? Beatrice inhaled the tang of the polish and said, “I’d love to know. But only if you’re comfortable. There’s no hurry. I’m not going anywhere.” It felt both good to say and scary as hell—she couldn’t guarantee its truth.
But they were the right words. Minna pulled herself closer to the table. “Okay. So. I found some old pictures of my dad, and I had them blown up so I can see the tattoo he had on his forearm. It looks like a sigil, but it’s blurry, even blown up, and I’mrabidto figure it out. If I do, I’m going to ask Mom if I canpleaseget my first tattoo. I’ll even go to a professional, if that’s what she wants me to do.”
“She must have known what his tattoo was—can you ask her?”
Minna’s gaze dropped. “She won’t talk much about him, says it hurts too much. I just think—no, I hope—that if he and I shared the same tattoo—” She broke off.
“Then you’d hear him? Wait, that’s your grandmother who hears the voices. You hope that you’ll get an image from him?”
Minna frowned. “How do you know all that? Did Mom tell you? She said we weren’t supposed to talk about it until you were ready.”
“Reno.”
“She told you?Renotold you? She trusted you like that?” Minna reached over the table and, in a surprise move, grabbed both of Beatrice’s hands, apparently confident her nails were dry. “Do you—holy shit! You do! You believe us now!”
Beatrice let Minna gaze into her eyes for two long, uncomfortable seconds, then she pulled away. “Maybe.” What a cop-out.“Yes. Why not, right? I’m trying belief on for size. Can’t hurt, right?”Unless it can.
Minna gave an adorably fierce fist pump. “Thankgod. I wasn’t sure how you were going to help me out if you didn’t believe.”
Beatrice’s cheeks warmed with the thought that Minna wanted help from her, but first, she had some questions that felt like they’d been piling up inside her. “Hmmm. Real quick, is talking to people who have—uh—passed on, is that the family magic?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are Hollands special that way? Or can anyone who can do magic do that, too?” Oh, this kind of question felt so strange coming out of her mouth.
“Mediums aren’t unicorns or anything, but I’d guess they’re rarer than your average street-level psychic.”
“What’s a street-level psychic?” She’d have to add it to her spreadsheet.
Minna shook her head. “Just made it up. Don’t even know why I said it. It’s like this: All mediums are psychic. But not all psychics receive information from the dead. Some just read tarot or dreams or tea leaves or get weird feelings and cross the street right before a safe falls out of a window.”
“Why does our family have the medium part of it? Is it something you earn? Or work up to?”
“It just kind of… is, I think.”
“And it’s not just our family.”
“No way. Lots of us out there.”
“Do you all know each other?”
“Of course.MassiveFacebook group.”
“Really?”
Minna gave a joyful hoot. “You’re so gullible, oh, my god. Your face!”
“Minna!”
“Honestly, some elder witches probablydohave a Facebook group, but that doesn’t seem very smart. There are meetups, though.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Now I don’t know whether or not to believe you.”
“Seriously. Like huge camping trips, with lots of us. Music all night, and spells in the woods, and honestly, a bunch of meetings that require unanimous agreements and a bunch of truly mind-numbing bylaws. I skip those as much as possible.”
“It’s okay if I ask you more questions as I think of them?”
