Page 2 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

Evie Oxby had been at Grant’s fateful birthday party a few weeks back.

That night, she’d looked incredibly young and very pale, as if the weight of the ghosts she claimed she could see in the room was stripping the life from her.

It had been a good act, yes. People had flocked around her, hoping that one of her feelings would come through for them, but Evie had just kept quiet, her lips tight and white.

After Beatrice had discovered Dulcina using Grant’s bat to get to third base, she’d bolted straight through the party for the elevator. Her hand had shook as she’d hit the ground-floor button.

“Hi.”

Beatrice had jumped—she’d barely noticed that Evie Oxby was already in the elevator car.

“I’m sorry,” the young woman said to her. “You’ve just had a shock.”

Fuck, did everyone know about Grant and Dulcina? Even his clients? Beatrice hadn’t answered.

The doors opened to no one on the eighteenth floor. She stabbed the button again.

“And I have to deliver another shock, I’m afraid,” said Evie.

Beatrice’s sigh felt like it came from the bottoms of her feet. “Do you really have to?”

“You’re going to experience seven miracles.”

Did she look so terrible that Evie thought that might be a pick-me-up? “Huh. Thanks.” She knew her tone said, I don’t care , and normally, she’d feel bad about that. Not tonight.

But Evie didn’t take the hint. She continued, “And you will die. It will happen very quickly.”

Beatrice sucked in a sharp breath. “Amazing. Well, my night just keeps getting better. Thanks very much for that.”

“I’m sorry.” Evie’s gaze fell to the carpeted elevator floor.

After the doors had finally opened on the ground floor, Beatrice speed-walked to the parking garage without looking back or saying good-bye.

Evie Oxby was known for her directness and her humor, not for being mean, so it had been a weirdly cruel thing of her to say.

But the threat of her “prediction” was empty.

Beatrice didn’t believe in any psychic kind of magic.

What she had believed in, up until that night, was that she and Grant had a strong partnership based on mutual respect.

Now, the woman across from her on the ferry said, “I swear to you. Evie Oxby is always right.”

Sure she was.

Thank god, a text pinged.

Beatrice held up her phone as if she was getting a phone call. “Oops. I have to take this.”

She stood and moved toward the bar area, unlocking her phone with a spark of hope. A birthday greeting? She hadn’t gotten one yet, not even from her father, who normally never forgot.

You there yet?

Beatrice typed back to her best friend, Iris. On the ferry now.

Send proof.

You srsly think I’m still holed up at Dad’s?

PROVE IT.

Beatrice held up the phone and snapped a picture out the window of the blue skies above the water. Then she turned the phone and took a photo of the interior of the main cabin. She sent both. Satisfied?

Is that a fortune-teller? Can’t zoom in enuf.

Beatrice hadn’t even noticed until then, but yes, a young woman with white-blond flyaway curls had placed a red scarf over her table on the other side of the boat. A propped-up hand-lettered sign read, “Tarot Read by Winnie.”

Yes.

Dude, go do it!

If Iris were here, she’d already be dragging her over. Beatrice typed, Not my style, you know that.

Because Grant wouldn’t like it?

Ouch. Sometimes it sucked that, in true bisexual fashion, she’d kept her ex as her best friend. Even if Iris never remembered a birthday (even her own), sometimes she knew too much about Beatrice.

Don’t be mean.

His biggest client is Evie Oxby, and he wouldn’t even let you get your tea leaves read at her book release party last year!

She hadn’t told Iris what Evie had said in the elevator. Because it had just been mean. And ridiculous. He didn’t NOT let me. He was right, she’s his client, it would have been weird.

Go get your fortune told.

I will not.

K. He still runs your life. Got it.

Grant had never run her life. If anything, it had been the opposite—he was a great lawyer, but not very good at getting other things done. The day-to-day running of their life had been her job, and she’d done it well.

Said with love, shut up. Even though she knew Iris wouldn’t spontaneously remember her birthday, she still typed, Anything else you want to say to me?

Iris sent a string of kiss emojis.

Beatrice looked over her shoulder. Her seatmate’s gaze had gone back into her book, but what if she wanted to chat some more?

Bathroom it was. She needed to pee, anyway. They were almost to Skerry Island now, the mass of green land drawing closer by the minute, so hopefully she could avoid small talk for the rest of the ride.

Winnie the fortune teller was seated between her and the bathroom. She looked up as Beatrice walked past her table, her gaze bright above the black stars-and-moon T-shirt she wore. “Are you here for your future?”

“No.” Beatrice’s voice was too curt. “Sorry. Just going to the bathroom.”

As she stepped forward, the ferry hit a swell and lurched. Beatrice stumbled, her hip glancing against the table. She grabbed at the back of Winne’s seat, touching the woman’s shoulder with her forearm.

Winnie turned, her eyes large and ice-blue. Her hand whipped out to grasp Beatrice’s. “Beatrix, you’re going to die. Soon.”