Page 36 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

That connection you feel when you sing with a group? That’s Spirit. When you laugh together, that’s Spirit. When you worship as a collective in any direction at all, whether to Jesus or Buddha or Allah, you’re calling Spirit. And you might have noticed, Spirit loves a party.

—Evie Oxby, in conversation with Beyoncé and Jay-Z

Well, hell.

If what Astrid had just said was true, if she’d separated Beatrice from her sister in order to keep them safe, that was almost… understandable.

It might even explain why Astrid had been such a bitch since Beatrice had arrived.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that?”

In a similar tone, Cordelia growled, “Not once in the last forty-five years did you think to mention this to me, Mom?”

Astrid’s lower lip trembled. “I thought I’d done enough to protect you. To protect all of us.”

“Well,” said Cordelia, “you didn’t. And now we’re together, and apparently, we’re stronger this way, so what do we do now? I’m assuming we’re canceling the Un-alive party tomorrow night?”

Beatrice stared. “The what now?”

“Shoot.” Cordelia touched her forehead. “I keep meaning to tell you about it. It’s a party where we celebrate all the dead things.”

“Seriously?” A dead-anything party was probably something best avoided by a person with an imminent death sentence.

“It’s the anniversary of not only Minna’s dad’s death, but Scarlett’s, too. Same day, eleven years apart. We usually hold a little memorial gathering. Everyone comes to honor their un-alive things, their people, their pets. This year, though—”

Astrid clapped her hands. “This year, of course, it’s more important than ever. We will present a united front, and invite our friends into our home. Then we will honor the dead and insist they stay that way. And now? Now we will invoke the blood ward upon us.”

That sounded unhygienic. Beatrice said, “Look, what are we trying to prevent here? I’m still not getting it.”

Astrid’s jaw was tense. “If the Velamens manage to get one of us to join them, then they’ll be able to cross back to this plane.”

Clutching her tiny needle like a dagger, Cordelia demanded, “What do you mean by one of us joining them?”

“By choosing to cross to them on the other side of the veil.”

Cordelia said, “Why would we do that, though?”

Before Astrid could answer, Beatrice said, “So your plan was to abandon one of your daughters, leaving her alone, without a clue about any of this? With no defense?” Astrid was many annoying things, but Beatrice hadn’t thought she was stupid until this moment.

Astrid’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “If you weren’t activated, they wouldn’t find you. Nor would they have any reason to look. And without one of us joining them, without taking our power, their own leftover power isn’t strong enough to make the leap.”

“Leap? What does that even mean? Into what kind of body?”

“I don’t… know.”

Astrid didn’t know ? “Oh, my god.”

“Reanimation is complicated, but no, they wouldn’t use their actual cast-off bodies, if that’s what you mean.”

Beatrice didn’t actually know what she meant. “What do they want ?”

Astrid shrugged. “What does anyone want?”

Minna ventured, “Netflix? Ben and Jerry’s?”

Astrid’s frown deepened. “They want power. Control.”

Beatrice was so confused. “And by one of us, crossing over to them—do you mean as in, choosing to die and go to them? So, since that’s ridiculous, it shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

“Our families have been linked a very long time, and the Velamens have many wiles. If one is in enough pain, one might agree to anything.”

Trying not to lose what little composure she had left, Beatrice said, “Them wanting power tells me nothing. What do they actually want to do ?”

“Their main desire is to avenge Theodore’s demise, to destroy the Hollands completely. Our power is like that of the island—it pools in places. And our power pools matrilineally. Theirs is patrilineal, and therefore weaker.”

Minna’s expression fell.

Continuing, Astrid said, “But they’ve been biding their time, accumulating their rage for a long time.”

“That’s… terrifying.”

“To be very clear, because I’m worried you’re not truly understanding this, they want to do more than simply kill us.

When we are subsumed by death at their hands, they absorb the strength of our power.

All humans carry some magic—that’s what souls are made of.

So if they take our soul, there’s nothing left of us.

At all. We disappear from all planes of existence. Permanently.”

Beatrice could actually see the color leaching from Minna’s cheeks.

“Well,” said Reno slowly.

As one, they turned to look at her.

“Fuck that .”

Crisply, Astrid said, “Quite right, Reno. Though I hoped we wouldn’t ever get here, this has gone past simple sigils. We need bigger magic. So. All of you. Pierce the meat of your thumb with the needle.”

“Pardon?” Surely Beatrice hadn’t heard that correctly.

With a sigh, Cordelia said, “Just do what she says. It’s almost always easier than arguing with her about spells. She’s infuriating but usually right.”

“I can hear you, Cordelia, in case you forgot that I, too, have ears. Everyone, now. Pierce all the way through. We need actual blood for this one. No faking, Minna.”

Beatrice watched as Cordelia pushed the needle through the pad of her thumb without even wincing. Minna gave a little squeal but did it, too. Reno, like Beatrice, was moving more slowly toward the idea, holding the needle to her thumb as if trying to imagine what it would feel like.

“Do you want me to do it for you, like I threaded your needles?” asked Astrid.

Beatrice yelped, “No!” as Reno shook her head.

It didn’t hurt that much—the difficulty was more mental than anything else. A quick punch, and it was done, the needle going through the skin and some of the meat of her thumb and out again.

Now what? Was Astrid going to make them sew themselves to each other? Because that would be too much.

“Now pull the thread through. Slowly. You need to bleed on it. If you don’t, you’ll just have to do it again.” Astrid waited.

When they all held up the stained threads, she said, “Give them to me.”

Shuddering, Beatrice pulled hers out of the needle and handed over her small biohazard.

Astrid draped all five strands over her right palm, then rolled them together into a small ball, whispering words under her breath that Beatrice couldn’t quite hear.

“Thread of red, bind the dead.” Astrid looked around the circle of the table, her expression stern enough that she didn’t need to explain what she wanted them to do.

Together, they chanted, “Thread of red, bind the dead.” Then they repeated it. And again.

It felt a little ridiculous. Maybe a lot ridiculous, honestly, smacking as it did of standing in front of bathroom mirrors on sleepovers and calling for Bloody Mary.

That apparition never rose, but the idea of her was always scary enough that at least one girl had to phone their mother and go home early.

Astrid frowned at Beatrice. She’d missed saying the last two words on that round.

“Sorry. Thread of red, bind the dead.” Surely Beatrice’s wasn’t the only rapidly beating heart at the table.

After a dozen more times through the phrases, Astrid raised her arms dramatically. “With my hand, I burn the strand, now burial ground, repel the bound.”

She thrust the ball of thread into the flame of the tallest candle on the table, and instead of simply catching and burning, it flashed bright white and made a startling pop . Then it flared red and disappeared into a wisp of black smoke.

Something enormous smashed against the side of the house, shaking the walls and the floor.

Beatrice grasped the table with one hand and grabbed Minna’s with the other.

Then a lawn chair crashed through the window. Minna screamed at the shattering of the glass, and Beatrice tightened her grip. Reno went pale.

Cordelia nodded, seemingly unruffled. “I’ll get the dustpan.”

“Well.” Astrid gathered her cards, blew out the candles, and reached to collect their empty needles. “That went better than I expected it would.”