Page 5 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

If you let Spirit guide you, you’ll find angels in shocking places. The bar? The Dairy Queen? The butt-ass end of Skid Row? Don’t forget, angels like a good time (and an Oreo Blizzard) as much as the next celestial being.

—Evie Oxby, I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts

The sound of a slammed thud was followed by a shredded scream.

Beatrice sat up, legs splayed, to assess the damage. Who had shoved her? There was no one close. Had she just tripped? But no, she’d felt that strong hand on her back, so what the hell? A quick scan behind her showed no pavement crack, no sudden trip line strung across the sidewalk.

The thud—what had that been?

The scream had come from a woman, and of course , it was Winnie, the tarot reader from the ferry. She came at a run, dropping to her knees next to Beatrice almost as hard as she’d fallen herself. “Sweet holy shit, you could have died .”

Well, it was certainly possible she would die of embarrassment if Winnie screamed like that again.

Beatrice stood. The knee of her jeans was ripped, and not in the on-purpose way. Blood trickled from a gash in her palm, but otherwise, she was okay. “I’m fine.”

Wild-eyed, Winnie said, “It’s a miracle. The first one. ”

Still flustered, Beatrice tugged at the suddenly-too-tight neck of her T-shirt. She just needed to get out of here, that was all. But a couple of women hovered behind Winnie, the barista peering around them.

The two men running the woodchipper raced toward them.

“Jesus, lady,” one said. “I’m so fucking sorry. I have no idea how that happened.”

The other man gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I can’t believe it. How did—Rick, should we call the supervisor?”

Wait, were they teasing her? Why would they do that? “Seriously?”

The guy named Rick said again, “I’m so sorry.”

They were serious, apparently, which made her fall even more embarrassing. “Okay, yeah, I normally know how gravity works, I swear. I felt a—no, I must have tripped somehow. But I didn’t break anything. I don’t need a supervisor or an ambulance. Sorry to worry you.”

“Oh,” said Winnie. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

Belatedly, Beatrice realized that the gathering crowd wasn’t looking at her. Instead, they were staring at the chair she’d been sitting in.

Or rather, at the three-foot-long metal blade that had ripped through the chair’s chrome back, sinking deeply into the wooden wall behind it.

“Where did that come from? What… is that?”

Rick said, “It’s a reversible double-sided blade for that side-discharge chipper over there.” He pointed one thick finger across the street at the chipper. “I’ve been working this kind of machine for twenty years, and nothin’ like this has ever happened.”

He reached toward the metal, but the other man stammered, “N-no, leave it there. Let Pete deal with it when he gets here. I’ll get photos. Insurance is going to need it.”

“But I’m not hurt,” Beatrice said weakly.

Rick rubbed a meaty hand over his scalp. “Thank god for that. But we’re going to have to pay for this wall. And the chair. But—whew.” He literally wiped sweat off his forehead. “I’m just glad we won’t have to pay for damage to… you.”

Damage.

They sure as hell wouldn’t have been paying her medical bills. The blade had sliced through the metal chair as if it were paper, embedding itself at least six inches into the wall.

One more second of sitting in the chair, or one more second of standing where she’d been standing, and she’d have either been decapitated or cut clean through at her belly button. Her hands moved to touch her neck, then the part of her T-shirt that covered her belly button.

“Goddamn miracle,” said the man who wasn’t Rick, before turning away to talk to his supervisor on the phone.

Beatrice didn’t believe in miracles. She believed in science, and math, and facts. Sometimes a full solar eclipse or a warm-from-the-vine tomato could feel like a miracle, but otherwise, no. Her hands trembled as she smoothed back her hair. “Well, if you don’t need me—”

“Hang on, lady, we might,” said Rick.

Winnie stepped forward. “Do you see her? She’s as pale as the ghost your little machine almost made her.”

“For the paperwork…”

“For the paperwork, you find her. Beatrix, you got a card? Give it to him.”

“It’s Beatrice.” She fished a business card out of her bag. After she handed it over, Winnie tugged her into a close hug. For a moment, Beatrice was freaked out enough that it felt good to be held.

Then it just felt weird. She extricated herself. “Thought you couldn’t touch me.”

“Eh. I’ve already felt the worst from you. Now, a drink,” said Winnie. “Down at the bar. I’m buying.”

Beatrice’s voice shook. “I need to get a couple of things from the store, and it’s time to check in, I think. At my hotel.” I need to lie down.

“Rain check, then. You’ve got one more miracle coming today, don’t forget. Later, a drink, yeah?”

She nodded, although there wouldn’t be a later. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she straightened her back as she walked away from the group. It took another two blocks to realize that she’d passed the general store.

Turning around, she heaved in a breath of the salty air.

Alive. She was alive. Even without believing in miracles, Beatrice was allowed to feel relief, wasn’t she? Was it gratitude that fluttered up her throat as she reached the market’s door and grabbed a basket?

You are afraid , said a voice deep inside her mind.

Shut up. I am not. Her own voice seemed just a little less sure, which was annoying as fuck, really.