Page 60 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

I don’t know what happens when you pass over. I only have some guesses. But I have to say, I think it might turn out to be a good time.

—Evie Oxby, in conversation with Michelle Obama

It wasn’t like in the movies, at least not as far as she could tell. Beatrice didn’t wake up in the hospital with a small moan, only to spend long minutes figuring out where she was by puzzling over the beeps and IV lines.

No, she woke up hard and fast and loud .

And she woke up so panicked that it took two nurses and one grumpy-looking orderly to hold her in the bed that first time. She couldn’t scream. Had they taken her voice completely? But she knew exactly where she was—a hospital. And she knew what she wanted—to get out of it as fast as possible.

Apparently after a major skin graft to her upper thigh, getting out quickly wasn’t an option.

Every time she woke up punching things, they slipped another cocktail into her IV and she slept again.

The sleep wasn’t restful, though. Desperately, she wanted that deliciously lightweight nothing-feeling of the in-between place she’d shared with Cordelia.

Instead, she got nightmares and hallucinations.

Taurus loomed over her, the tattoo gun rattled, and Minna stopped breathing over and over again.

But in between punching sessions and nightmares, sometimes she had a few minutes of holding someone’s hand.

Sometimes it was her father’s hand. She’d never seen him cry, not even when Naya had died. Then, his eyes had just been red all the time with the heat of unshed tears. Now? He cried. Then he laughed. Then he cried again.

Once, it was Iris. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said. “Oh, babe, I’m so glad you’re alive. Don’t ever do that to us again, you hear me?”

Sometimes the person next to her when she woke up was Cordelia. Her sister.

Her sister.

Cordelia held her hand the way Beatrice would have held Cordelia’s, had her twin been in the bed.

She got confused occasionally, thinking Cordelia was in the bed and she, Beatrice, was sitting with her as she recuperated.

They talked constantly, Beatrice nodding and murmuring, her voice becoming stronger as Cordelia spoke.

At first, they talked about Taurus and saving Minna, turning it over again and again, making sure they hadn’t missed a single detail.

It turned out Beatrice still liked to understand things.

“But it was out of order,” insisted Beatrice. “Seven miracles, and then I would die. That didn’t happen. It was six miracles, then I died, then a miracle let me come back.” What if it had all gone wrong because of the wrong order, and she was only a moment from losing everything again?

It was Evie Oxby, of all people, who cleared it up.

She and Cordelia were in the same Facebook group (Beatrice had boggled).

I didn’t say seven miracles and then she’d die.

I told her “You’re going to experience seven miracles.

And you will die.” I honestly didn’t think the order would matter that much.

In the end, the order had been perfect.

Eventually, Beatrice and Cordelia talked about other things, from their favorite childhood foods (they’d both loved Top Ramen with the addition of frozen peas), to the make and color of their first cars (used purple Honda Civics).

But even when they stopped talking, the conversation didn’t cease.

For Beatrice, just being next to Cordelia felt like a discussion.

It was the conversation she had come back to keep having.

When she was strong enough to ask what had happened, Cordelia said, “Reno was the one who brought you back. I was busy being with you in the middle space, and Astrid was busy casting spell after spell of healing and protection on both you and Minna. But Reno started CPR instantly. She didn’t let up until the paramedics got there.

A firefighter had to physically tear her off of you so someone else could take over. ”

But Reno didn’t visit. Beatrice never woke up to find that Reno was the one holding her hand.

Sometimes, though, even Astrid came. No hand-holding, of course.

The first few times, they sat together in awkward silence until Astrid said briskly, “Well, I left a concoction for you on your tray. See if that male nurse will give it to you with your water—he’s sensitive enough that he might be on our team.

Or just tell him it’s powdered electrolytes; I don’t care. ”

The next time she visited, Astrid brought the grimoire with her.

“Thought I might read you some spells. Tell you what I think of them. How to do them right.” Relieved, Beatrice nodded, and as Astrid told her how to warm raindrops on a chilly day, she realized that maybe she was a tiny bit like her mother. Maybe.

One afternoon, as Beatrice came out of a nap, she opened her eyes to see Astrid staring at her, with tears running down her face.

Unable to stop herself, Beatrice held out her hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

Astrid grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You don’t even know for what.” Astrid sniffed. “I could be sorry for giving you that rather crooked top lip.”

“I love my crooked top lip.” Beatrice was saying something else, of course.

And Astrid heard it. She nodded. “I’m glad.” She stood and gave her one swift kiss on the forehead. “I’m very, very glad.” The moment of vulnerability passed like a summer thunderstorm, and Astrid swept dramatically away, leaving the scent of cinnamon and cranberry in her wake.

Winnie came by and gave her a tarot reading.

She said when the Death card came up that it only meant change, and Beatrice just laughed, choosing to believe her.

What choice did she have? Fritz was with her, and the besotted looks they tossed each other were so wholesome, they helped Beatrice’s stitches itch less.

Keelia came by to give her the Book Concierge.

She spent an hour getting Beatrice’s reading preferences, and then she brought book after book, laughing when Beatrice insisted that she hadn’t even gotten through the preface of the last one she’d left.

“You won’t always sleep this much. Never too many books.

Oh, I just thought of two more you need to read! I’ll bring those tomorrow.”

Often, Minna was there. When Beatrice awoke to her niece, Minna always gave a small, shrill scream before racing into the hallway to yell at any nurse who might be passing by, “ She’s awake!

” Then she’d scuttle back and refuse to let go of Beatrice’s hand while the staff did the things they had to do.

Best was when Minna didn’t ask her a single question, just rattled on about everything and nothing.

Still finding it hard to talk in those first few days, Beatrice raised a hand, waggling her fingers in the air.

Minna got it immediately. “You want your nails done? Oh, my god, yes. I’ll do them today!

The solar system! You want the solar system?

I did that on Olive’s nails yesterday and it looks amazing.

” Minna clutched Beatrice’s hand in her own, crushing it with excitement, and Beatrice was instantly dragged back to sleep from the sheer exhaustion of the joy running through her body.

A few days later, when Minna was next to her, reading a fantasy novel in a library dust jacket, Beatrice spoke through chapped lips. “What if I called myself Beatrix?”

Minna dropped the book into her lap. “I love that name. But I thought you preferred Beatrice. Wait, why are you asking me?”

Beatrice’s hospital gown felt tight around her neck. “Because it would be me going back to a birth name. Kind of the opposite of what you had to do to become who you really are.”

“Would calling yourself Beatrix feel more authentic to who you are?”

Beatrice balances budgets, color-codes Post-its, and can’t see what’s in front of her.

Beatrix chants spells, communicates with the dead, and saves her loved ones from destruction.

“Maybe?”

“Then try it.” Minna’s expression fell. “Um, I’ve been meaning to say. I’m really sorry I lied to you. About all that stuff I did.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“You do?” She blinked.

“I do.”

A huge grin was Beatrix’s reward. Minna said, “I could still call you Aunt Bea, but I could also call you Auntie Trix, and that would be even better.”

Beatrix it was, then. She’d explain it to people later, when she was stronger again.

Reno would probably like it.

Not that she was worrying about what Reno thought of her name.

Not really.

Then, one morning, right when she was about to give up hope, Beatrix opened her eyes. She felt warmer and better than she had so far.

Reno was—finally—the one holding her hand.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Beatrix. She’d done more than that—she’d tried the Push-Me-Pull-You a few days before. It hadn’t worked, maybe because Reno hadn’t been there to physically pull? It had just left her exhausted.

“Here I am,” said Reno.

“Where were you?”

“Close by. I told you. I’d been waiting.”

Her heart rate sped up. Embarrassing, since they could both hear it beeping on the monitor behind them. “For me?”

Reno nodded. “And I almost lost you.” She rubbed her chest. “Wasn’t sure I could trust myself to handle that.”

Beatrix squeezed her hand. “I trust you.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let me go again, then.”

With a duck of her head, Reno said, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“Apology accepted. I’m sorry I kept things from you.”

Reno’s acceptance was in her kiss, which was soft and controlled, with the assurance of hard and wild to come. Beatrix, if asked, would have ranked it her best kiss ever, but she wasn’t asked, so she just kept kissing Reno in relief and joy and the promise of something much, much deeper.

And of course, Minna tumbled into the room just as that promise started to heat up.

“Oh, no! Ew!”

Reno pulled her head away but stayed close to the bed, her fingers firmly entangled with Beatrix’s. “You have the worst timing.”

Minna stuck out her tongue. “And you have the best timing apparently. Aunt Bea, did you know the paramedics told Reno that her CPR was, like, perfect? I saw on TikTok that ‘About Damn Time’ by Lizzo is 109 beats per minute, which is perfect timing for compressions. Were you thinking of that?”

“I absolutely was not,” said Reno. “But it’s good to know.”

“Auntie, did you know she gave you mouth-to-mouth, too? Shades of Sleeping Beauty, right? Although we might have to chat about enthusiastic consent again.”

Reno dropped a slow wink toward Beatrix. “I will hereby respond only to Prince Charming from here on out.”

Cordelia pushed her way past the hanging curtain into the room. “I fucking hate Disney.” She smiled at Beatrix and dropped a bag on a chair. “You look bright today.”

Astrid was right on her heels, apparently finishing up a complaint about the smell of bleach in the elevator. “I’ll just take the stairs next time. And I’m going to write the board a letter.”

“Have fun with that,” said Cordelia. “Where’s Dad?”

Something jolted inside Beatrix’s chest. Cordelia was referring to Mitchell as Dad now? And Astrid… would know the answer to that question? They’d told Beatrix she’d been in the hospital about a week—how had that been enough time for all of these changes?

Holy hell, was Astrid actually blushing? “He went to get us bagels.”

Cordelia humphed. “Went to get her a bagel, she means.”

“Well.” Astrid tried to plump the pillow that was still caught behind Beatrix’s head. “He might be less of an idiot than I thought.”

“Oh, my god,” said Beatrix.

Astrid snapped, “At least swear to the goddess, can’t you?”

Minna perched carefully at the foot of the bed on the side of Beatrix’s good leg. “Your dad is really nice.”

There was so much behind those words, an echo of her loss.

“I’m so sorry,” said Beatrix. “I really am.”

Minna straightened. “I know. But I never knew my father. He would have killed me and destroyed my soul.”

So I did the same to him. The thought still frightened Beatrix though she regretted nothing. “Still. You deserved a better father.”

Minna looked at her nails, now painted bright blue, as blue as the sky. Her expression shifted, sliding to something softer, sadder. “I… I got my power from my father, so I kind of want to know what I can do about that.”

Cordelia had begun balling a skein of yarn, but her head shot up. “Ex cuse me?”

“You said.” Minna looked past her mother, fixing her eyes on Astrid. “You said their power was patrilineal and passed down through the males in a family. So that might… that might be a good thing, right? Like, maybe I can learn to combine my powers with the ones you taught me?”

“Oh, screw that —” started Cordelia.

But Astrid held her hand. “Our power is matrilineal.”

“I know, Gran—”

“I said , Minna, our power is matrilineal, and our power is passed from female to female.” Her voice was fierce.

“Your strength comes from all the women who came before you. The twin power your mother and aunt share is strong, but mark my words, you’ll be the strongest woman of all of us. Never, ever doubt that, child.”

A lump rose in Beatrix’s throat.

Careful not to jostle Beatrix’s legs, Minna stood and threw her arms around Astrid. “Love you, Gran.”

Astrid gave her a swift peck on the cheek. “Obviously. Cordelia, did you bring that embroidered sigil you flubbed last night for me to fix?”

If one wasn’t looking closely, as Beatrix was, one could easily miss the fact that Cordelia had tears in her eyes as she reached for her project bag. “Yeah, Mom. I did.”

“Who sent those flowers?” Instantly recovered, Minna was bouncing around the room touching things, as usual. “They’re hyyooooge .”

“Grant and Dulcina.”

Cordelia’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.”

“It’s fine. I love orchids in a bouquet mix.” On Naya’s hot pepper scale, she’d felt the anger of a bell pepper dipped in mayonnaise when they’d been delivered.

Minna smelled the unscented orchid and wrinkled her nose. “They don’t smell like anything, but they sure are gorgeous.”

“Agreed. So. What’s next, then?” Beatrix wasn’t addressing anyone in particular. She just liked a plan. Reno’s hand was still warm in Beatrix’s, solid and real and perfect.

“Well.” Astrid scowled at a tangle of embroidery floss. “You have a lot to learn.”

“Thank goddess,” said Beatrix Holland.