Page 52 of Vengefully Matched

“Oh dear,” said Hank, shaking his head. “I am a drag queen, my darlings, which means that I am as close to made of magic as one could possibly be without actually being magical. You think I can’t spot a lovely family of witches when I see one?”

He turned to Priscilla, gaze softening. “You think I didn’t know from the moment that I met Persephone Hart that there was something magical about your lovely mother?”

To Agatha’s shock, Priscilla’s face crumpled. Maybe this delightfully flamboyant man had struck a nerve, maybe the finger hurt her more than she realized, or perhaps some combination of both, but when he held out his arms, Priscilla Hart, the impenetrable fortress of solitude and sternness, dove in for a hug, and sobbed softly, muffled by his billowing sleeves.

Agatha felt herself watch Priscilla, unsure how to identify the emotion spreading through her chest like ink on water. When she turned to Dotty, the woman was looking at her, gaze knowing and sympathetic.

“Come along, President Vanderbilt Voisin. It seems the cat’s out of the bag in more ways than one, and we can get started on some of the bigger cleaning projects.”

“Right,” said Agatha, tearing her gaze away. “Right, I’ll have to arrange to teleport these chainsaw bits back to the Council storage as safely as possible. I just need to make a quick call to my assistant.”

“You can use my office, dear,” said Dotty, smiling and patting Agatha on the shoulder. “I’ll get started with patching up the broken glass.”

She made her way into the little office, which was charming and snug, and then for a moment she sat silently before bending over and crying quietly into her hands.

It was possible she’d felt more in one afternoon than she’d ever felt in all her years, which was truly saying something, because the depth of agony at Jonathan’s breakup speech was up there in ranking, as was the glory of winning Council president.

Somehow, almost losing Priscilla Hart was more than all of that combined.

CHAPTER 16 Priscilla

“How’s your finger?” Kevin asked delicately, eying the offending digit as though it might explode.

They sat at the casket-shaped table near the back of Hopelessly Teavoted, the one with the deep, cozy velvet chairs that Priscilla favored.

“Much better.” It had been two weeks since the surgery to close the wound, and her finger was healing nicely, even if it would still be some time before she’d feel comfortable administering a well-timed shocker.

Not that she had any reason to slide fingers into anyone’s orifices lately.

Just that, if the need arose, she would definitely use the right hand to be safe.

Across from her, Kevin cleared his throat. “You know, I was determined to hate you after the bad business with Evelyn.”

She stiffened. “And?”

He shrugged. “Water under the bridge. Then I was determined to hate you when you tried to steal me from Agatha. Honestly, it’s an honor to be the assistant to the president.” He smiled, that million-watt thing that seemed to turn people to mush. “But once I saw how badly you were burned, and then the whole finger business, well, I can see now that you’re trying to get by, just like the rest of us.”

It pissed her off, to be honest. His kindness. His stupid smile. His proximity to Agatha. It was possible she was also grumpy after being sliced and burned and then relieved of half a digit, though.

Still, part of her wanted to steal him away to keep him from being around Agatha too much, just in case.

It wasn’t the nicest thing she’d ever done, meeting with Kevin before her appointment with the mundane mayor. She was just checking in; that was normal to do as a Council member.

But part of her? Part of her still toyed with the idea of trying to poach him.

It wasn’t a proud part, but surely it couldn’t hurt to build a bridge in case he was serious about crossing it. And she definitely would feel better knowing that he wasn’t working late nights with Agatha, staring into her pretty blue eyes and cracking jokes.

She wanted to stare into those eyes, and she wanted to crack those jokes, and for fuck’s sake, if she had to try to steal Agatha’s assistant to make it happen, she wasn’t above that.

Though a nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that losing an assistant would be extremely hard on Agatha.

Was this all a workaround way for her to justify trying to steal back the presidency too? She didn’t trust herself not to be an asshole. Almost, but not quite.

“I’m so happy that you made time for little old me.” Kevin pressed his hand to his heart, staring at her across the table from their spot in the corner of Hopelessly Teavoted.

“One decaf macchiato with five pumps of hazelnut.” Vickie set it in front of Kevin. “And an iced honeycomb latte.”

Priscilla picked up her drink, not bothering to hide the relief in her face when she sucked down the first sip.