Page 64 of Vengefully Matched

Connie smiled even wider. “Are we friends now? That’s nice. Now, be quiet and concentrate on what you need.”

Priscilla was tempted to blow it off, to act as though it was silly or beneath her, but she didn’t want to damage her fragile new friendship with Connie now that she was finally improving. She liked her work for the Council, and she absolutely adored the feeling of success here. She might be a mistress of the dark who enjoyed a fair bit of pain, but truth be told, she did enjoy praise too.

She inhaled and thought of Agatha. The Council. Her house. Everything she loved.

Fuck. Everything she loved.

Connie gave her a funny look, eyes shifting gray and misty for a moment, and then back to normal.

She pulled a card, and then another, and then a third.

“A basic three-card spread,” she explained, peering down at them and nodding sagely, like the ornate little things held the key to the universe.

She pointed at the first. “The Magician.” A sweeping gold figure eight made of a snake eating its own tail circled the illustration of a curly-haired mage in a cape, pretty in the face, androgynous, and holding a magic wand. A pentacle sat in the upper right corner and a goblet in the upper left, and lining the sides were flowers—peonies, maybe.

“Ah,” said Connie. “You’re the master of the elements. Successful, confident, and already possessing all the tools you need for your trade.” She paused, cocking her head, eyes fading gray again for a moment. “Just remember, dearie: as above, so below.” Priscilla shivered. That felt a little bit ominous.

She pointed at the next card. “Five of Swords.” Her eyebrows rose. “Betrayal, selfishness, entitlement.” A boy sat on a mountain, head in hand, five blades splayed out beside him.

“I ran for the presidency fair and square, and I didn’t betray anyone,” Priscilla muttered.

“The cards aren’t always so literal. Not necessarily you, of course. Someone close to you.” She frowned. She was absolutely certain that Agatha wouldn’t betray her. Unless the realness of the feelings was too one-sided. That would be a sort of betrayal.

“Let’s get it over with,” Priscilla said, not liking the chill to the air that reminded her that there was real, actual magic afoot here.

“The last card. The Hanged Man.” The golden edges once again flourished, and hanging from the ceiling was a blond woman, a rope around one foot, the other curled welcomingly by her thigh. She held the rope in her own hands, staring up at it, hand behind her back.

She looked familiar, but Priscilla reminded herself that people often saw what they were looking for in this sort of reading.

“Well, that can’t be good.” A hanging never was; witches would know.

“Things are rarely as simple as just what they are. The Hanged Man means it’s time for change. Time to throttle the old ways, and let in the new. Is there something, maybe someone, that you feel the urge to give yourself over to? Surrender, if so.” Connie squinted at the card. “That’s funny,” she mused. “I never noticed it about this card before, but does she look a bit like your Council president to you?”

“Oh no,” said Priscilla. “It’s time for me to go,” and then the ringing of her phone startled her. She jumped and pulled out the phone.

Agatha’s name was glaringly large on the screen, and she refused to look at Connie. Oracles could be so fucking smug sometimes.

She held up a hand to Connie. “It really is an emergency. Sorry! I’ll be in touch,” she said.

Connie smirked and waved her off, and she slid out of the bench seat and opened the door, answering the phone once she was close enough to the car to assume Constance Witherspoon was not listening in.

“Hello?”

“Priscilla.” Agatha sounded relieved. “Something’s come up at the Council. You need to get down here.”

Fear gathered in her stomach. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. But I checked the vaults. The elixir is gone. Someone did break in. I knew they had, but seeing it reminded me how urgent this is. We have to find the thief.”

“Only a Council witch could do that.” The realization chilled her. She’d considered this, but it was more awful to have it confirmed.

“Exactly,” said Agatha, her voice barely above a whisper. “And the only person I’m sure it isn’t is you, but I think whoever did it wants to set you up.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, they can’t get into the vaults unless they work here. But right before I came down here, Kevin was on the receiving end of a prank that seemed like one of yours.”

Something warm rose to Priscilla’s chest, and she tried not to examine it too closely.