Page 85 of Vengefully Matched

She slipped into the chair on the stand, trying to shake the feeling of guilt that came from sitting there. She was not guilty, but gravedirt could fade or be an ineffective batch; at times, witches had even been known to cultivate enough of an immunity to it to lie, as a master poisoner might do with a poison. And the guilt of Agatha being exposed to a kidnapping gnawed at her. She had to be free enough to make it right.

The only solution in this kind of an inquisition was much, much worse than gravedirt.

Judge Clay clapped her hands together, and leather cuffs braced Priscilla to the chair. “In case you pass out,” she said apologetically.

Thistlewinch rustled around in his pockets and pulled out a stoppered vial of purple liquid, murmuring a quick spell to check the expiration date.

“It’s been a good while since we’ve had case to use veronica flower extract. On account of, you know… the human rights objections to the terrible burning-alive feeling it induces along with the vision.”

Priscilla braced herself. She did know in theory, but she had to imagine it would feel worse than her mind could predict. Still, she was willing to brave torture for that woman.

He unstoppered the bottle and held it to her lips. It tasted unpleasant, slightly sweet and rubbery, like licking candy off tire tracks, and instead of an aftertaste, a corrosive burning spread through her chest.

That was just the first part. The spell wasn’t even set yet.

“Ostende the conference room of the North American Council of Witchery, noon to 2 p.m.” He snapped, and Priscilla’s body went rigid. This was going to be agony. Most magic did not take verbal spell work; the strength and intensity of this particular casting required not only one, but both participants in the spell to say it.

“Ostende,” she repeated, gritting her teeth already, and the searing, rippling heat radiated out from her chest, down her arms, up her neck, through her torso, her legs, until it felt as though she were being burned alive.

She let out a small shriek of pain before her body adjusted to the burning, and then a louder one when the full weight of the agony set in. Time stretched out, impossible to measure while the spell tore her apart psychically, and she had been screaming for so many seconds that her voice was hoarse, and then came the slight numbness, not enough to stop the burning, but just enough for her to compose herself to answer questions.

With deadly truth.

A sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead, and she screamed in agony again as she watched. A shadow Priscilla crawled up in front of her, forming into a transparent figure over a shadow cauldron. A shade of Agatha and of Otho joined her.

“What did you tell the Loculus to do?” Thistlewinch’s voice was thunderous. Shadow Priscilla leaned down and whispered softly to a gray version of the glass prison.

“To return to the Council and do my bidding.” Priscilla didn’t even try to stop the tears streaming down her face. The rivulets of them were a small relief from the pain.

“What did you intend it to do next?” Judge Thistlewinch peered at the shadow version of this afternoon.

“I would have transferred the command to the tribune.” Goddesses, it was like dying. Like someone had poured corrosive acid in her chest and it was spreading outward, fire consuming every bit of her in pain.

“Who kidnapped Agatha Vanderbilt Voisin?” Thistlewinch glared at the shades.

The shadows whirled as the Loculus took Agatha and vanished, leaving the shadow of Otho pointing at shadow Priscilla.

“I don’t know.” Prissy smiled, despite the agony. “But when I find out, I’m going to make them suffer tremendously.”

“Why were you looking at Agatha Vanderbilt Voisin?”

Agatha’s outline reappeared, and Priscilla’s turned toward it, leaning ever so slightly, feet pointed in Agatha’s direction.

“Because I’m in love with her.”

“Oop! Plot twist!” yelled Kevin, that asshole. Nancy elbowed him while Otho muttered something furious about his lack of decorum.

“Very well,” he said, snapping his fingers. The shadows vanished. The other judges looked at him and nodded.

“You’re clear to resume your role in the investigation, once that potion runs its course. Please report back to us as soon as you have any new information. Thank you all so much for your time.”

Priscilla was going to say something, but the agony of the spell ran its course completely, and instead, she slumped to the side, not the first witch unconscious in the progression of today’s events.

When she came to, Priscilla was in the break room, Nancy fanning at her face. Otho was bustling back in.

“Oh, thank goodness. Are you recovered?” Otho pulled at his bow tie.

Priscilla cracked her neck, stretching it from side to side. “I’ll be sore, but I’ll make it. We have to find the kidnapper.”