Page 92 of Vengefully Matched

Agatha tried to stand, Priscilla following, but when she swayed and long arms caught her, she remembered just how agonizing coming down from the high of being spelled like that was.

The pain ached in her head, but her whole body felt wrong, like she was looking at the world through a fuzzy filter, like a camera lens that needed to be cleaned.

“It will get better with sleep,” murmured Priscilla. “Come on. Let me get you in the car, and you can get some rest on the way.”

“We have things to do,” she protested as she climbed into the Packard, leaning into that lemon-mint scent as Prissy buckled her in anyway. “All I remember is being cracked in the head in the conference room, and I have no idea who took me, or what happened.”

“Are you safe? Are you—does anything hurt?”

She shook her head. “I think I’m okay. I have no idea what happened to me, but I have a hunch that it’s not about me as much as it is the Council. I think we may all be in grave danger. We should go straight to work.”

“Running ragged when you’re in no condition to do so won’t stop that,” Priscilla said, and she did have a point. Agatha was so tired, and in so much pain, that there was no possible way she could be of any use like this.

“I guess they will be able to search based on what we know, and I can brief everyone tomorrow.” She admitted it reluctantly, feeling the weight of truth like a blanket after more than twenty-four hours of deception.

“ ‘I’ll take care of it. Sleep, Agatha,” said Priscilla. “We can do all the things in the morning.” Priscilla’s hands were in her hair, stroking gently, and then the car was in motion, the feel of it so soothing that some of the agony of the past day slipped away, lulling her toward slumber.

Usually, Agatha could never sleep with a to-do list like the one her brain was building, but goddess, she was tired. The memory magic and the curative tea were both exhausting, draining, and the little stream still trickled outside as they drove away, soothing, calming. She found herself drifting, swiftly on her way to being fast asleep.

CHAPTER 30 Agatha

She had a list of things to do immediately upon her return to the Council, and, thanks to Priscilla’s incredible foresight, among other skills, she also had a planner and a set of pens in an assortment of bright colors.

But after she woke up groggy and then made a few phone calls halfway through the drive home, she hadn’t been able to put pen to paper, even though it was impeccably beautiful college-ruled paper, and the pens were her favorite, the gel kind that wrote smoothly and crisply, capturing each turn of the tight cursive she preferred.

All she wanted to do was talk to Priscilla.

She looked over at Priscilla, who had one hand on the wheel and one fiddling with her long black braid, pulled over her right shoulder.

“Thanks again for the pens,” she said.

“Of course,” said Priscilla. “You know, Vickie has your favorite set. She was touching them every hour for me, to reassure me that she couldn’t summon your ghost. So I’d know you were still alive.”

“Oh, chérie. I’m sorry that you had to worry.” Agatha had been thinking about that. “I don’t think whoever captured me wanted me to die. I think they wanted me out of the way, hidden in plain sight. I think my magic helped influence where I ended up in a way that you could find me. I am beginning to suspect the spell was intended to make sure that I would have become an actual adjunct, forgotten I had powers, and drifted into mundane obscurity.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Priscilla. “And I’m not sure what it means about the plans of whoever is behind this.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Agatha knew she should focus on the case, but focus was hard when she also wanted to talk about her feelings.

“I want to talk to you about us,” she began.

Priscilla’s eyes lit up, dancing in the Vermont starlight streaming through the windshield.

“I think we would be quite excellent,” said Priscilla, waggling her eyebrows.

“Yes. Phenomenal. Mind-blowing. Literally magical.” Agatha sighed, biting her lip at just the memory of the library.

“But?”

“No but.” Agatha ran a hand through her hair, catching her fingers on a tangle, rubbing her thumb against her fingers to rectify the oversight. “No but. Just that I wanted to check in and make sure that’s what you want.”

“Don’t make me pull this car over. You are exquisite,” said Priscilla, emphasizing the last word lasciviously enough that Agatha squeezed her thighs together. “You’re a fucking work of art, Agatha. A goddess divine. I don’t just want. I need.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “You too,” she managed weakly.

“Say more.” Priscilla raised both hands to the wheel, steering them through a particularly sharp turn, and that made it easier, that her focus was on the road.

“I haven’t done it before. With a woman. I know I can be a lot. Exacting. Overly dedicated to plans and scheduling. I know all of that about me. I just want to make sure that when we do it, if you have any feedback, you know that I take great notes. You can tell me.”