Page 96 of Vengefully Matched

By the time they’d made it into the office, grinning too enthusiastically at each other, Priscilla had practically forgotten her own name, let alone the pranks she had set up months earlier. So when the sparkler trap that she’d set months ago and completely forgotten about had gone off in the break room and singed Kevin’s hair a few hours after they returned, Priscilla knew that the conversation with the Council was not going to be as easy as she had hoped.

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” said Agatha. She didn’t look mad, just disappointed, and that was worse.

“I set this up months ago. I forgot it, I swear. I thought you were the only one who would touch the spare jar of orange marmalade. It’s just not a great flavor.” Priscilla made a face. No one in the office even liked orange marmalade other than Agatha, and how was Prissy to know that Kevin, in a fit of needing to be useful after relinquishing his temporary duties in the wake of Agatha’s return, would try to deep clean and organize the break room pantry?

Kevin frowned, wiping a speck of the offending spread from his face. “I don’t get paid enough to be burnt to a crisp and jammed.”

“We can talk about a raise,” said Agatha soothingly, and Kevin crossed his arms and sulked right out of the break room, muttering something unintelligible.

“Priscilla,” Agatha started, warning in her voice.

“I forgot it was even there.” Priscilla raised her hands in protest. “I swear, it has to be like six months old, maybe more.”

“I know. It’s fine. I get it. No more pranks, though.” Agatha ran a hand over her face.

“I promise.”

“Are there any others that we should know about?” Those blue eyes were sharp. Demanding.

Priscilla racked her brain. The problem was, she’d set up so many pranks, and Agatha hadn’t always told her when they went off. There had been many a time over the past eight months that she didn’t see it, but found out when she checked to see that the hex itself was gone.

She really didn’t want to come clean about that—they had just had such a hot, beautiful morning—but she didn’t think she had much of a choice.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I set up so many, and I didn’t always know when they went off. I think you either hid or didn’t notice the effects of some. Or they got someone else.”

Agatha rubbed her fingers against her temple.

“We can talk about this after I debrief with Otho and Kevin. I need to loop in the mundane mayor, and then we need to talk pranks. This isn’t great timing, what with an actual unknown criminal on the loose. I can’t afford to have clowns popping out of closets and trip wires going off when I’m trying to solve an international magic incident.”

“I would never stoop to clowns,” said Priscilla, aghast. “And I’m sure it’s normal pranking. Look. I’m sorry. I am. But can you honestly tell me you didn’t set any pranks up for me that I haven’t discovered? That you kept track of everything you set up?”

She knew as soon as she saw Agatha’s frown that the answer there was yes.

Shit.

“I,” said Agatha, drawing herself up to full height, “am the president of the North American Council of Witchery. I would not participate in business so messy as setting and forgetting hexes. I admit to a lack of maturity in going tit for tat when your pranks did land, but I certainly kept track of everything and was careful to make sure nothing interfered with any other Council members besides you.”

Dread and guilt pooled in Priscilla’s stomach. “I am sorry,” she repeated.

“Just…” Agatha rubbed her temple again. “Just make a list of all of the pranks you’ve pulled, and all of the attempted arson and assassination, and see what’s left that we should look out for, and if there are any patterns.” Fuck. Priscilla wasn’t actually sure she’d be able to remember every prank, but this seemed like a bad time to say so.

“Do you want me to come with you to talk to Mayor Khalil?”

“I do not,” said Agatha, voice edged with frost. “Regardless of any other things, this is work.”

It made Priscilla want to tear her hairs out one by one, but she returned to her desk to try to make a list of all the pranks she’d set up, growing increasingly embarrassed as the list went on, and she found herself truly unable to keep track of everything she had set into motion. And to tell the truth, when she looked at them altogether, the list was damning.

At the time, she’d thought she was just giving as good as she got, that this was a healthy, friendly, and yes, at times, flirty competition.

But she was beginning to suspect that she had, in fact, taken it too far. Especially if Agatha found out that she had been meeting with the mundane mayor on her own, well, that wouldn’t be good. It was absolutely in the interest of magical-human diplomacy, and Agatha would eventually understand, she was sure.

And yet, looking at a growing list of pranks that involved light pyrotechnics, permanent markers, an ungodly quantity of baby oil, and—fine—a regrettable arrangement involving a colony of fire ants that she could not for the life of her remember where she’d rigged the hex to go off, she was beginning to feel like a petulant child.

Priscilla had been so sure that she was mature, that she was making clear decisions, that her penchant for pranking was just personality and not age.

And it wasn’t exactly the pranking that was the problem; it was the impact. It was that she ought not to have taken her role in the Council for granted. She ought to have pulled her head out of her ass long enough to see that in all her fraught ambitions to be president, she wasn’t even taking her job seriously enough to avoid childish antics.

She was a damn good Council member. But that was somewhat dampened by the fact that she was also acting out with a series of magical mishaps and mayhem to avoid the truth.