Page 97 of Vengefully Matched

Sometimes, enough was enough, and the joking to avoid dealing with real feelings, particularly after breaking her engagement, might no longer be a healthy coping strategy.

Priscilla had braced herself for the kind of apology she needed to make to Agatha. She had practiced it in her head, reciting it, tweaking the words prettily until it was gracious and thoughtful, and conveyed exactly how much she had grown to appreciate Agatha, not just as a friend and lover, but as a fellow councilwoman. As the head of the Council.

The door to the conference room opened, and Priscilla’s first instinct was to think that perhaps the room itself was cursed, for Agatha’s face was thunderous. Kevin looked oddly smug, and Otho was wringing his hands the way he did when he was nervous.

“Priscilla.” Agatha’s hands were on her hips, her face stern. Her eyes were narrowed, and she swallowed, as though thinking hard on the next words out of her mouth. “Did you continue to meet with the mundane mayor in secret to talk about a potential crossover initiative to end Loculus use permanently in North America? Because I’m certain that you’re aware that’s a gross violation of what I asked you to do.”

Shit. Shit. She’d forgotten about that, and she had meant to tell Agatha, because the mayor had such a good idea that would help support banning the Loculus, and pitch the concept that witches, instead of working so hard on the finicky portal magic, would overall benefit from high-speed rail lines and investment in universal infrastructure to reduce pollution and improve mass transit. The Loculus was a terrible idea based on the number of mundane sightings of it, spawning hundreds of conspiracy theories about the thing, and the portaling just didn’t seem necessary when they ought to be looking toward bullet trains, community carpooling initiatives, and other options that would cut down on consumption and save the world that magical and nonmagical people alike lived in. He’d helped her put together an entire report, and the proposal for local trail revitalization and travel initiatives that would use the best of mundane technology to create jobs for witches and mundanes alike. It was going to be a surprise, but she could obviously see how it did not look good in this moment.

“Priscilla?” It was Otho this time. “Is this true?”

“Yes. But I can explain.”

Otho sighed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to recommend the president convene an emergency Council meeting. I’ll need to reach through the proper channels for portaling approval, and then I will see everyone in the Council chambers in twenty minutes.”

Priscilla turned to Agatha, waiting for her to shut it down.

But Agatha only nodded. “Approved. Call the meeting.”

CHAPTER 32 Agatha

The tittering conversations inundated her from all sides at the Council room table, and her head ached. The past forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind of criminal activity, criminally hot activity, and now the potential criminality of her beloved. She had not even managed to say those three small words to this woman, and now she needed to formally reprimand her for undermining Council initiatives in what might actually be a fireable offense.

She was fucked.

“Order,” Agatha yelled. She hadn’t meant to yell, but it was fair to say that her temper was dancing a thinner line than usual. She’d had many showdowns with Priscilla Hart in these chambers, just none that had also involved her too-quickly-beating heart begging her to forget her duties as councilwoman and president and forgive the woman on account of that thing she did with her tongue.

Which was, obviously, not an option.

“I said come to order,” she repeated, and whether it was the cold clip of her tone, the slight spark of unused magic flickering around her, or the flashing of her eyes, the room went so silent that she could hear the pen Kevin dropped. The monstera plant in the corner shuddered so loudly she could feel the breeze of its fronds waving.

“Oopsie daisy.” He giggled, eyelashes fluttering, bending down to pick it back up. “Just getting ready to take minutes—carry on.”

Agatha strongly considered magicking a portal into the floor so that she could fall onto it rather than deal with this.

She counted to ten in her head, listing facts to ground herself. Sea turtles laid about 115 eggs in each clutch, but only about one in one thousand sea turtles survived to adulthood. That meant every living sea turtle beat incredible odds, and so could Agatha.

She took another breath.

“Priscilla Guinevere Hart,” she thundered.

“I see we’re mad enough to use middle names,” said Priscilla. At the look on Agatha’s face, she added quickly, “Understandable. I would be too. If you’ll only let me explain, maybe just to you.”

“No. That’s entirely inappropriate. Explain now. Here. In front of the entire Council. And no more ridiculous jokes or shenanigans.” She frowned. This was not a time for personal affairs. This was a serious, whole-Council issue, and Priscilla needed to know it.

Priscilla’s face went a little bit white, and she nodded. “I can do that. Tell me what you need from me.”

Mathilda Alvarez looked over at Priscilla with her mouth hanging open slightly. They were friends, and Agatha knew in this moment that whatever she was to Priscilla, fake girlfriend in public, real lover in private, her friends were not aware of it. They had faked a relationship, and certainly Mathilda would have heard about it, but Prissy clearly hadn’t talked to her about it.

This filled Agatha with a deep sense of hot shame. Priscilla’s own friends did not see her as capable of bending to another person’s needs. And here she was, thinking that they had real feelings.

But Priscilla was bending, showing her affection, her vulnerability here, in front of everyone, and Mattie’s stricken expression was evidence enough of the marvel of that, and Agatha found herself wondering if it meant anything.

“Close your mouth, Councilwoman Alvarez. You look like a fish,” said Otho.

She’d forgotten how prickly he could be when agitated.

“Councilman Ashbrooke, there is no need for insults. Let’s keep this civil and as short as possible.” She fixed him with a stare.