Page 21 of Vengefully Matched

For a moment, Priscilla’s long, elegant fingers slid up, cupping the hand touching her pulse point. The edge of her mouth curled into a smirk, and she sat up, a cat about to pounce.

Agatha dropped her hand at the clatter of Kevin setting the first aid box down on the floor and yanking out a magical contraption that could check for broken bones.

BLEEP, it blared—BLEEP, a second time, clearing Hart, and then Agatha, but the moment was gone, shattered by the beeping and the incessant chatter of Kevin.

“Well, ladies, that was lucky—that you didn’t break anything, I mean, obviously not lucky that the office exploded, assuming you didn’t mean to be in there when that went off, did you?”

He levied a sharp glare at Hart, whose eyes widened. Either she was an excellent actress, or she truly had not been the perpetrator of this particular trap.

“Why,” she began, wincing a little, prodding her wrist, and then snapping her fingers twice until her face relaxed, “why the heavens would I explode myself? If I had anything to do with this, why would I have walked in there with her?”

“Miscalculation,” said Kevin, tone still accusatory as he stood up and offered a hand to Agatha, leaving Hart to get up on her own. Kevin’s defense of her was noble, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t wonder if the person trying to off her was her fellow councilwoman. Could she have misread their rivalry? Was it of a more deadly nature?

A cluster of interns and Council members had gathered, watching the tense exchange.

“I would never do this to my Aya Muse set.” She gestured to a gaping hole in the right thigh, opposite from that befuddlingly hot slit up the other side. “This is almost the exact outfit Aubrey Plaza wore to the Gotham Awards. I would never besmirch an homage to my personal style icon like that.” Agatha tried pointedly to ignore Hart’s thighs. Goddess, her thighs.

Kevin glared, tapping his hands together delicately, each finger meeting its match on the other side. The hole closed, the smoke and charring vanishing.

“You could have fixed it as easy as that,” he said primly.

Hart crossed her hands, brow furrowing. “It will never be the same,” she hissed, tugging at the fabric as though he had burned her.

“Easy,” said Agatha, raising her hands placatingly. “I’m sure we can all agree that something this serious requires a full investigation. Kevin,” she said, a tad sharper than she meant to, and his pretty face winced in surprise at her tone. “We don’t accuse people without evidence.”

“And she did get hurt pretty badly, too,” said Nancy. A year out of school at the University of Havenwall, she was already on track for a permanent Council position. Agatha had heard her tell the other interns that she wanted to apply for Kevin’s position when he inevitably got promoted one day. She liked Nancy for the job.

“That’s right,” said Agatha, relaxing into the familiar comfort of protocol. She snapped her fingers, and yellow caution tape covered the perimeter. “The Council has clear procedures for situations like this. Kevin, clear the conference room. I’ll be using it as my office while we collect evidence. Give me an hour to contact the International Council, and page all Council members to give them a report. Assume nothing, mark and tag everything, and move forward with an unbiased and thorough investigation.”

“But she—” Kevin spluttered. Agatha shook her head. Privately, she did think there was some possibility that Priscilla Hart had tried to impale her, and now to blow her up, but it wouldn’t do to express that publicly. And besides, part of her thought that actual deathly antics were past Hart’s capabilities.

Or at least, part of her wanted to think that.

“That’s my final decision, and I need the conference room to settle things.” Kevin tapped his fingers together, and the door swung open, revealing her spare laptop and a fresh set of notebooks and pens on the table. She rubbed her thumb across her fingers, and the emergency snacks she kept in stock in the storage room appeared on Kevin’s desk.

“Help yourself to energy bars and water.” She took one of each herself. “And no one bother me until this door is open,” she said. “I need privacy to talk to the ICoW.”

She also needed to magic some Advil and a heating pad for her back, but they didn’t need to know that. Least of all her inconveniently beautiful, and potentially murderous, rival.

CHAPTER 9 Priscilla

She couldn’t believe that Kevin, of all fucking people, had accused her of attempting to kill Agatha. Kevin, who she’d been so nice to when he was Evelyn’s assistant. Kevin, who she’d even tolerated when he’d chosen to work for her rival instead of her.

Fucking Kevin.

“You know, I would never be this obvious in attempted murder,” she said, glaring at him. “Fire and explosions are so pedestrian. Admittedly, the swords were my style, but that wasn’t me either.”

“What swords?” Kevin blinked. Priscilla ignored the little thrill of significance that Agatha must not have logged that particular incident.

“I would have doubled your salary if you had come to work for me instead,” she mumbled.

Kevin shook his head, frowning. “I hardly think now is the time.”

She looked around. Council members gathered, the buzz of conversation loud enough that no one heard the indecently timed proposal.

“Councilwoman Hart.” Agatha’s voice boomed, bossy, and damn if that wasn’t hot.

“I’ll come,” said Kevin, eyes narrowing at Priscilla as though she might at any minute start a fire. She was thinking about setting him on fire, the insufferable jerk.