Page 31 of Vengefully Matched

Hart’s face fell for a moment. “Who said I feel only disdain and schadenfreude?” Agatha immediately regretted being so specific.

“No one. Some random poster on Dreaddit.”

“Fuck me,” mumbled Priscilla, and Agatha shut her eyes.

The problem was, she wanted to. She really, really did.

CHAPTER 11 Agatha

Crystal Balls to the Wall was far enough away that she had accepted Hart’s offer to drive.

She preferred not to, in general, and though she had a license, she didn’t have a car, and with an apartment conveniently walking distance from both her job and most necessities, she hadn’t been behind a steering wheel in close to a year. Agatha told herself that a bit of pranking might help her redraw that professional boundary, so her traitorous heart might remember that Priscilla really should be just Councilwoman Hart to her. And anyway, she’d been itching to get Hart back for that dreadful makeover hex. The drive was the perfect opportunity.

Agatha stood just outside the door to her apartment building, tempted to check the time, and wondering briefly if Hart would stand her up. Did fake dating necessitate real consideration?

Just as she was ready to go inside in a huff, the cherry-red Packard pulled up to the curb. Hart wore expensive-looking tortoiseshell sunglasses and a headscarf that reminded Agatha of glamorous old Audrey Hepburn movies, but if Audrey had been a goth girl with a flair for the macabre and dramatic. Audrey by way of Aubrey Plaza.

Her lips were that perfect, lush shade of crimson, and her nails matched, tapering into almond-shaped edges, quite different from the coffin shape she’d worn the previous week. Agatha was noticing because it was her job to pay attention to her colleagues, not for any other reason.

She nodded at Priscilla, hoping her face was giving austere and presidential and not revealing her desperate attempt to ignore those long, graceful fingers gripping the wheel. Goddess, those fingers.

Hart held up a hand and beckoned. Even with the oversized glasses, impatience was written all over the visible parts her face, in the curve of her mouth and the angle of her chin.

Agatha slid into the passenger seat, feeling oddly as though she’d been here in this exact moment before, slipping through anticipation and dread and, yes, a small bit of excitement too.

It was like running for Council president all over again. But this time, instead of campaigning on Hart’s inexperience, Agatha wanted the precise opposite. She wanted to experience Priscilla Hart. All of her.

She remembered herself, and her manners.

“Morning,” Agatha chirped.

“Morning.” Hart bit it out, as though she resented the word. “Are you ready to supervise my activities, Madam President?” The title, though accurate, felt loaded coming from her mouth.

She was determined not to let this woman intimidate her, pranks and all. “As ready as anyone ever could be for such a gargantuan task.”

Of all the things she’d expected at the dig at Hart’s responsibility, she had not planned for the honest laugh that escaped Hart’s lips. It was like ringing a bell she hadn’t meant to knock into, and the result was devastating for her composure.

She was stunning. Priscilla had a lovely laugh, the kind that made her desperate to forget the barrier she was struggling to raise between them, and Agatha reached for her hand before she could think better of it.

“For the façade,” said Priscilla knowingly. “Of course.” She squeezed Agatha’s fingers, and Agatha felt the sensation of it all the way up her spine.

The fake dating. Right.

“Obviously, we’re in broad daylight, and now is as good a time as any to start selling the charade.”

“We’ll need to see magical resources. I have copies of everything we need. We just fill out the appropriate paperwork and declare a serious relationship.”

“You know I love it when you talk dirty, baby.”

Agatha stiffened at that. “Do not,” she ground out, “call me baby.”

“Very well. We’ll find a good nickname. Here, lean in. I have a secret.” She tipped the sunglasses up, setting them on top of the scarf.

Agatha eyed her warily, but leaned in.

“What’s the secret?”

Hart’s nails skated across the hair by Agatha’s ear.