Page 98 of Vengefully Matched

Otho’s eyebrows knit together, but he nodded. “I promised Mayor Khalil that things will go smoothly, and they have been, just not precisely to the official plan.” He shrugged, waving his hands as though it were a small inconvenience, and not a total violation of protocol.

“Be clear, Councilman: you mean that he’s been meeting with Councilwoman Hart alone, and that she’s been plotting with him.” Agatha felt her voice go sharp again and didn’t bother to hold it back.

“Plotting is such a strong word,” Priscilla interjected, “and the connotation suggests something more sinister than the reality of the thing.” Agatha shot her a glare that, surprisingly, stopped her right there.

Otho slammed a fist against the table. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

Xiomara Cohen nodded next to him, adjusting the collar of her dress. “I’d like the floor, President Vanderbilt Voisin.”

Agatha nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I’d like the record to show that part of the issue here is a general disrespect for the Council and its function. In addition to this gross violation, which I will get to in a moment, Councilwoman Hart has been hexing us all for her own amusement for too long. I’m very aware that it’s perhaps part of whatever odd courtship the two of you have going on”—she paused, gesturing between Agatha and Priscilla—“but the fact of the matter is that you have only ever hexed Priscilla, and not in a way that has interfered with work. She’s hexed all of us, and you, at times, in a way that interferes deeply. The times when an outside intruder may be behind it notwithstanding. For example, I do not particularly relish days in which visiting the archives provides me with a thousand tiny paper cuts that prick but don’t bleed. That lasted for a full day, anytime I touched anything made of paper. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but it was a big deal. It’s been horrible to be in the cross fire. And none of us wanted to suffer through the time that the mini fridge was enchanted to smell like old tuna fish. This is unproductive, and distracting. Paired with the clandestine meetings with the mundane mayor, I do think we need to consider whether or not Ms. Hart is fit for this job. That’s two strikes.”

None of it, not a single word, was wrong. There was a reason, in the end, that she was president and Priscilla was not. She could both love Priscilla Hart and know that she wasn’t the right fit for the job she’d vied for. But it shouldn’t be up to her alone, and she was in charge because she was the sort of person who would put it to a vote and follow the results with fidelity, separate from her personal feelings. “Council?” She looked first at Hester Grimsby.

“I agree,” said Hester softly. “We ought to give Councilwoman Hart a chance to explain herself, and to defend her actions, but it cannot be ignored. It’s a pattern.”

Next to her, Gemma Hexley nodded. “I do think we should take into consideration the details and motivation here. If Priscilla will tell us what she was doing with the mayor, perhaps we can come to a fair judgment about the validity of her secrecy.”

“Noted,” said Agatha. “Councilman Cumberbund?”

Devin startled a little from curling a blond tendril around his finger, and flashed a charming smile. “I mean, I was cross the day the bathroom enchanted the mirror to show us all on our most unflattering moment. There was significant emotional damage that day. I had to take sick leave to recover. But I am glad that unlike whoever was trying to kill the president, her hexes are at least not deadly. Points for not killing anyone. Points off for the mirror trauma.” Agatha resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Devin Cumberbund’s unflappable shallowness.

Florian Akinde cleared their throat. “I didn’t find the mirror prank too damaging, but the unsanctioned meetings concern me,” they said. “How do we know the best interests of the magical community are being represented if our government operates in clandestine meetings? And I know we are all overworked, but I second the concern that we still have no leads on the prospective killer.” It was true, but none of the traps had been triggered, and in the absence of pressing danger, the full docket of work continued.

“Councilwoman Nakayama?” Agatha turned to the old woman, who had been roused from a nap to attend.

“Hmm,” said Mei, looking around. “I agree there is a pattern, and patterns give us important information.” She fixed Priscilla with a stare. “I, too, should like to hear about what Priscilla Hart has been plotting with the mundane mayor before I make a decision.”

“Well, Councilwoman?” Agatha turned to Priscilla. If she could only explain, maybe this could all be better. Simpler. Maybe Priscilla had good reason, and goddess willing she’d care enough to tell the truth now, after everything.

“I can’t,” said Priscilla faintly, pulling at the collar of the white shirt front under her black sweater. Agatha felt her heart drop to her stomach. Perhaps Prissy didn’t care enough to come clean, after all, and wasn’t that just a slap in the professional and personal face. “I’m sorry.” Priscilla was actively looking down, maybe to ignore Albert Thistleworth adjusting his monocle and glaring at her.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Agatha thundered. This wasn’t another joke, not another game. Why was Priscilla being so fucking immature? Why didn’t she care enough about her job, or about Agatha, to cut it out?

“I mean,” said Priscilla miserably, “I gave Mayor Khalil my word, on my honor, and on the Hart name, that I wouldn’t share until we finalized. But I swear, on my same honor and name, that I am acting in the best interest of the Council. I’d like to prove myself, and ask for a week extension to wrap things up. I move that the Council reconvene at that point to determine if this is acceptable.”

Agatha fixed her with a pointed stare, trying to decide if this was some sort of trap. If they could all expect to walk out of here suddenly coated in oil and goose down, or with the word PENIS scrawled in Sharpie across their foreheads.

She didn’t think it was a prank. She shut her eyes, and thought about what she would do for any of the Council members. If it weren’t Prissy. She didn’t want to be too harsh or too lenient just because of her personal relationship.

Thoughtfulness. Her platform had been thoughtfulness. Other than the mudslinging, she had campaigned on the idea that she was old enough and wise enough to avoid knee-jerk reactions.

“I can approve a one-week time period, but only if the majority of Council members agree. Council, please adjourn for ten minutes to deliberate, and then return to vote.” She snapped her fingers, and dividing walls went up around each of them.

She took a few minutes of the privacy to crack her knuckles and silently scream in frustration and hurt. Just because she wanted it to be fair didn’t mean she didn’t also want to wallop Priscilla for putting her in this position in the first place.

Priscilla knocked on the divider, the sound muted but the vibration enough to get her attention. Agatha sighed, rubbed her thumb across her fingers, and magicked the sound barrier down.

“Agatha, honey.” Her voice sounded desperate, and Agatha was glad she couldn’t see her clearly. Easier to stay strong.

“The time is not up.” Agatha did not look up; it would be hard for Priscilla to see where she was looking through the opacity of the glass, but she didn’t trust herself not to break.

“Let me talk to you,” Priscilla begged. Agatha didn’t dare look at the partition on her other side, where she thought maybe Eleanor Willoughby had opened her door to eavesdrop. Let her do it, Agatha thought. Priscilla could go ahead and get on her hands and knees in public and prostrate herself on the altar of love, and it still wouldn’t change anything unless she was willing to also tell the truth—the whole truth.

“Later.” Agatha’s tone was firm enough that, though she could hear Priscilla’s palm slap lightly against the divider, the other woman said nothing.

The vote was 7–6, enough to stay Priscilla’s consequences for a week.