Page 78 of Vengefully Matched

CHAPTER 25 Priscilla

Priscilla pushed the door to Hopelessly Teavoted, hoping that an Americano and a Peelin’ Good chocolate chip banana muffin could help her sort through the quagmire of the past week. She’d spent most of it avoiding Agatha, telling herself it was fine to focus on congratulating her brother and Vickie on their engagement. And between checking in on Connie and catching up on Council paperwork, she did actually have her hands full with work.

It was supposed to be just once, just to get it out of their systems, and yet she had found herself whispering sweet nothings and meaning them, found herself coaxing Agatha into coming, so beautifully, around her fingers.

It had not meant nothing. In fact, for Priscilla, it had meant the polar opposite of nothing.

The shop was fairly empty, and she recognized Hazel at the register again.

“Priscilla Hart!” The girl’s eyes lit up, smile reaching wide. She looked around, thoughtful for a moment in that way that could only mean she was about to serve some sort of sharp teenage insight. “Hey, whatever happened to that hot British woman you used to come in with?”

And there it was. People never gave kids enough credit for how observant they could be.

It had been ages since anyone had seen her and not known that she was a runaway bride. Small towns were good for that. But she had forgotten to consider that teenagers don’t necessarily care to keep track of adult drama. Azrael told her that some of them still stared openly in shock to see a teacher out and about around town, and that speculating about staff members was about as far as their interest in adult gossip went. Other adults in the town were just unknown olds.

That was refreshing.

“That ended a while ago,” she said, managing a smile. It was like running a tongue past a place where a tooth had fallen out; she knew something was gone, in this case someone she loved, and she could feel the spot of emptiness. But it didn’t hurt anymore.

It was okay, because she’d gotten out of it before it was too late. It had been bad timing, but she hadn’t gone along with a family, and it wasn’t like they had been married for years and years. The sharpness of the remaining pain now was the possibility, how close she’d come to signing up for a life that could only shatter other people into pieces in the end.

“Rough,” said the girl, wincing.

“Hazel,” said the other kid at the counter, with the name tag that said Cole and had their pronouns on it. They looked a little older. College-aged, maybe. “It’s not polite to comment on other people’s breakups unless they ask for your advice.”

“No, it’s okay this time. I think it’s okay to ask after people,” said Priscilla, and for some reason, she went on. “It was tough for a while there, but I’m out the other end now. I’m thinking of seeing someone new.”

“Hot,” said Hazel, and that made Priscilla laugh, because it was hot, and it was just like Hazel to put it bluntly.

“Yeah, she is.” She tried not to think of Agatha and just exactly how hot she was in this particular moment; that kind of daydreaming never led to a focused day of accomplishments.

“This is great,” Hazel began. “I want to hear all about what happened with the Bridgerton-ass lady, and then about whatever new hot lady you’ve got in your pocket too.”

Priscilla suddenly regretted the specific word choice of okay. Hazel was nice, but she absolutely did not want to spill her guts to her teenaged barista.

Cole elbowed Hazel again, but she ignored them. “So, it’s like if someone is going off to a different college, right, they might be a good fit while you’re in high school, but then the best thing to do is break up so you can both have the college experience you need.” Hazel smiled, proud of herself and her advice. Priscilla heaved a sigh of relief; there had been no question in that, and maybe she could move this conversation along.

“That’s an overshare, Haze,” said Cole. But then they paused and shrugged, flicking at their eyebrow ring. “But it’s not wrong. Hey, do you want Vickie? She’s in the office.”

The look of gratitude Priscilla shot Cole was straight from her heart, because Hazel turned and started arguing about the efficacy of promposals in a modern artistic high school scene, and dropped the whole Evelyn issue.

She hadn’t come here with the express intention of visiting her brother’s fiancée, but now that it was an option, she found herself needing an outside opinion.

“I might see if Vickie has a minute.”

“Head on back!” Hazel winked, and the two returned to the business of gossiping and occasionally refilling sugar packets.

She walked past the kitchen she knew so well, and the storage area. The door to the office was a few inches open, but she knocked anyway.

“Come in!” Vickie’s voice was cheery. Priscilla loved hearing her happy, loved knowing that not only was the shop really still in the family, but it had also given her old friend a sense of purpose that she had so long sought out.

Pushing open the door, she gave a weird little half wave with the hand holding a muffin.

“Mind if I sit for a little?” she asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to check in anyway. For most people, she would have barged right in, steamrolled through. But for Vickie, who had grown up next to her, an odd not-so-mundane girl with the power to summon the dead, she would ask nicely. Vickie wasn’t just the love of her brother’s life; she was Priscilla’s trusted confidante too. Together they had defeated a megachurch run by an evil man who had bargained with the king of devils last year, and that, on top of surviving their teenage years together, essentially made them bonded forever. It was a friendship worth pausing for.

“Please,” said Vickie, gesturing to the chair across from her desk and moving a stack of papers so that Priscilla could set down her cup and her muffin. “Those Peelin’ Good muffins are some of my best work, especially since I accidentally summoned a vintage baking ghost off an estate sale set of teacups. She gave me the best trick for moist muffins before I sent her along to whatever comes next. What’s going on?” She looked concerned, eyes taking in Priscilla’s face and her stance, a little more hunched than usual. Prissy straightened up, but Vickie had seen it. The uncertainty. The wondering. She sat back, resting her hands on the desk, waiting for Priscilla to tell her what the matter was.

“Did I ever tell you why I want so badly to be Witchery Council president? All jokes about my type in women aside, why I wanted it?” Her voice sounded small to her, but it was quiet in here, and maybe it was all right to take a break from booming loudly in this instant.