Page 16 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Prissy leaned into Victoria. “Idoactually bite, just not him.”
Vickie giggled into her mojito. She had missed this. Hallowcross. Prissy. All the Harts.
“You know,” said Priscilla, “don’t think I don’t remember that my brother also loves space shit. I saw him digging out his old posters to decorate his classroom.”
The thought made her chest twinge, remembering how earnest Azrael was with his love of, well, everything.
“I don’t pretend to know what happened between you two, but you should talk to him. He was so excited to see you.”
“He said that?”
Prissy winked. “He didn’t have to; it was all over his face.”
Vickie shut her eyes. She’d forgotten how much of a meddler Priscilla Hart could be. “I need to talk to him about something a ghost said, anyway.”
Priscilla sat up straighter, setting her drink down. “What did a ghost say?”
“My parents were up to their usual shit. I meant to mention it, but I’ve been swamped. I think Amelie and Maximillian made another mess luring that megachurch into town, and then walked away from it.” She sipped at her drink. “They’re good at walking away.”
The table jiggled ever so slightly, and Vickie remembered that Priscilla, like her brother, was also prone to the weight of anxiety. She was just a lot better at hiding it.
“Hey,” Vickie said softly. “At least we know what to expect from them.”
Her friend sighed, and for a moment, Vickie recognized the same little girl who had cried when her favorite toad died. From the moment she’d stepped foot in Hallowcross again and met with her old friend to arrange for the shop, she’d noted the marble exterior occasionally encasing that tenderness, shielding the world from it, or her from the world.
Vickie wasn’t sure which one, but the mask was back up on Priscilla’s face. The one that had won her reputation on the Council as no-nonsense.
“I’d be lying if I said we weren’t trying to keep tabs on them,” Priscilla admitted, and though her breezy tone said she didn’t care, her careful stare suggested otherwise.
“You’d be a fool not to,” Vickie said dryly. Her friend’s face relaxed ever so slightly, and it was small enough that a stranger might never know, but they hadn’t grown up together for nothing. “Did you know they were responsible for bringing the church here?”
Prissy shook her head. “No. The church was on our watch list, but your parents only went once or twice, so while it had initially crossed my mind that they might be cutting more deals”—she paused, waving a hand toward Vickie—“ultimately, they became a low priority in the rush of the pandemic and all. And then…”
Her voice trailed off, and Vickie knew what she didn’twant to say. And then Benedict and Persephone died, and Prissy’s world turned upside down, and Azrael couldn’t make it back in time for any of it, not for sitting shiva, not for the funeral service, handling the estate, and figuring out that they couldn’t afford to float both property taxes on Hart Manor and the cost of running the shop. The timing had been awful, but disease knew nothing of death and mourning rituals. The world spun on, blissfully oblivious to human folly.
Vickie swallowed, shaking off the dark thought. She had an image, too, and hers was made of sunshine. And, like Priscilla, she could use a façade to make it through.
“Well, they definitely invited the megachurch here, thought about cutting a deal, but decided that kind of bullshit was too much even for them.” She paused. “Which, honestly, is bad news, if it’s too much for people who would bargain with their own child.”
Priscilla scowled. “Thatisbad news. I’ll run it by Evelyn, see if she’s heard anything.” She gestured to the bar. “I was actually glad to see things busy here tonight. I’ve heard rumbling about pressure on churchgoers to stop drinking. And apparently, they tried to organize a review of the romance section of the bookstore. Got shot down by the local librarian group, but still. It’s scary that they tried.”
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Exactly. Hallowcross is wonderfulbecausepeople are open-minded here, with the exception of the occasional asshat. We should be able to have a good time without the puritanical bullshit that plagues some other places.”
“That megachurch has bad vibes,” said Vickie. She’d be damned if she let some ultraconservative religious movement run anything or anyone out of town. She’d gone away, but she was back now, and that had to count for something.
Her friend was giving her that look, the one that said she had something to say and she was going to say it whether Vickie liked it or not.
Goddess, she remembered that look. It had gotten the three of them into no small amount of trouble in childhood.
“Whatever it is you have to say, just say it.”
“You said they bargained with you.” Priscilla’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth turned down. She was going to make Vickie say it.
“Yes.”
The look on her face was too close to the one her father had given them the time they’d used his most rare shadow craft materials to make a magical dollhouse.
