The victory over Brenda was sweet, but it was a fleeting high. The grim reality of Maya's other responsibilities came crashing back on Thursday evening: the monthly PTA meeting. She had been drafted as the "room parent coordinator" for her nephew Leo's third-grade class, a title that sounded benign but was, in practice, a logistical nightmare involving juice boxes, allergic reactions, and the territorial disputes of over-caffeinated parents.
"I fail to see the purpose of this gathering," Mal grumbled from the tote bag as Maya navigated the crowded school hallway. The air smelled of waxed linoleum, disinfectant, and subtle, expensive perfume. "You are not a warrior heading to a war council. You are a peasant being summoned to hear the edicts of a distant, inefficient monarch."
"The 'monarch' is Susan Gable, the PTA president," Maya whispered, spotting her target. Susan was holding court by the coffee urn, a woman whose blonde bob was so sharp it could probably cut glass and whose smile was a weapon of mass condescension. "And her latest 'edict' is that we need to raise five thousand dollars for 'sensory pathway stickers' for the hallways."
Mal's head poked out from the bag, his golden eyes scanning the room with clinical disdain. "A taxation for decorative floor markings. Oppressive. And the strategic value is nil."
"Tell me about it. But if I question her, she'll 'reorganize the committee' and I'll be in charge of the fourth-grade bake sale, which is a fate worse than death."
She found a seat near the back of the library, placing the tote bag on the empty chair beside her. The meeting began with the soul-crushing efficiency Susan was known for: minutes, treasurer's report, old business. It was a parade of micromanagement and petty squabbles. Maya felt her eyes glazing over.
Then came the sensory pathway stickers.
"...and studies show they dramatically improve focus and reduce behavioral issues," Susan was saying, her tone leaving no room for argument. "The cost is five thousand two hundred dollars. I've already spoken to the principal, and she's fully on board. I propose we allocate the funds from the Fall Festival proceeds."
A few parents murmured assent. Others looked uneasy but silent. Maya felt a familiar frustration bubble up. That money was supposed to go towards new books for the library, a tangible, universally beneficial thing.
A tiny, sharp claw tapped her thigh through the fabric of her trousers. She glanced down. Mal was fully alert now, his gaze fixed on Susan.
"This one reeks of vanity," he rasped, his voice a whisper only she could hear. "She does not seek to improve the domain. She seeks a monument to her own reign. Observe how she has bypassed all debate. A classic usurper's tactic."
"What can I do?" Maya whispered back, pretending to cough into her hand.
"You must undermine her authority. Not with a direct challenge—you are not yet strong enough. You must turn the other vassals against her. Give me a weapon."
"A weapon? Mal, this is a PTA meeting!"
"Information is a weapon. What is her weakness? A failed project? An unpopular ally?"
Maya's mind raced. Then she remembered. "Last year, she pushed through the purchase of those 'state-of-the-art' interactive whiteboards for every classroom. They were a specific brand she had a 'connection' with. They've been nothing but trouble. The teachers hate them. They constantly glitch."
A low, pleased rumble came from the bag. "Perfect. A past failure, hidden by her present bluster. Now, watch. And learn."
Susan was calling for a vote. "All in favor?"
Before the chorus of 'ayes' could fully form, a voice, thin and reedy, piped up from the back of the room. It was Mr. Henderson, a retired engineer who was usually too shy to speak. "A-hem. Susan, a question, if I may?"
All heads turned. Mr. Henderson looked as surprised as everyone else, blinking behind his thick glasses.
"Yes, Arthur?" Susan's smile was strained.
"I was just… well, I was thinking about those whiteboards from last year." His words, once started, gained a strange momentum. "My grandson tells me his teacher spent half of math class yesterday trying to get the pen tool to work. Again. I'm just wondering… are we sure we're investing in the right kind of technology? Shouldn't we fix what's broken before we stick new things to the floor?"
A ripple of agreement went through the room. Other parents began nodding, murmuring to each other.
"The whiteboards were a completely different vendor, Arthur," Susan said, her voice tight.
"But the same process," another parent, Maria, chimed in, emboldened. "You presented them as a done deal, too. Maybe we should form a small committee to actually research these sensory paths before we commit five thousand dollars."
"A committee would just slow things down!" Susan argued, her composure cracking.
From Maya's tote bag, a nearly inaudible whisper slithered through the air, a thread of shadowy suggestion that seemed to coil around Susan's next words. "We don't have time for endless deliberation! I've already made the decision!"
The room went silent. Parents stared at her, their expressions shifting from unease to outright offense.
Mal had forced her to reveal her true nature: a dictator, not a leader.
Maya saw her opening. She raised her hand, her expression one of calm reason. "Susan, I think Maria has a great point. A small, fast-moving committee. I'd be happy to volunteer, and I'm sure Arthur would be invaluable with his technical eye. We could report back at the next meeting. That way, everyone feels confident in the investment."
It was the perfect, polite coup. She was offering a solution, not a confrontation. She was being a team player.
Susan was cornered. Her face was a mask of fury, but she had no choice. "Fine," she bit out. "A committee. But I expect a swift recommendation."
The motion was tabled. The meeting moved on, but the power had subtly shifted. Susan's aura of invincibility was broken. After the meeting, several parents came up to Maya and Mr. Henderson, thanking them for "bringing some sense" to the discussion.
Walking back to her car in the cool night air, Maya felt a lighter than she had in years. "How did you do that?" she asked the bag. "How did you get Mr. Henderson to speak up?"
"The timid ones are often the most knowledgeable. They simply require a small… push," Mal said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I merely amplified his latent frustration and gave him the courage to voice it. A minor enchantment of assertiveness. The rest was simply strategy. You identified the flaw in her fortress, and I provided the siege engine."
He settled back into his cashmere nest. "That was… unexpectedly satisfying. The politics of this realm are more nuanced than I anticipated. The petty tyrant has been humbled, and your influence grows. A most productive campaign."
Maya started the car, a grin spreading across her face. She had a Dark Lord as her political strategist. Susan Gable, with her perfect bob and her sensory pathways, didn't stand a chance. For the first time ever, she was actually looking forward to the next PTA meeting.