Page 23 of Magdalene Nox

Fenway stepped closer, and Magdalene could actually smell the whiskey on her breath.

“You’re not sober, Doctor Fenway, and you’re making this dismissal harder than it should be.” She gritted her teeth and waited for an imminent explosion.

“I have no idea what gives you the right to throw me out like this! I want to speak with the trustees!”

Magdalene was about to finally cast civility aside and show the former headmistress the door, when it flew open and revealed a flushed Sam standing there like a sentinel. As if she had been lurking behind it and only walked in when the situation got dire. She probably was trying to defend Fenway from her clutches. Sam’s apparent loyalty to the former headmistress rankled. So Magdalene rolled her eyes and bit back a sigh.

“I see that chaos reigns not just in the spaces you occupy, Doctor Fenway, but also amongst your staff. Do they practice simply walking in without knocking? Are manners too much to ask for in this place?”

Fenway actually growled and took a step towards Magdalene when Sam adroitly stepped between them.

“I apologize for the intrusion. And for not knocking. I assumed that, in the ongoing ruckus, neither of you would hear me.” Magdalene tried not to smile at the attempt at diplomacy, because even though the tone was very much pacifying and Sam extended soothing hands towards Fenway, the older woman shrugged them away.

“Ah, Sammy, are you here to save me then? I assume Joanne sent you? How gracious of you all to look after your old headmistress.” Fenway’s laughter was harsh, brittle, and it grated on Magdalene’s nerve endings. But it was the sudden shrinking in Sam that caused her to pay closer attention to the scene unfolding in front of her.

Sam’s voice was still calming, maybe even a little beseeching, and it was that note of supplication Magdalene recognized very well. It was the same one she herself had employed as a little girl trying to steer her wayward mother away from trouble and embarrassment. Her heart gave a painful thump of déjà vu.

“I just thought that, since it has been announced that the trustees will be here soon, instead of tomorrow as we were informed earlier, you’d like to gather the paperwork and all the necessary documentation to prepare for that meeting? I can help Headmistress Nox in the meantime with whatever she requires.”

“Headmistress Nox? I see how it is, Sammy. Burying me already?”

The nickname, the tone and the sheer, all-consuming hatred in those words landed on Sam like a physical blow. Magdalene could swear the reverberations were like aftershocks that reached her as well. That thump from earlier turned into an ache she knew all too well. An understanding that only survivors of such relationships had for one another, but also sympathy. Assuming Sam would probably not appreciate the pity, Magdalene tried to remain impassive.

“No, Orla, you‘ve had a long night and might need—” Sam didn’t have the opportunity to finish her sentence as Orla pushed past her and out the door.

“Save it. I will see you at noon, Nox.”

Magdalene looked on as the hurt settled in Sam’s eyes, in the drooping of her shoulders, in the way her chest seemed to cave in around itself as she wrapped her lanky arms around it.

She sucked in a breath, and as her heart went out to her, Magdalene had to revert back to sarcasm. As shields went, it wasn’t very efficient, but at the moment, it was all she had.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“So I’m learning.” Sam turned slowly, finally facing Magdalene fully, and it felt like another damned déjà vu. Only that time, they’d been standing in front of each other in the bar, moments before making that fateful decision to go up to Sam’s room.

The sun streaming in from the windows behind Magdalene was teasing the blonder streaks in Sam’s disheveled hair, the messy braid making Magdalene want to untangle it, to run her fingers through it. She wanted…Dammit,she wanted. She clenched her jaw. It was supremely inconvenient to find that desire here, of all places. And of all times.

But then Dragons seemed to be the place of wants that could never be. Distantly, Magdalene wondered if this was some sort of punishment, to always be given just a tiny sip of water before the glass was yanked away. Dragons, this woman, who even now—with that earnest, honest face, those bruised eyes, and the thoughts and memories of their night together written all over her face, stripped of all her defenses in her worn flannel shirt and old Converses—was so very appealing. That tall drink of water, all puns and metaphors intended.

But just like in the elevator in Manhattan, it was that pain, that hurt, and the unstoppable desire to soothe and to comfort that made Magdalene take a step forward, only to be interrupted by the creaking of the door. Something of an indeterminate orange color strolled in like it owned the room and unceremoniously made its way to a rather worn-out pillow on the windowsill.

Was this the creature from the Mess Hall? A cat? Magdalene wanted to recoil.

“Who in the world let this mongrel in?” She knew her voice sounded both affronted and scandalized, but she couldn’t help herself. She did not like cats.

“Ah, nobody really. He lives here.” Sam’s arms dropped, something tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was clearly trying not to burst into laughter as the cat, completely oblivious to Magdalene’s impending wrath, stretched to his full, impressive length and promptly fell asleep on his back, all four paws in the air.

“This is Willoughby the Third, the Academy’s mascot, I guess you could call him. An animal—a dog, a cat, or a horse—has been at the school since its very inception. In a nod to the Downing Street cat, this one holds the job title of the Mouser in Chief.”

Magdalene gave a derisive head shake. “From his bulk, he is either exceptionally good at it, or exceptionally bad at it. And from the state of the school and the accounting reports on the hiring of exterminators three times just in the past two years, should I assume it’s the latter?”

And suddenly, Sam’s smile blossomed fully.

“Willoughby is an unconventional employee. But you can literally set your watch by him. Depending on which pillow he chooses to sleep on during the course of the day, you can tell what time it is.”

Magdalene snorted, the sound catching even her by surprise, and Sam’s eyes widened, almost agog.

“I assume he faithfully follows the warmest sunspots? Cats don’t belong inside. And Three Dragons doesn’t have a barn.” As she strode closer to the sleeping animal, she could sense Sam tense nearby.

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