Page 40 of Magdalene Nox

She closed her eyes and—

Meow!

Something warm and furry brushed against her naked ankle.

Meow!

A pair of paws reached up and patted against her knee, clinging to the skirt, tugging her down to the cat’s level, and when Magdalene—tired and faint—crouched, the cat simply bumped his massive head against her shoulder. Once, twice, three times. When she let out another sob, her tears flowing freely now, she grabbed at him, hiding her face in his warm fur, allowing his soft purrs and meows to cover her crying.

Steps sounding in the distance much later told her Joanne and Sam had left the basement and pointed her to the way out.

She stood up. The cat… No,Willoughby,sat back on his haunches—a favorite pose—with his tail wrapped around his front paws and watched her as if assessing whether she was presentable enough to show herself to the world again.

Magdalene rolled her eyes at him, and he tilted his head to the side. “Yes, I know I need to hurry if I don’t want us to be locked up in this basement.” Willoughby looked like he wouldn’t enjoy such torment either. Despite—or maybe because of—the generous amount of mice she knew inhabited the space.

No, he was not a basement cat. Nor was he a mouser, no matter what his lofty title said.

“If you and I are to be friends, and if you are to advance farther into my room than the pillow on the floor, we shall have to make a little trip to the vet, Mister.”

The answering meow was disgruntled. Whether he didn’t approve of the vet, or of the title, she didn’t know. But she made a mental note to make an appointment with the town veterinarian, nonetheless.

* * *

By the timeevening rolled around, Magdalene found she had thirteen missed calls. The spotty reception on the island gave her an excuse to leave her phone in her office most of the time anyway, and today she’d made herself be anywhere except the damn space that, in her mind, still smelled like mothballs.

Damn Fenway.

Before she headed for the cliff, Magdalene picked up her cell with some trepidation. But nothing stood out, most of the calls were from Timothy and the rest from Joel. Well, it was late and her day was over. She needed solace. And only one place could offer her that on this island.

Sir Willoughby, as she now thought of the cat—after his gallant rescue and comforting her earlier—fell into step next to her, and she smiled at his half purr as they walked the darkening school grounds.

Her smile bloomed fully when she noticed that her safe space wasn’t unoccupied. And wasn’t it remarkable in and of itself that she no longer felt possessive of the Amber Cliff? The fact that her secret was now known to Sam was a comfort and she surprised herself by wanting to open up more.

Although in the back of her mind, as she watched Willoughby prance over to Sam and bump into her side with his large head, Magdalene knew there was only one person and one person alone with whom she didn’t mind sharing either the cat or her favorite spot on the island.

“I spent my evenings right here, in this very spot during my short stay at Dragons, Professor Threadneedle. Tell me, was it my knowledge of the best hiding spots that gave away my history with the school?”

Sam didn’t turn around, but neither did she flinch, which meant that, despite not being able to see Magdalene, she’d known who was approaching. The fact that Sam had recognized her steps gave Magdalene’s heart a jolt.

“You have a way of speaking about Dragons, both the place and the Academy, in precisely the correct terms. It’s never ‘The Dragons’ with you, rarely ‘The Three Dragons’ despite it being the official name, it’s almost always just ‘Dragons.’ And yes, you know of Rowena’s and of the perfect hiding spot on top of this cliff. Plus, Joanne talked of you in ways that one doesn’t unless they know the person at least in passing.”

So she knew the name of the local watering hole. Such a small thing. Yet it was a piece of the puzzle for Sam–a puzzle that had given Magdalene away. She tilted her head, giving Sam a long once over. “My, you are a veritable Jessica Fletcher and Miss Marple all in one, Professor.”

Magdalene finally reached her destination and pulled out a blanket. She sat, leaving enough space for Willoughby who trotted over and made himself comfortable next to her, one gentle paw unobtrusively touching her thigh. He was asleep within seconds. Something she did not yet wish to define grew warmer in Magdalene’s heart.

When she looked up, Sam was smiling at her, her eyes so full of mirth that Magdalene rolled her eyes. She did have a reputation to uphold, after all.

“I tried to dissuade him. But he seems to have made up his mind and refuses to stop stalking me.”

“Oh yes,” Sam laughed. “The poor, almighty Headmistress is powerless to stop a cat from following her and from obviously adoring her. Not only does he shadow you, breaking his infamous routine, he also allows you to touch him, which was anathema for this ginger boy just weeks ago. You must have a magic touch.”

Sam blushed a deep crimson and snapped her mouth shut before turning away, stopping Magdalene from blurting out any variety of improper things that were on the tip of her tongue.

Still, when she finally did speak, it wasn’t anything she’d actually meant to voice out loud.

“What is it about you that I find myself willing to endure your total rudeness and all this jumping to conclusions and expecting the absolute worst from me, and yet I still enjoy your company?”

Sam’s shoulders tensed, and she wrapped her arms around herself with what Magdalene was coming to recognize as a characteristic pose. Defensive? Scared? Maybe both.

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