Page 59 of Magdalene Nox

“I wouldn’t really know soy milk if it came in and introduced itself. But whatever’s in the bottle is also in the regular milk jug, and it’s not a cow product for sure. Why?”

Magdalene turned away from Sam, who was still holding the bottle with the scratched-off label, and gave Willoughby a long look, before extending her hand, which he took as an invitation to pad forward and curl into it.

She took a deep breath before facing Sam again. “I’m allergic to soy, Sam.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to look at her in complete shock.

“I had a salad delivered from Rowena’s last week and there was some kind of mixup. They gave me the vegan option instead of chicken. Sir Willoughby here got to eat my tofu.” She gave him one last scratch and picked him up from the table, hugging him to her chest before setting him on the pillow on the windowsill, where he promptly rolled on his back, paws in the air, and fell asleep, obviously pretty proud of himself and the job he had accomplished.

“Magdalene, how allergic?”

Sam’s voice trembled. Magdalene wanted to wave away the palpable concern, but something in that voice, perhaps that honesty again, made her open up in return.

“Not enough to kill me, but you would have had to be very quick in your dash for my EpiPen.”

“Shit.” Sam sat down, ignoring the mess she was settling amidst, cradling her injured hand to her chest.

“Eloquent, but apt.” Magdalene came closer, her hip perching against the now-wrecked table. “Orla had her coffee mug with her.” Sam’s eyes snapped up to her as Magdalene continued. “Earlier, when she accosted me about calling the electrician and about requesting another one from the mainland to assess the grid. She called it ‘outside involvement in school business’. Like it was anathema. She was sipping hot coffee from a school mug. She must have known it wasn’t regular milk.”

“At this hour, I’m amazed Orla was up and at your throat. She doesn’t take milk in her coffee and honestly, she’s not really functional until her second or third mug. There’s a reason all her classes start after 10AM. Plus, I’m not at all sure she knows what soy milk really is. She’s not particular about her drinks unless it’s whiskey. ”

Magdalene saw red.

Why, why, why, this stubborn loyalty in the face of damning evidence?

“Dammit, Sam!” She pushed off from the table and took a few steps, restless now. On the windowsill, the awoken Willoughby meowed in displeasure.

She turned back to see Sam tuck a lock of honeyed hair that had come loose from her messy bun behind her ear, and Magdalene followed the gesture, the way it curled and hung around the delicate shell. The guileless gesture, the openness of those features…

She really was a fool for this woman.

Why couldn’t she stay mad with her?

“Magdalene, how would she even know you’re allergic?”

“She was in my office during the salad chicken-tofu debacle. I may have been rather vocal about the quality of local establishments and their customer service.” She felt herself flush, and Sam shook her head at her. So she’d been a bit of a prima donna and she didn’t care who knew it.

“So pretty much everyone at school must have heard you throwing a fit over soy—albeit a completely deserved one, since this allergy is no joke.”

Magdalene stared pointedly. Surely Sam wasn’t this obtuse. The sheer stubbornness of her interlocutor made her want to throw her hands in the air. “Sam, both Fenway and Joanne were in my office when it happened, haranguing me over the history curriculum. Hell, Joanne even gave me the third degree about feeding tofu to Sir Willoughby without first checking if he has an intolerance. What a concept!”

Sam’s eyebrows all but crawled off her forehead as Magdalene continued.

“As if I’d feed him anything without having him tested for allergies? She thinks I’m irresponsible and incapable of caring for an animal.”

Sam stared, eyes wide, before she spoke very carefully, voice devoid of any intonation.

“You took Willoughby to the vet?”

Magdalene wanted to groan. Then she wondered why she was even hiding her reaction. All these people were being thoroughly ridiculous. As if she’d be this careless. She may not love cats, but still.

“Of course I did. I had to know that he’s healthy, doesn’t have fleas, rabies, or whatever else scruffy, strange cats might have. He insists on sleeping with me at night, Sam. You think I’d let an animal in my bed without making sure he’s perfectly safe? Testing for allergies seemed like a thing to do at the time.”

She’d never take chances with Willoughby’s health by doing something so damn foolish as feeding him the wrong food. She didn’t proclaim this out loud, however, cognizant that her protestations of indifference and dislike towards him would be rendered useless then. Still, Sam let out a delighted bark of laughter.

“You are a total charlatan, Magdalene Nox! Walking around sneering at this cat, pretending to hate him and telling me to throw him out when you probably have a whole stash of cat treats in your apartment.”

The heat in her cheeks intensified, and Magdalene bit her lip and decided it was time to move on. She got closer and gently picked up Sam’s wounded hand.

---