Page 84 of Magdalene Nox

Magdalene stared at her desk and her own words of how she wanted to be eaten out on it came rushing back to her. Okay, so she was tired and wired. Well, that last part was entirely Sam’s fault. For being irresistible, for being so… everything, really. Her protector, too damn self-sacrificing for her own good, standing up for lost causes left and right.

“Orla assaulted Sam!”

Magdalene’s breath came out in a strangled half-howl. She was on her feet in an instant, only to have George hold on to her, bony fingers squeezing her shoulders too tight.

“She’s fine. I stopped them. And maybe ‘assaulted’ wasn’t the right word.” George’s smile was crooked and self-deprecating. Magdalene inhaled slowly. Of course. Exaggeration could have been her secretary’s middle name.

“What happened, George?” Magdalene sat back down, her weariness suddenly settling over her like a blanket, smothering her. As if on cue, Willoughby, with some distinct difficulty, made the not-so-distant jump from his windowsill to her desk and bumped her limp hand with his head, once, twice, until she lifted the appendage he was desirous of and laid it on his fur. Then, and only then, did he make a very graceful cat loaf, tucking his paws and tail under his bulk, and settle down.

Magdalene had to smile. To an untrained observer, he certainly made everything about himself. But she wasn’t one of those, and she knew he was here, on harsh oak instead of the warm and cozy pillow, for her comfort. Because he realized she needed him. At the thought and the sensation of that sun-kissed fluff under her fingertips, she felt her shoulders relax.

“Orla was vicious, calling her names and spitting all sorts of accusations at her. And then she accused Sam of having the hots for you…” George’s eyes shone with a strange kind of fervor and that spark as much as the choice of words grated on Magdalene’s already exhausted psyche. George was apprised of the relationship, so why…? Magdalene laid a tired hand over her forehead and chased the annoyance away.

“And what did Sam do?” For a second, the notion that Sam might confirm flitted across her mind, but she shook it off. Sam knew better. George having an idea of what was going on was one thing, but Orla? Fenway would use it to crucify them.

“Nothing. She’s not very good under pressure, I’m afraid.” George gave a dismissive little wave before gathering some of the paperwork and making neat stacks out of it. “She just sort of took it.”

Magdalene clenched her jaw. She didn’t care about Fenway being a total bitch to her, but Sam was another matter altogether. With her tender heart and that unwavering loyalty towards the absolutely undeserving former headmistress, she must have been hurt. Visions of tearing Orla from limb to limb crossed her mind. Sadly, it probably wasn’t what Sam would want. Magdalene shifted her focus back to George who was doing that thing where she stole glances at her, but tried not to look too closely. Knowing George, she was likely attempting to figure out Magdalene’s next move.

If only she herself had any idea what that might be, aside from finding Sam and trying to allay some of that hurt…

Maybe kiss Sam…

But then running to find Sam had been Magdalene’s impulse ever since she had first landed on this island. And so had kissing Sam. In fact, these days, kissing Sam was pretty much the only constant thing on Magdalene’s mind. Those full, sensual lips. She dreamt of them. She wanted to trace them, with her fingertips, with her tongue.

Magdalene actually tsked at herself as she got up and passed George, who was still hanging on her every word. Too bad Magdalene had none left. She was a lovesick fool who was beyond salvation at this point. And who needed salvation, really?

As Willoughby joined her down the long, dark corridor leading to the back entrance, Magdalene gave him a quick pat and whispered, “salvation is overrated,” to which he meowed something that sounded distinctly like, “you have lost what little was left of your mind,” as they made their way into the damp afternoon air.

* * *

She foundher mark easily enough, their similarities in places to seek comfort and solitude eerie. The Amber Cliff with its mossy green blanket and secluded shadows was the perfect spot.

Sam was close to the edge, doodling something on the naked face of the rock, and the precious sight of that messy bun, the flyaways no match for the ocean breeze and incoming storm, suddenly had that tilt that had Magdalene off balance starting to right itself. Such a simple vision. Sam, alone, calm, in her flannel shirt that should be outlawed in most states, for the things it did to the lesbian- and bi population.

Willoughby hurried towards Sam, now indulgent of her presence, bumping her side before sidestepping a more involved caress. But Magdalene stilled her steps, slowing down a touch, savoring the view and the anticipation of Sam’s nearness.

She thought back on her 46 years and on how she had always hurried everywhere, hungry for love, for attention, for success, and yet here it was in the shape of this woman. Magdalene’s smile came unbidden. The best of things were worth waiting for.

Sam was focused on her drawing, and not even Willoughby’s love-thump distracted her enough. Magdalene knew Sam would be aware of her presence. Willoughby was her harbinger after all. But she waited, too, and that was another lovely surprise. Sam gave Magdalene time.

The wind from the ocean blew stronger, getting under Magdalene’s clothes and playing with the tails of the shawl she had wrapped around her, but it was Sam’s shiver that attracted her attention, and she proceeded to pull off the garment.

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

She draped the fabric over Sam’s shoulders, careful not to interrupt her seemingly complex creative pursuit. Even though to call it such might have been an exaggeration. Magdalene bit her lip to suppress a tease, but Sam’s serious expression of profound concentration was too much to resist.

“Although I may have overstated whatever it is you’re doing here, Sam.” Magdalene laughed, unable to disguise the adoration or the joke.

“I was doodling.” Sam’s pout was indeed adorable as she burrowed into the shawl and warmed Magdalene’s heart.

“Whatever you say, darling.” Sam’s features, so open, always honest, did something to Magdalene’s chest, squeezing it painfully, and the corners of her smile wobbled.

“What happened?” Sam, perceptive as ever, must have caught the shadows of sadness on her face. She reached out and clasped Magdalene’s wrist in her chalky hand, pulling her down to sit next to her, leaving white smears on her skin. Glancing at the marks, Sam let go of her, and Magdalene instantly missed the contact.

Still, she did not want to mention Orla, or the insults, or the sadness. Surely, a little distraction was the way to go. One look to their right where loud snoring could be heard, and Magdalene had found her desired misdirection.

“Can I answer that question with an amusing joke instead?”

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