Page 90 of Magdalene Nox

Why didn’t she see that this was how their time was about to run out?

And why didn’t she question the place of the clandestine assignation? Of all the possible and impossible nooks and crannies of Dragons? The dusty, never-used attic was quite a wretched space which, as she’d announced during a faculty meeting, would undergo a massive renovation during the next school break. It was crammed with the archives that had been moved from the flooded basement, an assortment of old school furniture, and who knows what else, and thoroughly uninviting to any variety of amorous encounters.

Yet despite absolutely all the clues pointing towards it, Magdalene did not see the danger coming. Or their time running out.

But run out, it did. And she did not cotton on to it until it was too late and she was in the dusty attic in Sam’s embrace.

When she’d climbed the rotting floorboards leading to the cramped space beneath the roof, Willoughby on her heels, she could see the flickering light that Sam had lit and thanked her stars that her lover had arrived first. Otherwise Magdalene might have broken her neck on the narrow and stooped stairs.

As she finally crossed the dingy threshold, she saw a single frail lightbulb, weak and perilous. And there Sam was, pacing the cluttered and creaking floor, holding a flashlight close.

Willoughby streaked by her and ran towards Sam for the now customary headbutt to her ankles before predictably getting out of the reach of Sam’s hands. Magdalene looked around for a moment and immediately regretted her curiosity. ‘Filthy’ wasn’t even close to the state of things. ‘Cluttered’ did not do it any kind of justice, either.

She thought back to the staff meeting and to Orla’s protestations that the attic was fine, and once again tamped down the impulse to lock Orla Fenway in it for a few hours andthenask her if it really was ‘not that bad’.

It was worse than bad. Since that last meeting, the rains of the past few weeks must have damaged the roof, as the floor was wet in patches.

By the time Sam finally turned to her, Magdalene knew her face mirrored Willoughby’s perfectly: Disgust.

Still, as absolutely disgruntled as he was at his surroundings, he burrowed among some furniture, finding an old, cushioned seat, and rolled into his customary loaf-like form.

Magdalene’s own mood was a combination of elation at seeing Sam, mixed with a blatant desire to not be in the space they currently occupied. She gave Sam a quick kiss, leaned back, opened her mouth to say something about how abhorrent everything around them was, thought better of it, and went in for another kiss. This one lingered, moving like waves, each deeper and more dangerous, and she could sense Sam’s hold on her already fragile libido careen. It mirrored her own tenuous grip perfectly, down to trembling hands and a heaving chest.

When they parted, Sam was breathing heavily and all but cross-eyed. Magdalene smirked and reached out with her thumb to wipe her lipstick off Sam’s still-panting mouth. Then she pecked Sam on the tip of her nose before looking around again, her disgust renewed.

“So on top of being a total disaster zone, which the trustees have not allotted me enough funding to fix during the summer, this place is now wet too? Well, maybe with the roof leaking, they’ll approve the budget for emergency renovations, and we’ll close down this wing for a while, even before the fall break. I am not sure what happened here, but it’s in much worse shape than it was when I inspected it. Whoever decided it was good for storage needs to be fired. The whole place is one big electrical and fire hazard now.”

Magdalene looked up at the light fixture that started to fade in and out, as if trying with all its might to continue working. But all of its endeavors were for naught.

As it stopped flickering, it emitted a strange crackling sound. The bulb shorted out, and they were plunged into darkness, save for the single bright beam of her flashlight which Sam turned on immediately, shining in the dark and dust.

Her heart suddenly in her throat, Magdalene tried to keep her voice steady.

“Darling, I understand the impulse of wanting to see each other. Goddess knows it’s been a week since Connecticut and I’ve missed you like crazy, but why on Earth did you choose this place to meet?” She faked total calmness and indifference, going as far as brushing off her skirt with a rather offended gesture, as if whatever debris was clinging to it from her walk further into the cavernous attic was particularly offensive to her, and picked up Willoughby. With some difficulty, she hefted him over her shoulder, the cat huddling closer to her, his claws leaving tiny prickles of awareness on her skin. A distant thought about consulting the vet about his diet was cut short by Sam.

“What do you mean? I got your note and came like you told me to. I mean, I replied at dinner that I would.” Sam attempted to not shine the light directly in Magdalene’s face, but she knew no amount of shadows could hide her astonishment, chills running down her spine.

“I didn’t leave you any notes, Sam. And you weretelling me, not responding. I didn’t even get a chance to ask you anything, I had no choice but to follow. I thought it was an odd choice and couldn’t leave you alone in this godforsaken place, simply waiting for me.”

Magdalene tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, a sense of premonition gripping her, numbing her hands and drying her mouth instantly.

Sam’s, “But who...?” was interrupted by the slamming of the attic door, followed by a metal screech. Then the room fell into an eerie quiet, except for that crackling noise that had resumed somewhere near them.

“We need to get out of here, Sam.”

“Yeah… how about we…”

Just as Sam was about to finish her sentence, the electrical sound intensified, followed by loud hissing. Magdalene instantly recognized the unmistakable scent. Sam beat her to the punch, but there was no reason to even say it out loud.

“Something’s burning, Magdalene. Quickly.”

Sam grabbed Magdalene’s hand and turned her flashlight towards the door. Making their way past the broken furniture and boxes, a clamoring Willoughby in Magdalene’s free arm, they half jogged the remaining twenty feet. For all the debris and garbage, it might as well have been twenty miles.

By the time they reached the door, the flashlight had been rendered moot. The entire far side of the attic was on fire, rapidly moving towards them as it burned its way through paper and old wood, lighting up everything like kindling, despite the water damage. With the fire set loose, the attic quickly turned into a raging inferno.

Sam’s voice was panicked, barely above a ragged whisper.

“Shit, push the door…”

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