Page 19 of Magdalene Nox

Please… Please… Please..

“So the husband of the inventor of the Nox Method, the most ruthless reformer of private schools in the US, just became a trustee on our Board? Did I get that right?” Rovington gulped down whatever was left of her brew and poured more whiskey into her cup. Fenway, looking twenty years older than the picture in her file, just nodded and offered the bottle to Dorsea, who accepted with a grim shrug.

Another round of passing the liquor between them compelled Magdalene to finally move her eyes to the right again, only to see Sam still stubbornly shake her head in refusal.

Good girl…

The bottle returned to her, Fenway polished off the remainder of the booze, shaking every last drop into her mug.

“Seems about right, dear.” The way she spoke that last word, grated like nails on a blackboard, saccharine and fake and disgustingly unprofessional. Bile rose in the back of Magdalene’s throat once more at the realization that this motherly display of concern originated from the one woman who’d doomed all these people. A woman who was now playing the martyr.

After taking a long sip of what must have been more alcohol than coffee by now, Fenway made a face. “I honestly don’t know much. I actually met Magdalene Nox some years ago, when the Board was still paying for me to attend all sorts of conferences and represent the school.”

She paused, either for effect or to carefully consider her words. Magdalene suspected the former, since this woman seemed incapable of any kind of careful reasoning—judging by both her track record with the school and by her display this morning. Disheveled, in wrinkled clothes, and drunk, all at 10AM. Magdalene pursed her lips in disgust.

“Well, don’t keep us all on tenterhooks now, Orla!”

Some people, it appeared, couldn’t handle their liquor and were making a spectacle of themselves. Rovington was becoming braver.

“Let’s just say, if we get out of this with no more than having a Nox on the Board and nothing else, we will have dodged a massive bullet. Because if Magdalene Nox follows her husband and somehow sets her sights on Dragons, she will ruin us all, my dears. She will ruin this school and everything we hold dear.”

At Fenway’s words, Sam’s eyes widened further, full of emotion Magdalene wished she could wipe away. The fear was gone. Sheer terror had replaced it. Rage swept over Magdalene. Hot, burning, like gasoline scorching her skin. She’d been hurt just minutes ago by Sam’s reaction to her name, but to see it be manipulated like this by Fenway?

That bitch!

Fenway, incompetent, unprofessional, lacking in both morals and ethics, was lecturingotherson how they should be terrified of someone they hadn’t even met.

Well, suit yourself.

And like that gasoline, the rage that had burned hot within seconds had its fuel spent, the flames turning into nothing. The small amount of propellant Magdalene had allowed to feed that fire burning out. She would use it, but she had learned to master herself and channel it. Magdalene focused every ounce of her being on this moment. She’d been told she could be terrifying. Well, if they were all already afraid of her, she would give them something real to be frightened of.

Fenway threw back her mug and choked on the dregs of coffee and whiskey, coughing. Rovington clumsily jumped to her feet to pound her on the back, her intoxicated state plain to see. Magdalene raised an eyebrow at the display and took the first step into the Mess Hall.

The activity was focused on the choking Fenway, and Magdalene was secretly pleased.

Serves you right, you gossiping biddy!

As Dorsea was rummaging through her purse and produced a tissue, Magdalene could see Sam getting a bit lost in all the scrambling and noise around her. Those charcoal eyes turned distant, as if she was uncomfortable with what was going on, just before they took an errant look to the left and… Their gazes met.

Whatever defenses she could muster, whatever protection, whatever shields, Magdalene called on them all–because in that instant, that look, those eyes undid her.

No, Sam was no longer frightened. Even from a distance, Magdalene could see the pupils dilate, almost swallowing the gray. Confusion. Remembrance. Desire.

Well, as it turned out, she had left an impression. And what an indelible one it must have been, because the suddenly pale mouth opened and closed, then she could see Sam’s throat work, once, twice, up and down, and Magdalene chose to believe the shiver running up her spine was the thrill of victory. Of anticipation, of what was to come. Not at all lust, the desire to put her lips right there, where they’d left a mark once before, where the aorta fluttered with want and delight.

Later Magdalene would wonder at how overwhelmed her brain must have been, because not for a second did it occur to her how much Sam’s presence at Dragons complicated matters. How her private life was suddenly an ace up someone else’s sleeve, how she could be ousted, all her plans up in smoke, if this woman chose to twist the truth of their past. Yet, in the heat of the moment, first drowning in the hurt of Sam’s fear, then in the anger of Fenway’s manipulation and the crowd’s hate, Magdalene’s mind did not immediately consider all the ramifications of her newfound complicated—to say the least—situation.

So, overwhelmed as she was, Magdalene took a deep breath, tilted her head to the side, forcing herself to ignore Sam for now and to instead pay close attention to the less-than-dignified scene playing out in front of her. As much as she tried to suppress it, she was aware that the corners of her mouth were curled in a disdainful smirk. It was time to show this pathetic gathering exactly what she thought of what she was witnessing.

Finally, when Fenway’s cough was reduced to an occasional wheeze, Magdalene stepped into the light. She had chosen her attire with care this morning, every piece strategically assembled. Her four-inch, red-soled heels the only speck of color aside from her flaming red hair. Her steps rang loud and clear with a clacking noise that penetrated the chaos in an instant.

She could see Sam lick her lips, her mouth clearly dry as Magdalene stopped a few feet away from the table. Drawing up to her full height, she gave herself one more second to stop thinking about those lips, to instead lean into the cold rage in the middle of her chest and, with one last shallow breath, took off her large glasses with a flourish.

It gave her even more satisfaction when absolutely everyone in the room gaped. They all looked flummoxed, ridiculous. The silence was absolute, and it warmed Magdalene from the inside, giving her a little tingle.

Well, Fenway, you wanted them to fear me? They do.

She saw Sam rooted to the spot, the earlier fright gone from her eyes, but so was the lust. Instead, she seemed completely bewitched, unmoving and silent. Magdalene slowly turned away. She didn’t need to be sucked into those memories right now. Memories of her fingers that were currently holding her glasses, slipping into Sam, the feeling of silk walls trembling around her, the way that breath would hitch… No, she didn’t need this in this particular moment.

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