Page 21 of Magdalene Nox

Oh, hell, no…

Sam’s inflection on the address had no doubt been on purpose. Not only was she implying adultery, but she was challenging Magdalene’s authority and her word, all but calling her a liar, in front of the entire faculty.

The faculty… As her anger flared, and between her splitting headache and runaway emotions, with all her thoughts focusing on Sam, Magdalene almost flinched upon being reminded that they were not, in fact, alone.

Dozens of eyes were on them, some filled with fear, some with rabid curiosity, and some with complete resignation. Joanne Dorsea and Ruth Trufault, with their sad, dejected faces, fell into the latter category so easily.

Well, your thirty-year-old chickens have taken very long to roost, but here they are, ladies…

And amid that explosive cocktail of fear and loathing, Sam stood tall, her voice, that melodic low rasp of it still ringing off the stone walls. Was she hoping Magdalene would be afraid? Turn out to be a pretender? Was Sam praying that all this was some sort of farce? To what end?

Clear as day, Reverend Sanderson’s sanctimonious, patronizing sermons rang in Magdalene’s ears, as if the old coot were standing at the front of the Mess Hall.

Have faith, for it is the substance of things hoped for…

Maybe that was what Sam was doing? Betting on her faith and leaping blindly into insults and insinuations? Trying to sabotage her? Since God knows—pun intended—out of this entire crowd, she was the only one who could touch Magdalene, if not by revealing their encounter, then by getting under her skin.

Nonetheless, it would be curious and strangely grounding to put Sam in her place. Because she was taking this massive leap, hoping to land somewhere safe, to hit on something that would save her, save them all. And here was Magdalene, holding the truth and being able to place it just out of reach. A sexy game, an edging of sorts…

Oh, god, she had sex on her brain, and it was all this woman’s fault…

The anger returned. Twofold. Both at Sam and at herself for being weak. This place had always had a debilitating sort of power over her. Making her surrender, making her ordinary. Well, it was time to claim some of those things back.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set her jaw. Raising an eyebrow, she stretched her full lips into a blistering smile.

“It’s Headmistress. Or Magdalene, in a pinch.” Her smile turned into a full-on smirk as she saw Sam’s jaw drop at the obvious reference to the well-known Star Trek captain, who similarly did not brook any doubts about her authority. A captain they’d talked about in the elevator while Magdalene had done all those other things that were so out-of-character. Comforted. Distracted. Shared intimacies.

Well Sam, now you at least know that I do remember you. For better or worse.

Magdalene wanted to laugh as she heard a rather audible gulp, Sam’s color draining from her face in an instant. Why had she thought she could brazenly take on Magdalene? She’d parried Sam’s opening salvo with ease, despite the initial hit scored.

Belatedly, Magdalene realized that Sam may interpret her reply as a taunt over her claustrophobia. Belated, indeed, since she didn’t mean it that way. Merely a flick at remembering her.

Well, what’s done is done…

Setting her curiosity over Sam’s hastiness—or whatever else had prompted this attempt to brave this out—aside, along with her regret at the words she had chosen, Magdalene focused on the job at hand. She’d deal with the rest later. After all, one shot at her victim-du-jour would be enough to set most of these people straight. And they were all standing decidedly so, some quivering, some hiding behind defiance, yet all at attention.

“As for why you should assume anything related to the powers I embody as Headmistress, I imagine this designation, signed by the Board of Trustees, should be enough.”

Magdalene knew her face contorted slightly at the state of the table that held the mess of mugs, the now empty whiskey bottle, and the papers in front of Fenway, but she nonetheless took a pristine document from her briefcase and placed it on top of the pile.

Under Magdalene’s glare, hand shaking visibly, looking twenty years older than her fifty-five, Orla Fenway reached for the piece of paper effectively removing her from the position she had occupied the last twenty years.

Several long moments later, she placed the document down and, without looking at anyone in particular, nodded. The room erupted. Shouts of, “You can’t!”, “I’ve given my life to this place!”, “What are we going to do now?” filled the Mess Hall.

Magdalene let the voices ring, allowing mayhem to prevail for just a few seconds, letting these people have their outbursts. When she raised her hand, the noise, as always, died down. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam’s breath catch, and it gave her a very pleasant little jolt.

Which you will think about later…

“Now that you have had your little tantrums, when you’re ready to discuss matters like adults, preferably sober ones, make arrangements with my secretary to re-apply for your positions. If you interview to my satisfaction, you will have your jobs back. Those who are re-hired may proceed with their vacation plans. Those who are not, or decide that interviewing is not something they want to attempt, may vacate the premises and surrender the keys to their accommodations to the custodial staff.”

Magdalene’s arched eyebrow dared anyone to contradict her. But Sam was the only one who’d had the courage, or maybe the foolhardiness, to speak directly to her so far.

“Now, Doctor Fenway, if you would accompany me to my new office. I believe there are some things we need to discuss before the trustees arrive on the island with the twelve o’clock ferry.”

* * *

She knewthe way to the Headmistress’ office like the back of her hand. Magdalene might have forgotten many things, but not these corridors. And they had remained exactly the same. Even the boards that had creaked back in her days of running amok on these oaken floors. It was as if time had stopped among these godforsaken walls. A lifetime had passed, and she knew every nook and cranny still.

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