Page 80 of Magdalene Nox

As Joel’s shouts about her unprofessionalism and irresponsible behavior in regard to her duties to the school and the trustees rang loud and obnoxious in the small space, she could see Timothy furrow his brow and stand taller, clearly determined to defend her. Just as she got close to reaching the end of her tether, the door opened yet again and Alden walked in. Bile rose in Magdalene’s throat. Sam held his arm and his hand was on hers as he maneuvered them through the crowded office, closer to where Joel was still all spittle and rage.

Sam’s eyes flashed with something Magdalene could not decipher, but Joel’s shouts demanded her attention. She almost touched her sternum, throbbing with anxiety at Sam’s appearance, but lowered her hand again, drawing strength from the sun-warmed paper under her fingertips.

“… how could you have undergone the number of changes that you did without so much as consulting the Board, Ms. Nox? This is inconceivable and irresponsible at best, and illegal at worst!” Joel, who didn’t seem to take note of the new arrivals or of Magdalene’s silence, just raged on. He looked like he was about to launch into another tirade when Magdalene cut him off.

“I do not need to consult with the Board on such matters, Mr. Tullinger.” She thought she could actually see foam forming around his mouth at her measured reply.

“How in the hell…”

“Joel—” To her surprise, the interruption originated from the hoarse voice she had grown to know well. The same voice that had told her that ‘perverts like her’ had no place at Dragons. Stanton Alden. Was he rebuking Joel? She wasn’t certain, but one word from him, and silence reigned.

Nonetheless, Magdalene wasn’t about to let Alden stand in front of her, if that even was what he was doing. She turned the paper under her palms text up, displaying the Dragons’ crest on the document empowering her as Headmistress along with a nice set of signatures framing her own.

“Before you expose yourself as ignorant of my contract terms, Mr. Tullinger—a contract that you signed along with everyone else on the Board—let me inform you or remind you, whichever may be the case, that short of me selling off property, closing the school, or setting it all on fire, I, as the Headmistress, have the full power and authority to administer the school’s holdings as I see fit, as long as it is in accordance with the letter of the law.”

Magdalene could see George, who’d somehow materialized in the office, peek at her from behind Orla’s bony shoulders, eyes strangely blank, but a scratchy cough from her left drew her attention.

Augustus Rolffe, one of the oldest trustees, whom Magdalene had never heard open his mouth, shook his head and tutted, giving her a smile that could only be described as patronizing, his curled mustache both pompous and comical.

“The letter of the contract may have been respected, Ms. Nox. But not the spirit. This school belongs to the trustees—”

Well, Alden, Joel, now Rolffe… Why any of them believed they could continue to disrespect her and her professional achievements without repercussions was anyone’s guess. But if Magdalene were to venture one, it would be because they were men who were rarely checked by women—and almost never by a woman demanding to be given what was hers.

“It’s Headmistress or Doctor Nox. I hold two Doctorates, one in English Literature and one in Education from Boston College and Harvard, respectively, Mr. Rolffe. I am not entirely certain when it became fashionable for you and others on the Board to forget that and refuse to give me the respect that is due to me.”

Joel sputtered, Rolffe’s eyes bugged, and his voice rose, losing its rustiness, now sounding like a howl.

Wolves…

Magdalene lowered her face for a second, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk, seeking purchase, as panic stretched its tendrils into her lungs, shutting them down, suffocating her. She tried to tune out the louder noises and focus on the silence. Timothy—still standing to her right, ready to come to her aid at any moment—and Alden, who continued to hold Sam’s hand on his forearm, were the ones she took some solace from. Even if the latter was an odd choice, him not jumping into the fray as yet surely was a good sign?

As Joel bristled, George stepped out from behind Orla, her hands balled, but it was Willoughby who broke the perilous detente by getting up from his pillow and hissing at Joel. Her ginger knight.

Before the cat—or George for that matter—could launch and rip Tullinger’s face off, help came from the one source Magdalene desperately wished for and had just as desperately tried not to hope for.

“And when will you acknowledge that you placed Headmistress Nox in an impossible situation, ready to throw her under the bus for any and all decisions that she would make, without so much as blinking an eye?”

Sam’s voice was matter-of-fact, conversational even, but in the chaos of the office, it commanded absolutely everyone to turn to her.

“Excuse me, young lady?” Rolffe’s bushy eyebrows climbed all the way up his massive forehead.

The heaviness around her chest lifted, the roots of the anticipated panic attack falling away, allowing her not just to breathe but to also want to laugh out loud. Of all the wrong things to say, referring to Sam, whose nostrils were already flaring, ‘young lady’ was perhaps the worst mistake possible. Indeed, the Fourth Dragon—as Sam fittingly had been dubbed by students and faculty alike for her staunch defense of the school and her unquestioning loyalty—zeroed in on Rolffe as if he were a bug to be squashed, and the older man took a startled step back from the blazing gray eyes. Magdalene wanted to fan herself.

Mercy…

“No, I will not excuse you, Mr. Rolffe. It’s Professor or Doctor Threadneedle. I have also earned a Ph.D. in Education and I wish I could say that my title is beside the point, but it isn’t. The lack of respect, the utter and astonishing lack of regard that has been accorded to the women on faculty at Dragons by the Board of Trustees for years is beyond the pale.”

There was no use in even attempting a poker face, and why would she when Sam was, for all intents and purposes, her avenging angel incarnate? Magdalene observed the spectacle unfolding as it suffused her with joy. When Sam’s gaze met hers, she actually bit her lip. The gray eyes widened a fraction before the wide mouth pursed as if trying to hold back whatever reaction Magdalene had elicited before turning to Joel and Rolffe.

“Calling us by anything other than our titles is one thing, but to place every speck of blame for your incompetence and irresponsibility—which has driven the school into the ground and wrecked the endowment—on our shoulders is unconscionable.”

As Sam set her jaw, she seemed to shake whatever leash had been holding her back, and Magdalene wanted to applaud. Pride, along with not an inconsiderable amount of lust, swelled in her chest… Well, Magdalene chose to think of it in those terms, even as she crossed her legs.

“Mr. Tullinger, in his speech two months ago, implied that the decisions made by Headmistress Fenway were responsible for bankrupting the endowment, but who manages it? Who is responsible for the day-to-day investments, for the actual administration of those funds? The school requests the money according to the budget approved by the Board. Why was the school not informed that the investments made these past years have been ruinous to the endowment?”

A math teacher talking numbers and budgets would never not be attractive. Magdalene worried the inside of her mouth to refrain from smirking as Sam went on.

“Why have the trustees continued to approve further budgets they knew full-well would drive the school deeper into red? And then, when the hammer fell, why was Headmistress Fenway blamed for it all? You gave seemingly full authority to Headmistress Nox, and then proceeded to scold her like a child—in front of her own employees no less—for doing exactly what you all entrusted her to do!”

---