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But Magdalene’s cunning, if sexy, evasiveness didn’t totally deter Sam from making certain assumptions and reaching certain conclusions. The Headmistress was up to something, and that something was major.
Sam understood that Magdalene walked a very fine line between her own principles, the true needs of Dragons and its students, and the very strict list of demands the trustees had set out for her in her contract. And yet, after everything Magdalene had shared with her—from her own heartbreaking story to her deep and thorough understanding of what was needed to lift up Dragons—Sam was anxiously waiting for whatever Magdalene would announce at the opening ceremony in the presence of the entire student body, parents and trustees.
If the latter would even grace the school with their presence. They certainly hadn’t attended the opening ceremony in years. Sam had a feeling, though, that after the racket the Old Dragonettes, the parents, and student groups had been raising—including the protests at Alden’s campaign events—the trustees might just show up for this one. Whether it was to rejoice at their own triumph of gutting the school, or to remove the Headmistress that dared to go against the grain, remained to be seen.
Other things that occupied Sam’s mind were the attacks on Magdalene, which seemed to have stopped after they’d returned from the mainland. Magdalene, of course, refused to heed any caution and still prowled around the school and the island at all hours of the day and night, organizing whatever business she had prioritized for that day. Seemingly without a care in the world, she projected confidence and a calmness that Sam herself was not feeling.
Willoughby cheerfully pranced after her, though how anyone with his bulk would appear to prance and be cheerful about it, was a mystery to Sam. The cat that hadn’t moved in years, other than from one sunspot to the next, had suddenly gained a youthful vigor and the energy to keep up with one of the most on-the-go people Sam had ever known.
Sam was trying very hard not to let it be known how endearing she found the fact that the two gingers were inseparable, the utterly adorable duo doing everything together. They’d developed a rhythm where Willoughby would be snoozing through meetings, but shake himself awake the moment it was time to inspect some construction site or go to another errand. Magdalene would be engaged in her usual spats with Orla over breakfast while cutting salami into little cubes for the cat who was lying patiently at her feet. With or without the salami, however, Willoughby was clearly enraptured, his little purr being heard any and every time Magdalene deigned to scratch his big round head.
And speaking of being enraptured. Sam had not used any particular descriptor to characterize her feelings and neither had Magdalene, but every time their eyes met, she could swear the temperature in the room spiked. The hairs on her neck stood on end, goosebumps running up and down her spine. She was utterly ridiculous in her besottedness and in the expression of that adoration through nonverbal reactions to its object. Sam felt that she was worse than Willoughby. At least he managed to be dignified in his affections, only ever drooling when Magdalene offered treats.
Sam wasn’t sure she hit that level of dignity and rather wasn’t simply ridiculous. The fact that Lily had taken her aside one day and read her a bit of riot act about being slightly less conspicuous, was probably telling in and of itself.
“Look, it’s one thing to moon over the Headmistress while there’s only a handful of people at school. Nobody cares that deeply about you at the moment, as everyone is way too busy being awful to each other and stressing out. But in like two days it will be a total zoo and everyone will be in her business because she’s hotter than hot, and since you’re already sort of crush-worthy and have your own admirers to beat off with a stick, you really should be hiding whatever it is you’ve got going on a lot better.”
Setting aside some of the utterly ridiculous assertions that Lily had made, especially that Sam somehow had admirers or was—how had Lily put it?—crush-worthy, the kid had a point. In fact, the kid probably had two points as David continued to rather insistently brood over her total lack of interest in him. And while it was extremely new to her to have anyone know about her sexuality and not be totally wretched about it, Sam still tried very hard to hide her ever-expanding emotions where the aforementioned hotter-than-hot Headmistress was concerned.
It was proving kind of difficult though because every day Magdalene would find new ways to make Sam fall deeper and deeper. A flower on her doorstep, a little note with just the outline of her lips in red lipstick, a hot to-go cup of coffee from the coffee shop in town, which given how big of an anathema the town was for the school folks, was a feat in and of itself… In any case, all the seemingly insignificant little gestures spoke volumes.
They could no longer engage in any physical pursuits, nor did they dare talk aloud about their newfound harmony and understanding of each other’s motives and nascent emotions, and so Magdalene devised other ways to continue to let Sam know she thought of her, that she cared.
Hence Sam found it difficult to heed Lily’s warning to be subtle about her newfound happiness. And how could she, when the night before she had heard scratching and meowing at her door and there was Willoughby, who was rapidly becoming her second-favorite redhead, his collar having been replaced by a flower crown with a sweet note tied to it?
“Is she making you work, boy? I’d say you look cute, but that’s just a bit undignified for a noble gent like yourself, huh?” Willoughby meowed, obviously fully expecting payment for his endeavors. Sam fed him the treats she now kept in her room just for this very type of occasion and took the message and flower crown off him just before he could scurry away in the direction of Magdalene’s apartment.
And that was another thing. It really had been coming for months now, but Sam was astounded at how such a seemingly aloof, cold, and overtly arrogant individual—for that was how Magdalene presented herself—had managed to turn so many of her enemies into outright friends and supporters.
Willoughby, the cat who’d despised everyone, was ensorcelled. Lily, whose fate hung in the balance, dependent solely on Magdalene’s decision, adored her. Joanne, who had been one of the people to put Sam on the warpath against her to begin with, deferred to her more and more these days.
Orla still hated Magdalene’s guts though, and Sam found it very hard to interact with her mentor. She knew Orla considered her disloyal and that she believed Sam had folded when the school’s entire existence was on the line. So they orbited each other with a special kind of care, avoiding personal conversations and even professional ones, engaging in superficial exchanges of greetings, and sticking to innocuous subjects like the weather and other mundane things.
Sam felt the loss as if a dear part of her was missing. She missed their evening discussions, Orla’s wit, and her scandalous adventures with younger men—all of which she’d proudly and hilariously recount to Sam during their weekly teas at Orla’s cottage. It was a difficult situation for Sam to overcome or overlook. On one hand, she could understand the sheer frustration of seeing what could end up as a total dismantlement of Orla’s legacy, but on the other, she couldn’t comprehend Orla’s determination to deny that, one way or the other, her legacy was doomed. Either the school would be neutered but survive, or it would fold entirely.
She looked at the crown weaved from late-blooming daisies and the piece of folded paper with a red lipstick outline and her heart lightened, even as her mind struggled with the feeling of disloyalty yet again.
She shook her head, reaching for the delicate white flowers, holding the crown gently in her hands, marveling at the skill and care put into weaving such an intricate pattern. She’d made her choice, and she’d wear the crown that came with it, be it of daisies or of thorns, because she knew she’d be shunned and ostracized by faculty and students alike when she’d show her hand and profess open and unwavering support for the Headmistress on opening day.
* * *
In the meantime, with no other outlet for her nervous energy and anxiety, Sam continued to do what she could to distract herself from thoughts of either the impending doom predicted for the Headmistress or thoughts of the Headmistress herself. The former was impossible since there was some sort of outcry or scandal to deal with every day, sometimes hourly, due to people panicking, rumors being spread, or Magdalene either firing or hiring somebody—to the massive overreaction of those at the school and outside of it. The latter was even more difficult since Magdalene was doing all that while wearing her signature designer skirts, tailored to perfection to her subtle curves and showing just the right amount of skin to tease Sam mercilessly. Not to mention that, these days, Sam had a very good idea what was underneath those skirts, and the thoughts of garters and stockings were enough to end any other pursuits she could have been entertaining at that moment.
No matter what she did, be it drink her coffee or conduct a staff meeting, Sam’s thoughts would inevitably turn either to plans of what she was going to do to Magdalene when she’d get the chance, or to memories of their two nights together. Which, considering it didn’t encompass a large amount of time, seemed to have been filled with so many things for Sam to remember, she was in a perpetual state of arousal. And while she hated the cliche that professed women’s panties would be ‘ruined’ by lustful thoughts about sexual encounters, she’d come to believe that such literary proclamations by romance writers had some foundation to stand on, since her underwear had required a change at least twice just last week alone.
One such incident occurred when she and Magdalene had breakfast with Joanne and a very reluctant Orla one day. George was in and out of the Mess Hall, and effectively it was up to Joanne and Sam to maintain a modicum of civil conversation since Orla was sullen and belligerent the few times she did open her mouth, and Magdalene was never one for small talk to begin with.
Running entirely out of things to chat about, Sam looked around the table and latched onto the new jams that the Mess Hall staff were buying from the local market, at Magdalene’s insistence to reduce costs and shop exclusively on the island for most foodstuffs. Right as Joanne and she were launching into singing praises to the blackberry jam, Magdalene suddenly broke the silent sipping of her coffee by saying, “I wasn’t expecting the taste, it starts just a little tangy with this lingering sweet undertone. The sweetness stays with you.”
Sam promptly choked on her blackberry jam toast, Magdalene hid her smirk in her coffee mug, and Joanne and Orla were left staring uncomprehendingly between the two of them.
And how could Sam not choke when all she could think about was the image of Magdalene—naked and relaxed on the debauched bed-and-breakfast bed—running the tips of her fingers up and down the length of Sam’s slit as she had lain there in complete and utter post-orgasmic bliss only to be roused by the sound of her lover licking and sucking each and every finger with a rapturous expression? Sam remembered promptly blushing and trying to hide her face in the pillow, but Magdalene had not allowed her. Instead, she’d kissed her deeply, letting Sam taste herself, something that she had never done before, and something that had made her blush an even deeper crimson.
“You can be such an adorable prude, Sam.” Magdalene’s low purr did sweet, teasing things to Sam’s surprisingly alert-again core.
“I noticed this about you the first time we were together. You don’t relax entirely when I go down on you. You love it, but there is that initial reluctance, as if you think I might not like what I find. It takes you a bit to overcome that mental barrier. I don’t think you came by my mouth in Manhattan, and I certainly had to take you by surprise earlier tonight to make you let go under my lips.”
Sam mumbled something incoherent even to her own ears and burrowed into Magdalene’s embrace. But Magdalene was not to be deterred. The stubborn woman, who seemed to be in the habit of getting anything and everything she wanted, at least in bed, simply shifted and, looking directly into Sam’s eyes, licked her lips, before continuing.
