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They had time though. Sam knew they had time. If things turned out the way they’d planned, Magdalene’s contract would be extended after a successful year of the school overcoming the worst of the hurdles, and she would have more freedom to inform the trustees about their relationship and to receive whatever permission was necessary for such a thing. Sam did not want to think about all the possible scenarios this could unfold into if no permission was forthcoming. She knew how much the school meant to Magdalene.
But quite suddenly, and even with all the overwhelming passion and affection pouring out of Magdalene for her, Sam uncharacteristically found herself jealous. During her darkest hours of longing and loneliness, Sam felt like she was in constant competition with the school. She never thought she’d resent Dragons, the one place that was her home, that had given her a sense of family and belonging, but here she was, resenting the hell out of the gothic buildings, the hallowed grounds, the crowds of kids and meddling faculty, and all the people who had no business intruding on the two of them.
She told Magdalene that she understood her dreams and her ambitions and that she’d wait, but on those lonely nights, in her bed, under the covers, while she dutifully waited, Sam did wonder why the school came first. Was Sam projecting her own fears and past trauma of being abandoned? Of mattering so little that her father probably hadn’t cared a jot when her mother died and she’d been left, a newborn all alone in the world?
Hugging her pillow on those nights, Sam tried to shake off the ugly feeling, tried to chalk it up to her own insecurities, and it usually passed by morning, when she would see Magdalene at breakfast and the grey veil would lift from her heart. But then 3 AM would return and Sam would lie awake, twisting and turning and hoping that they would have their time.
Until that time ran out. To say that Sam did not see it coming was the understatement of the century. Because for all of her looking out for Magdalene, she had forgotten to look out for herself. Hadn’t she suspected deep down that Magdalene might have been wrong in her assumption that the initial attacks had simply missed their mark and hit Sam instead of her? Or did the soy milk incident really lull her into a strange state of completely forgetting that she herself was quite vulnerable?
She should have known better when a note made its way to her desk at the very end of a particularly long and grueling Friday. Magdalene had never left her notes like this before. Willoughby would most often deliver the previous missives, and nobody dared to touch him because he continued to be vicious to anyone other than the people in Magdalene’s immediate circle, which really amounted to Sam, George, and very rarely Lily.
Magdalene was extremely careful to not leave any evidence that somebody else might find just lying around, so why did Sam pounce like a hungry vulture on a piece of paper that simply said she should wait for her in the dormitory attic? And why there, of all the possible and impossible places on campus? The dusty, never-used attic was quite a dangerous place which, as she’d heard Magdalene discuss during a faculty meeting, would undergo a massive renovation during the next school break. It was crammed with the archive that had been moved from the flooded basement, an assortment of old school furniture and who knows what else, and thoroughly uninviting to any kind of amorous assignation.
But despite absolutely all the clues pointing towards it, Sam did not see the danger coming. Either her loneliness had gotten the better of her, or her longing simply took precedence in her mind, clouding her reason. She’d whispered to Magdalene at dinner time that she’d see her in the attic at 10 PM and departed before the Headmistress could answer her.
At a quarter to ten, Sam found herself climbing the stairs all the way to the roof, expecting to find the attic latched, only to be greeted by an open door and a single flower laying on the doorstep, inviting her in. Her heart almost burst out of her chest with the romance of it all. Magdalene had really gone up ahead of her and made sure Sam wouldn’t be stranded in the attic waiting for her like a fool.
Still, as she entered the dark space she thanked her lucky stars she had grabbed her flashlight, because her attempts to turn on the overhead lights, such as they were, had only been partially successful. The switch did not respond right away to her flicking it up and down a couple of times, and just when she was set to abandon her attempts, a single frail lightbulb shone to life, but it was so weak and perilous, Sam decided to keep her flashlight close. To while away the time, she paced the narrow passageway of the long attic stacked with old files, leftover wallpaper and discarded furniture. Despite Orla’s protestations that the attic was fine, Magdalene had not joked around during that meeting when she scoffed at how grimy and dangerous the place was. Moreover, the rains of the past few weeks must have damaged the roof, as the floor was wet in patches. Granted, people seldom came here exactly for those very reasons, even the girls who were housed just below in the dormitory.
She sensed more than heard the silent padding of Willoughby’s paws, as he raced ahead of his mistress to give Sam his time-honored headbutt before surveying the scene around him with a disgusted look that mirrored Magdalene’s perfectly. Still, he burrowed among some furniture, finding an old cushioned seat, and rolled into his customary loaf-like form.
Magdalene’s face was a funny combination of elation mixed with a blatant desire to not be in the space she currently occupied. She gave Sam a quick kiss, leaned back, opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly haughty and displeased, thought better of it, and leaned back in for another kiss. This one lingered, moving like waves, each deeper and more dangerous for Sam’s fragile hold on her libido. When they parted, Sam was breathing heavily and all but cross-eyed. Magdalene smirked and reached out with her thumb to wipe her own lipstick off Sam’s still panting mouth. Then she pecked Sam on the tip of her nose before looking around again with renewed, unadulterated disgust.
“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.”
She tsked and 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. Suddenly Willoughby sprang to his feet and huddled close to Magdalene’s ankles as the light shorted out and they were plunged into darkness, save for the single bright beam of the flashlight that Sam immediately turned on, shining in the dark and dust.
“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?” Magdalene brushed 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 the frightened cat with some difficulty because of his impressive bulk, settling him on her shoulder.
“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 tried not to shine the light directly at Magdalene, but even in the dim shadows, she could see astonishment cross the beloved angular features, the eyes appearing massive in their bewilderment on the pale face.
“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.”
Her heart hammered noisily in her chest with an unpleasant feeling of disquietude. Magdalene hadn’t left her the note. Magdalene wasn’t the one who’d summoned her to the attic.
Sam's, “But who...?" was interrupted by the slamming of the attic door in the distance, followed by a metal screech. Then the room fell into an eerie quiet, except for the crackling 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 suggestion, the electrical sound intensified, followed by loud hissing, and then Sam noticed an unmistakable scent.
“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. As they reached the door, Sam realized her flashlight had been rendered pointless. 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 everything up like kindling. With the fire set loose, the attic was quickly turning into a raging inferno.
“Shit, push the door…”
“Samantha Threadneedle, what the hell do you think I’m doing?” Magdalene bumped her entire upper body into the door while holding on to Willoughby who was trying to escape her grasp. The door didn't budge. A loud crash sounded as something collapsed on the other end of the attic where the fire was making its way through the debris.
“The latch! Remember the massive latch we installed to keep the girls out?”
Yes, Sam remembered that latch and that lock, even as she pushed at the door herself, putting her whole weight into it. The old wood rattled a bit on the hinges but did not budge significantly. The noises Sam had heard before were probably the footsteps of whoever slammed and latched the door. They were locked in with the fire raging a few feet away. Sam could feel the acrid smell of melting plastic fill the air as Magdalene was trying to calm a terrified Willoughby. And how had Sam not seen this coming? This maneuver had all the complexity of a third-grader sending little notes to another kid pretending to be their sweetheart for laughs. Except none of this was a joke, with the attic quickly filling with smoke as the fire made quick work of the old shelves and crates.
Her breath was coming in short puffs, her claustrophobia rearing its head.
“Sam…” As if sensing Sam’s predicament, or maybe remembering it from New York’s elevator confession, Magdalene’s voice was absolutely calm, but Sam noticed her hands tremble slightly. Seeing the suppressed emotion made Sam grit her teeth and push through.
