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Sam visibly gulped and nodded. As her chin dropped to her chest again, Magdalene decided it was safe enough, or maybe worth the risk to murmur, “And you and I both know I could pull off a Miranda Priestly just fine.”
When Sam’s head popped up, eyes wide in astonishment—and dare Magdalene say it, hunger?—it became blatantly obvious that they both knew they were in trouble.
8
OF DEMARCATION LINES & UNDETERRED CRITTERS
It felt like drawing lines. Ones of demarcation of a front. Sam’s army was on this side and hers on the other, and every time those lines moved, there was a bloodbath. If she was hoping for an armistice, Magdalene realized she was very much wrong. As soon as Sam had recovered from Magdalene’s Miranda Priestly revelation, she changed the subject.
“You told Lily that everyone will interview. But you’re already making an exception for me?”
Was it temper? Insolence? Or one of the worst cases of foot-in-mouth disease Magdalene had ever witnessed? Did Sam merely like antagonizing people who held her fate in their hands? Or did Magdalene have this singular privilege?
Whatever it was, she had a feeling Sam simply couldn’t help herself. The alternation of shy, bashful Sam to brave, brash Sam was a sight to behold.
Magdalene wanted to sigh. Deeply. She had been back on the damn island for an hour, and she was already so tired.
“You will have your interview, Ms. Threadneedle. Be at ease, I’m not showing any favoritism by saying that I will still rehire you. I bring a lot to the table, and I also recognize that you do, too. I can be as prepared as humanly possible, and believe me, I am, but reading reports and scorecards is one thing. Having been at the school for your entire life is something entirely different.”
Magdalene noted the flinch, but didn’t rejoice at scoring the hit. She pursed her lips. Clearly, she was getting sentimental, even if her words still scorched.
“Your awards aside, your history with the school, the obvious acceptance of your leadership among faculty and student body alike—as displayed both by you having been sent here by your inept peers and the staunch defense of you by your pupil—makes you a suitable candidate to spearhead the transition and help me make it as quick as possible.”
Predictably, her last comment got Sam’s hackles up.
“Quick, not smooth?”
Magdalene allowed her lethal smile to bloom.
“You will discover, Ms. Threadneedle, that I have no interest insmooth. I do not care whose feathers I ruffle. The school is drowning in debt, mismanagement, and neglect.Smoothis not going to cut it to set it back on its course.Smoothis not what is needed to save it. Are you aware that, in the past five years, Dragons has operated exclusively in the red?”
At Sam’s dumbfounded expression, Magdalene turned towards the window, her brows furrowing at the sight of the tomcat still lounging on his pillow, stretched to his full, impressive length now, paws twitching in his sleep. She wondered if he’d chosen the most impudent position possible to bask in the sun, solely to prove a point. Then she scoffed at herself for ascribing intent to a mangy animal.Ridiculous.Under her dirty stare, he stretched further, and was that a snore? Magdalene curled her lip in disgust.
“The state of the endowment is such that the school will simply not survive even one more year under similar leadership, which has propelled it towards nothing but financial ruin. As it stands right now, the finances are depleted. But of course, let me use my time to coddle Fenway and spare her feelings. Is that what you’d want me to do? Or would you, perchance, prefer that I use my time to try to save the school she’s been so busy destroying during her tenure?”
Sam gasped, and Magdalene turned to face her full-on.
“I don’t do nice, Ms. Threadneedle. I don’t do doting or coddling. I do my job and hope it will be enough to first save Dragons, and then to perhaps restore it to its glory.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could articulate her position better. Was she lying? To what end? To make herself look better? She knew she had not yet made any decision one way or another whether she’d save this rotting heap or light up a match, so why couldn’t she just admit that? Magdalene took a careful breath and glanced discreetly at her watch. She needed time. To think. To make decisions. To simply be the Headmistress.
In front of her, Sam faltered and shifted from foot to foot. Something beyond just Magdalene’s words had discombobulated her.
“Ah, I wasn’t aware things were as dire.” Obviously, bravado was what had gotten Sam through this conversation so far, and now that she was on the back foot and had heard some hard-hitting truths, she was retreating. On another day and with another person, Magdalene would congratulate herself on another win, but not today and not with Sam, who suddenly confounded her once more. “And you were very nice to me when you didn’t need to be.”
Magdalene almost choked on air. There was no way Sam was referring to…
“I sure hope you mean the elevator and not… afterward.” It was Magdalene’s turn to stumble over her words—again—and Sam finally smiled, the gesture filled with warmth instead of mockery.
“Yes, ah, the elevator. Sure. That.”
The words, the slight confusion in them, and the smile prompted Magdalene to answer in kind.
“Still tongue-tied, Ms. Threadneedle? I know a little something about panic attacks. I couldn’t leave you to it, even for self-preservation’s sake.” She was aware her words were bitchy to the extreme, but she’d infused them with enough warmth to make Sam blush.
Before either of them could say anything, the door opened without a knock yet again. Magdalene could see Sam brace herself to stand between her and whomever else was coming in here to shout their disgruntlement. This was becoming a habit.
When George's shrill voice pronounced, “Am I interrupting then, Headmistress?” before zeroing on Sam with a distinctly curious gleam in her light blue eyes, Magdalene wanted to gnash her teeth. “I’m Georgette Leroy, and who might you be, cutie?”
