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Magdalene allowed herself a smile full of poison. She really did hate these men. “The trustees are a necessary evil. They rule the school and manage the endowment.”
“Well, where were they when their management was needed? When Orla was left to fend for Dragons alone?” Sam’s eyes grew wide, and Magdalene wondered if she was even capable of stopping herself at this point. And yet she had never been more attractive than this, windblown and angry and powerless, yet holding Magdalene’s attention with the ease of a magician. When had she become partial to runaway trains? They were never safe. They were harbingers of wrecks.
Heat rose in Magdalene's cheeks and her breathing shallowed. Oblivious, Sam went on, those long fingers keeping score of her recitation.
“Where were they when we had to expand the northern wing to accommodate the increasing number of students? Where were they when, ten years ago, the Astronomy Tower on Viridescent Cliff was left to rot, abandoned for a lack of funds? Where were they when dozens of scholarship students needed books and uniforms? Those girls had to be housed and taught. The scholarships were tacitly approved by the trustees, yet unsupported by the endowment. Where were they when students like Amanda were struggling to find a place in over ten other schools? Dragons was the only institution that accepted her! And yet all the Board ever did was throw roadblocks at us every step of the way.”
The words acted like a cold shower, breaking the spell.
The ever-blessed—or cursed—scholarships.
They were a thorn in her side, with the math simply not adding up on the funding and the legalities of everything surrounding this issue being totally ignored by the previous administration. She couldn’t contain the sigh.
“I will leave aside for now the discussion about how the scholarships even came to be since the school’s charter specifically prohibits outside sources of funding and the endowment is beggared. Dragons took way too big of a bite and is in ruins now precisely because the percentage of scholarship students highly exceeds what the endowment can comfortably support.”
Sam whirled on her with renewed fire in her eyes, and Magdalene’s breath caught in her chest.
“With all due respect, Headmistress, screwcomfortable, these children deserve an education, and housing, and the best things we can provide for them.”
She wanted to reach out and grab this woman and shake her. Then kiss her. Then shake her some more. Magdalene closed her eyes to try to chase away the tantalizing images.
“It’s precisely this attitude that brought about the current situation, Professor Threadneedle. Expanding things when the money was tight, admitting new charity cases—”
“Children aren’t charity cases! These girls are a miracle, each and every one of them.”
Sam paced away, visibly struggling to get her ragged breathing under control, and Magdalene took that time to try to settle her own racing heart.
But Sam wasn’t finished, and when she returned, her face alight with righteousness, it really should not have been as downright sensual as it was. And it definitely shouldn’t be doing the things it was doing to Magdalene’s insides.
“And how can you be such a hypocrite? You speak of doing what’s best for the school, yet it seems that the actual best is solely for the trustees’ benefit! You are here to return the school to its religious roots, which might as well be like plunging it back into the 19th century. How can you do this, when you yourself have no problem engaging in… well… you know…” Sam gestured awkwardly between the two of them, trying and failing to control a nervous stammer. “Yet you push all this sanctimony on us all. How do you sleep at night?”
Well, if she needed a cold shower to douse all her thoroughly inappropriate thoughts, she had certainly gotten one. Being called a hypocrite tended to do that to one’s aforementioned insides. Magdalene wanted to scoff at herself. Sam might not be indifferent to her, but her loyalty to this rotten heap of stone and wood and these incompetent people was clearly stronger than whatever thin thread connected the two of them ever since they’d walked into the same bar.
So be it…
“I sleep just fine, Professor.” Magdalene said nothing else as she rose from the now-soiled hoodie. Under different circumstances she’d have offered to have it cleaned, but her own banked anger didn’t allow her any concessions just yet. She needed to get away from these wounded eyes and this concerned expression. And she needed to hurry.
“What will you do?”
Despite the gentle tone, Magdalene had had enough. And her own battered heart could only take so much.
“Whatever is required. Whatever those before me felt was too hard to do.” With those words, she turned on her heel and strode back to the cursed mansion that had once again taken something from her.
* * *
Night fell,blanketing her frayed thoughts and her runaway emotions. Restless, lonely, she poured a glass of Glenfiddich and forced herself to sip it, even though the impulse was to throw it back and fill another tumbler.
Magdalene paced, occasionally stopping by the window where the rain was drawing patterns on the glass that she didn’t try to interpret. She feared they might spell her doom, since this place, as ever, made her weak. And now, with the added ‘bonus’ of Sam, Magdalene felt off-kilter, her usual acuity lost to attraction and self-doubt.
As she walked away from observing the pouring rain, she caught herself glancing at her watch, then stopped dead in her tracks. She wasnotwaiting for the cat. She wasn’t. This was theabsolute lasthumiliation she would allow for one day.
Magdalene deliberately slammed shut the door to the bathroom, knowing the barrier would drown out the now familiar scratch at the door. Halfway into her shower, she groaned at herself for being so ridiculous and threw a towel over her wet body, rushing to the front door. As she pulled it open, the tom sat there, tail wrapped around the front paws, all the patience in the world in the bicolored eyes blinking up at her.
She sighed and shivered, wet and cold under the soggy towel. As if sensing her discomfort, the cat did what it had never done before. It slowly walked closer to her and, after a quick glance up, as if seeking permission, rubbed its warm, furry side against her ice-cold calf. Fur stuck to her skin. It felt rather disgusting. For some unfathomable reason, Magdalene bore it stoically.
That night, the tom slept on the pillow she’d casually—too casually to fool either of them—thrown from her bed and onto the floor next to it.
From the little carpet by the front door and into her bedroom in a week. Magdalene wanted to shake her fist at the deities who governed this place, but she feared the Dragons might just laugh at her. Yet as it turned out, the loud half snore, half purr coming from the side of her bed was better than any white noise machine, lulling her to sleep and keeping her loneliness at bay.
