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He bowed to her rather clumsily, almost stepping on the cat who’d swaggered in, his arrival signaling eleven o’clock. As Joel cursed under his breath, the tom just meowed. Magdalene smiled because it sounded like profanity. One thing she could say about the furball–he had attitude.Cattitude.And ‘he’? When had the cat become a ‘he’?
As the tom plopped his bulk on the pillow behind her, Magdalene remembered how she’d petted him last night and how soft and warm his fur had been. She’d have to take that to her grave, because there was no way she’d be able to live it down otherwise.
While the cat kneaded his bedding and stretched, prior to making a neat loaf and proceeding to purr as loudly as a tractor, Magdalene gave Sam a long look.
Time to get this show on the road.
“I assume you’ve stayed behind to plead the case for the Houses.”
“Yes.”
God, she did not want to have this conversation.
Magdalene stood up and, on her way around the desk, surprised herself by giving the cat’s ear a quick scratch. Willoughby leaned into the touch and purred louder as his warmth and the feeling of the little engine under her fingertips gave her comfort and soothed her.
When she finally raised her eyes to the other occupant of the office, Sam’s face was undergoing a fascinating transformation, from displeasure and clear disapproval, to a sudden stare at the hand that was caressing the cat. Magdalene’s hand. The expressive face gave it all away–the blush, the widening of the pupils, the clear recollection of the time Magdalene had her hands on Sam’s skin.
The earlier anticipation of a fight, the months of memories and reliving their night together, how they fit, how Sam’s body felt against hers, how she acted so out of character and yet so absolutely perfect in her own skin, coupled with the days of silent resistance and stolen looks between them seemed to bubble over, heat crawling up Magdalene’s spine, making her shiver, making her want… Except she couldn’t, they couldn’t, and Sam shouldn’t.
“Don’t...”
Magdalene said it very quietly, the whisper broken, more an exhalation than an actual spoken word. Sam watched her, visibly shaken, the gray eyes wide and full of desire. All the anger, all the resentment, and yet one memory, and they were back where it had all started, in the poorly lit bar in Manhattan, with words of poetry and longing between them.
Magdalene knew she should break off this moment that stretched for what felt like an eternity, but she allowed herself one more look. The sun’s angle gave Sam’s hair a golden hue, and the way it fell over the long neck, in places obscuring and in others revealing the expanse of skin Magdalene knew the taste of, was mouthwatering. It was wrong, so wrong, and so greedy of her, so selfish and dangerous to stand here, door ajar, and drink in the one person she could never have.
Have Sam?
The thought both surprised her and elated her in equal measure. Where had it come from? Magdalene sighed. Like the school, like this island, this woman had simply snuck up on her, entered her mind, and made herself comfortable. Or was it that Magdalene was comfortable with the idea of her?
She knew that her face, her eyes, spoke volumes. One would have to be blind not to realize how deeply both of them had been thrown into this conundrum of fate. Of all the places in the world, of all the schools, the universe had to place her Sam in Dragons, so close Magdalene had only to lift a hand to touch, yet she was forever forbidden.
Her position, Sam’s job, the Charter, the accursed school. Yes, begrudgingly she was coming around to the idea of saving this heap, but it had been the object of her wrath for so long, it was hard to relinquish that. Magdalene wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare for fear she’d be unable to stop herself and dissolve into hysteria.
As if clearing it, Sam shook her head slightly, and Magdalene took it as a sign that the spell was broken. It was time to move past the awkwardness of the moment. The room was filled with so much yearning; it was a miracle they were not spontaneously combusting.
Sam spoke first, and Magdalene held out some hope that maybe they wouldn’t talk about the Houses at all. Maybe Sam knew to leave well enough alone, especially now that one spark could set them both ablaze.
“Have you made a decision on Professor Fenway?”
Despite being grateful for the pivot, Magdalene faltered slightly in scratching under the sleeping cat’s chin. He opened his eyes and gave Sam what could only be described as a look of total condemnation for the interruption.
Well, this wasn’t a difficult question to answer. Orla’s interview had gone abysmally, but Magdalene failed to secure her replacement. And after pondering the issue for a week, she’d decided that keeping her enemies close was the prudent thing here. No mistake about it, Fenway hated her with a vengeance that Magdalene at times struggled to explain.
There was another reason, one that perhaps outweighed all of the above, but Magdalene really didn’t want to give it voice.
“Yes, I decided to keep Professor Fenway at Dragons. She agreed to a probationary year as English Chair. We shall see how it goes.”
Magdalene allowed herself a small smile when Sam’s breath left her lungs in an audible whoosh.
“Well, that’s… well, that’s good. Thank you. May I ask what changed your mind?”
Magdalene’s smile bloomed fully, and she considered how to best avoid disclosing why on Earth she’d decided to keep Orla Fenway around. And not just the rationales she had stated to herself and to George every time they’d talked. Those were all valid, but there was also another small reason. Revealing her motive to Sam was both dangerous and tantalizing. After a moment, she cleared her throat and chose the middle ground.
“Despite a number of people spreading rumors to the contrary, I actually do try to take all information into account when making a decision, Professor. I listen.”
“You mean…”
“I mean that you made a compelling case.”
