Page 2 of The Monster and the Masochist

I wasn’t exactly one to giggle, but the matter-of-fact way he claimed this household ear-cleaner was magic had made my lip twitch.

As silly as it was, it kind of worked. My dad made me wave it, and I had to think of three things that made me happy.

Usually, it was enough to chase away the bad dreams and allow me to go back to sleep.

But… I wasn’t dreaming now.

This was all very real, and not even my magic Q-Tip could save me.

“Hold all my calls, Margaret. Theodora and I have some work to do. We’re not to be interrupted,” Samwell said as he unlocked the door to his office.

“Of course, Father,” the receptionist replied as I followed him into the small room.

He waited for me to pass before closing the door behind him.

The trembling started as the scent of the space overwhelmed me. He wore this nasty, musky cologne, and it clung to the white brick walls like some sort of mildew.

His office was modest. He had his degrees framed and hung, and there was a large window behind his standard-issue desk.

I knew better than to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk. I wouldn’t be sitting again for a long time.

There was the bone-chilling click of the door’s lock mechanism catching, and he sealed us in together.

I stared forward, with my hands still fisted in my pockets. If I squeezed hard enough, it made my injured hand throb, and it gave me something to focus on besides the wild beat of my heart.

“Theodora, tsk, tsk, tsk… What are we going to do with you?”

He was so close behind me, I could feel the heat of his body against my back.

All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I forced myself not to step away from him.

When I didn’t respond, he sighed and brushed past me. I watched him cross the office and round his desk.

Father Samwell always wore a suit, and his grey hair was coiffed in a no-nonsense style.

However, with his thin lips and his black eyes, he was almost reptilian in nature. He reminded me of a lizard, or some sort of great snake. He both revolted me and terrified me.

I hated him.

He went to work closing the blinds, cutting out the bright sunlight, and leaving us in the shadows.

“You assaulted a student,” he said, but I just glared at him as he bent down to open the bottom drawer of his desk.

I knew what was in that drawer.

I swallowed.

“Not only that, you’re in pants. Again. You know that all girls here at St. Andrews are expected to wear the female uniform.”

“My dad bought me these. He said your rules aren’t inclusive, and I should be able to wear what makes me feel comfortable.”

Father Samwell glanced up at me, his dark eyes shining with a sickening excitement.

“Ah, yes. Your father. The renowned George Fairview. Silent Hollow’s resident mortician. We’ve had several discussions about this. Rules are rules, Theodora. I’ve told your father that if he has a problem with the uniform policy, he’s more than welcome to transfer you to another school.”

I grit my teeth.

He’d tried.