Page 57

Oh, not that old chestnut again.

“I will bring anyone and everyone I choose to, Professor Fenway. Do you know why?”

Magdalene’s question clearly surprised Orla, who blinked from behind her massive lenses, her eyes slightly blurry and watery.

“Um… Why?”

Magdalene gave her a pointed once-over, eyes deliberately stopping to underscore her disdain for some of the rattier items of clothing before focusing on the state of Fenway’s hair and face. She didn’t quite sneer, but it was a close call. Instead, she chose to purse her lips and narrow her eyes.

“Because I am the Headmistress, and I make all the decisions about this school, Professor Fenway. Especially since I’m the one being targeted and harassed. So yes, I’m in charge. Not the teachers, not the trustees, and certainly not you. You don’t appear to be fit anymore, Professor.”

It was small of her, a little mean, and certainly very petty, but she enjoyed seeing her opponent recoil in turn before clearly finding whatever was giving her courage these days and launching into shrill shouts, threats, and foot stomping.

Magdalene tuned her out. She had landed several punches. Her morning was made. Not even the, “you will regret this,” thrown at her as she turned her back to Fenway prior to entering the Mess Hall could darken her mood. She had already gleaned that the one person she wanted to see, had craved to be in the presence of, was quietly sipping her coffee from an oversized mug at the faculty table. Alone.

Heaven. Mercy.

As Fenway’s sneakers squeaked away, carrying their enraged owner to whichever lair she occupied these days—or more likely to the nearest watering hole to either drown her sorrows or rally more of her forces to harass Magdalene—she opened the door wider, allowing Willoughby to walk in ahead of her.

The landed blows and satisfaction at her own pettiness didn’t erase the ugliness of the encounter, and Magdalene shook her head, trying to dislodge the annoyance. She did not want to allow this mood to spill even a single drop of poison on Sam.

And so she followed Willoughby a little stiff and a little raw around the edges. As she approached the woman in question and their eyes met, Magdalene realized she had missed Sam, despite seeing her only a few hours ago. Despite feeling torn. She bit her lip, feeling a little giddy.

How silly… How entirely unbecoming of her… To pine? She cleared her throat.

But then Sam smiled, her entire face transforming, and Magdalene had to suppress the desire to grin right back. God, she was so pretty, and Magdalene was just so gone for her.

The realization wasn’t new. Magdalene was perfectly aware she had wanted this woman since their encounter in Manhattan, but as always, it both rankled and thrilled at the same time. She pressed her lips together, yet her pulse hammered annoyingly in her throat.

Dismissing both the hammering and her annoyance, Magdalene sauntered towards the faculty table, every step allowing her to see Sam’s expression clearer. And yes, elated was the word Magdalene chose to settle on, because that face… Those expressive features that were incapable of hiding any thought or emotion appeared nothing short of enraptured.

In the span of the few seconds it took her heels to transport her closer to Sam, she read lust, adoration, need, and hunger in the gray eyes, and her heart sped up at the array of feelings on display.

With her mouth slightly open, tongue peaking out to wet the dry lips, Magdalene knew exactly where Sam’s mind had gone–to the small room in New York, to the moments when Magdalene was pliant and panting and wet and disheveled, and wanting so much, but also feeling so much… All at the mercy of those soft hands with their slim fingers, of that mouth that was now so close to her own, so tantalizing and seductive in its earnestness and longing.

They were both feeling this. The tear in the universe that had somehow folded itself like origami to bring them together. And they were both absolutely helpless to stop it.

Still, for appearances’ sake, if for no other reason, Magdalene tried to school her features and let Sam know she was onto her. A raised eyebrow seemed to do the trick again, even within this totally different context, and Sam flushed a deep crimson.

Magdalene felt her core muscles clench, and her hands twitched with the impulse to reach out and tug at Sam’s hair until she’d raise her face and they would have no other option but to kiss again.

With considerable effort and some pretty ingenious thoughts about Orla Fenway, the Dragonettes, rats, and dead flowers to distract her, Magdalene managed to calm her racing heart. She felt a little sticky, her thong no match for the powerhouse that was Sam Threadneedle—with desire written all over her face, no doubt having dirty thoughts about debauching her—but she rallied, nonetheless.

Magdalene gave Sam one last look, infusing it with as much authority and arrogance as she could, solely because she should, at least occasionally, put this woman in her place. But Sam just grinned sheepishly, and Magdalene relented.

She twirled around before Sam could see her answering grin and instead chose to doctor up her coffee from the assortment of accouterments that were spread across a side table. Then she approached Sam, whose pose of languid lounging did little to stop Magdalene’s mouth from watering.

“You look comfortable, Professor Threadneedle.” Sam threw her a sideways look, visibly struggling to hide her blush, and buried her face in her coffee mug.

“Good morning to you, too, Headmistress Nox.” When she surfaced, Sam inclined her head towards the door. “If it wasn’t thoroughly unprofessional, I’d say you look wonderful today, so instead I’ll say that you look like you’re having a bit of a morning.”

Magdalene sat down carefully, setting her mug in front of herself. Immediately, Willoughby reminded them of his presence with a loud meow.

“You mean the esteemed Professor Fenway and her usual histrionics? She is very upset that I dared to insinuate that somebody is out to oust me and perhaps even harm me.”

Sam sat back, clearly surprised. “You spoke to her about yesterday?”

“The whole island knows by now, either due to the fact that I had the local electrician up to inspect the damage and give me his conclusions about what happened and fix the damn power over at the faculty dormitory, or because absolutely nothing at this school can remain secret for even a couple of hours.”