Page 2 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)

chapter one

I hate to be so cliché, but there is a reason everyone hates Mondays.

First off, my cat left a turd in my favorite, most comfortable pair of loafers.

Don’t judge me.

I’m basically a high school teacher, and loafers are practical.

Besides, these are Betsey Johnson. And they are cute as fuck.

They’re a bright purple leather with a bunch of multicolor flowers, hearts and skulls painted all over them.

Cool, right?

Snort.

Second, I’m single and it sucks.

Now I can deal with ignoring my sexy new Wolf Shifter boss. I mean, he doesn’t even know I’m alive, so that should make it easy peasy.

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter if he’s aware of me or not.

Because I am very much aware of him .

Like way more aware than a widowed Witch should be.

But it’s not my fault because Wulfredo Tremayne, principal of the Royal Academy for Magical Advancement, is unignorable.

Is that even a word?

I don’t know. But the point is I’ve tried. Really. But the man just seems to take up every available inch of space when he’s in a room.

Like the kids said nowadays, he was living rent free in my head.

Sigh.

Anyway, the Academy is this huge, old mansion refurbished as a magical high school, located on the outskirts of Castor’s Corner, New Jersey.

It’s the only town I know of that is completely cloaked by magic so normals, er , non-magic folk, avoid it like the plague.

In Castor’s Corner, supernaturals roam the streets without fear of being found out by the human world. Shifters wear their fur. Witches fly on brooms. That kind of thing.

It makes sense, I suppose, that the higher ups built a magic school here because of all the built-in magical security.

That was over four hundred years ago.

It was a neat place to grow up without fear of being found out and burned at the stake—this totally happened to way too many of my ancestors.

But I never planned on living here forever, let alone working in the same school I attended, in the same town where I grew up.

Especially not after my hubby of only three years was accidentally mowed down by an out-of-control Warlock trying to achieve flight on an actual enchanted broomstick on All Hallow’s Eve ten years ago.

Yeah, it was pretty awful.

Charles and I had barely begun our married life together before his own life was snuffed out. Senseless tragedies still hurt, even when magic was involved.

It’s all in the past now, but I still felt bad for Charles. No one deserved such an end.

But I was lonely.

And horny.

The way I lusted after my boss had me feeling all kinds of guilty.

Poor Charles.

But the truth is, our marriage was one of convenience, not everlasting love.

Most of the folks in Castor’s Corner can be pretty flighty. However, the one thing they seem to have in spades is a long memory and a history of high expectations.

Some were really high.

Like how everyone expected me to be in mourning for the rest of my life. Just like they expected me to stay in town.

Alone.

Forever.

As long as there’s been an Academy, there’s been someone from the magical Troy bloodline on staff.

Yeah, I kept my surname even after I got married.

Anyway, my grandmother taught Alchemy, and my grandfather, her hubby, had been a beloved Astrology professor.

My father only just retired from his position as head professor of Potions and Pontifications .

He and Mom moved to South Carolina shortly after, leaving the family home in my name.

As for me, well , I’m Madora Troy, and I teach Moral and Ethical Values in Magic Casting at the Academy.

It’s every bit the mouthful it sounds like. Suffice it to say, 21 st century morals aren’t what they used to be.

But teaching is my passion. Even if my students are a bunch of loudmouthed, unprincipled, hormonal teenagers.

I’m a thirty-five year old widow. I have no prospects and no kids of my own.

Another reason I teach.

All my students are my kids. At least, it feels that way for a little while, anyway.

The humble gratitude I feel from the parents and staff who allow me to be responsible for them, even if just for a short time, overwhelms me sometimes.

They say you can’t take your job home with you, but I guess whoever they are, they weren’t teachers.

I take my job home with me every single night. I wonder if the things I say and do have any impact at all. Then I wonder if that impact is good.

Teaching is not for the feint of heart. Especially not when you are teaching Witches, Warlocks, and other Supes.

Magic users have a great deal of power, and the pressure is on us to teach them right from wrong.

Mainly on me.

Remember, I teach morals and ethics?

Yeah, well, it can get intense. But considering I have no life outside of work, I am up to the job.

It might not keep me warm at night, but considering the fate of the world could depend on it. I’m okay with that.

Mostly.

Sorta.

Anyway, back to work, er , school and the bane of my existence.

Principal Tremayne.

He has no right to look so damn good when most of us are still bleary-eyed and barely coherent.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began with a greeting before reading the daily announcements.

Dear Goddess, why does he have to look so good, standing at the podium in the middle of the auditorium with sunlight filtering through the windows, landing right on him like he was some chosen one ?

My heart starts to beat a little faster. I wish I could just ignore this whole thing, but I can’t just skip out on morning assembly.

So, I stand there with the other faculty members, pretending I’m completely unaffected by his ridiculous hotness.

Sure, no problem.

I can act indifferent. I can pretend watching him doesn’t make my mouth water and my skin break out in goosebumps.

Are you judging me?

I’m definitely old enough to know better, but what can I say?

I am only human.

Kinda.

Well, okay, half.

But that man is hard to resist.

I should also probably mention here that Principal Tremayne is no ordinary man.

He’s a Werewolf, or a Wolf Shifter , as they prefer to be called.

Yep.

At six foot seven inches tall, with a head full of thick, jet black hair, and sultry bedroom eyes the color of good whiskey, clearly visible despite his glasses with their thick black frames— yep, glasses, and oh my Goddess, my ovaries just imploded —it’s pretty safe to say he is the hottest man in all of Castor’s Corner.

Did I mention his ridiculously delicious cookie scent?

Seriously.

I am not making this up. Not only is Mr. Tall Dark & Stupid Handsome hot as sin, but he has the all-out gall to smell like snickerdoodles.

How dare he?

The sounds of students whispering behind me reach my ears and I wiggle my nose, sending a lightning bolt of shaddap at them.

Rude!

Aside from a few eeps , they quiet down.

Oh relax, I didn’t hurt them.

Because of those pesky Academy rules, teachers weren’t allowed.

No corporal or magical punishment shall be inflicted on any of the students within our hallowed halls.

I know my oath by heart, but I am not above getting wicked when it’s called for.

“That’ll be all. Dismissed,” the principal ends his speech, and I finally exhale.

“Oh my Goddess! Did you hear that? How exciting!” Agatha Daniels, the new Alchemy professor, says, jogging me from my reverie as we walk out of the auditorium to our respective classes.

“What?”

“Dora, did you zone out again? Ugh,” she says and rolls her eyes at me.

Aggie isn’t really angry with me.

She’s kind of my best friend, so I just wait patiently for her to decide to fill me in.

And when she does, my heart is beating like I just ran from a herd of rabid antelopes!