Page 4 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)
chapter three
I sigh heavily as I make my way to the faculty lounge, feeling the weight of the day settling on my shoulders.
A pop quiz for my juniors seemed like a good idea at the time, but the chorus of groaning that followed could’ve powered an entire wind farm.
It’s the same every year when I teach this lesson.
Here’s the gist.
I ask each student to pick a side and argue either for or against supernaturalkind’s moral and ethical obligations in the human world.
Should Supes keep out of the Normals’ problems or get involved?
It’s always a lively topic, full of passion, debates, and occasionally a desk that accidentally catches fire (thank you, Felix and your uncontrollable pyromancy).
While I’m genuinely curious to see what my students come up with this time, let’s be honest—I can wait.
Specifically, I can wait until after I’ve had my break, a cup of tea, and maybe a quick daydream about a life where faculty meetings don’t exist.
As I push open the door to the faculty lounge, I’m immediately greeted by the scents of lemon oil and fresh coffee.
My headache begins to ease as the calming aroma washes over me.
Ahhhh.
The lounge really is my happy place.
This room is a masterpiece, the true gem of the Academy, which is a renovated mansion with more personality than some of its occupants.
The walls are done up in a palette of grays so rich and varied it could make a home décor blogger weep.
Dove gray, stormy gray, a gray so dark it’s practically charcoal.
And the tapestries!
Oh, the tapestries.
They hang like magical history books, depicting legendary scenes like the founding of Castor’s Corner and the Goddess’ promise to protect our quirky little town.
I pass one of the tall, deep-set windows, sunlight streaming through a gap in the heavy, velvet drapes.
For a moment, I’m tempted to pull them all the way open, but that would ruin the room’s broody elegance.
Instead, I let my fingers trail along the back of a plush velvet chair as I cross the room. The polished wood floors barely whisper under my rubber-soled shoes, which is good because the last thing I need is to be that loud teacher in the lounge.
Again.
Finally, I make it to the marble counter, where the pièce de résistance awaits.
The magic-powered kettle.
No buttons, no waiting. Just pure, enchanted efficiency.
I tap its spout, and within seconds, steam curls into the air, ready to rescue me from the clutches of post-pop-quiz exhaustion.
I let out another sigh, but this one’s more of a contented moan.
For the next ten minutes, at least, the world can wait.
“Perfect,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb any of the other staff members who are, like me, simply enjoying their break.
I smile, I can’t help it. I just adore this room.
And not just because there is always a fresh variety of snacks, from sliced fruit to pumpkin chocolate chip muffins.
Ooh, I need one of those!
Yum.
I bite my tongue to keep from moaning as I pop a moist morsel into my mouth.
A steaming, hot mug of tea and a snack sounds so perfect right about now.
So, I help myself to two, using my magic to add the right amounts of cream and sugar.
It’s been such a long week.
Sigh.
Humming, I lift the cup, just about to take my first sip, when Agatha comes running in to find me.
“DORA!”
“Oh my Goddess! What is it?” I ask, almost spilling my tea as I wait impatiently for her to catch her breath.
“D-Dora,” she gasps my name. “S-she told everyone you did it!”
“Agatha, I can’t understand you,” I say, handing my friend a glass of water.
“S-she said you did it on p-purpose. Singling her out. Poking fun. BULLYING . She said you bullied her. Oh Gah! I have to start jogging again,” Agatha mutters, blowing out and sucking in huge breaths of air.
“When have you ever jogged? Oh, my Goddess! Agatha, I can’t understand a thing you’re saying,” I say with a huff and roll my eyes.
There’s only one more day left in the week, and I can hardly believe it flew by this quickly.
We are halfway through the first quarter, and my students are all progressing nicely.
Except for one student, but that is not my problem.
“Y-you better get down to the office?—”
But before Agatha can finish her sentence, the ancient intercom system fires up with a screeching sound and everyone in the lounge covers their ears.
“Professor Troy, please come to my office,” growls the sexiest dang voice I have ever heard over the speakers.
“Is that Principal Tremayne?” I ask out loud.
“Yup, he wants to see you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she said you did it!” Agatha nods, and she is cringing. “I think you better go.”
“I’m having tea,” I mumble, and as if he heard me that same nails across a chalkboard sound screeches again.
“Professor Troy. I mean NOW!”
His voice echoes, and it is like super loud coming through the speaker.
I swallow.
Then I get moving.