Page 11 of The Headmistress

The woman was stunning. Considering Sam’s multiple degrees and awards, she thought she should be better equipped to describe a beautiful being in stronger and more evocative epithets than ‘stunning’. However, either because of the wine she had consumed while brooding at the bar, or being her usual awkward self, Sam was completely tongue-tied and useless, as she always was around gorgeous older women. Still, awed and slightly inebriated, Sam could not bring her mind to conjure up a better description, despite it being utterly inadequate.

She was, though. Stunning and more. Her red-haired bob fell in gentle waves down to her jaw, the latter an anatomical feature that was probably illegal in several states with stricter weapons laws, for it was sharp and quite deadly in Sam’s opinion. For a brief moment, she envisioned running her fingertips along it, up to the junction where it met the neck and smoothly revealed the vulnerable spot right under the ear. She’d be ticklish there, Sam decided. Then she shook her head and chuckled ruefully at herself. What a complete idiot she was, and an inappropriate one at that. She did not make a habit of ogling women or of being this disrespectful to them as to fantasize about their attributes in public.

To somehow redeem herself, at least in her own eyes, or to pay penance for being no better than half the men at the bar currently ogling the redhead, Sam signaled the bartender and requested his most expensive whiskey, since the woman seemed to be perusing the hard liquor menu and not the cocktails. The price of the glass almost made Sam’s eyes water, but she just nodded, and the bartender splashed the golden liquid into a tumbler, placing it in front of the stranger with a flourish.

* * *

Standing quietly in front of a contemplative Magdalene, Sam reconsidered her strategy. Some questions needed answers, and with most of the school probably up in arms by now, gossiping, jumping to conclusions, panicking, and gunning for the new Headmistress, time was a precious commodity. So of course, instead of asking the truly important questions, Sam just had to reach for the sass and innuendo again.

“You told Lily that everyone will interview. But you’re already making an exception for me?”

It seemed her temper and the earlier established penchant to say the most insolent thing in the presence of Magdalene Nox held true despite her best intentions. She didn’t quite recognize herself. In all honesty, the awkward and tongue-tied person she’d been at the bar was her to a T, but the brazen and impertinent one? Was this displaced anger at Magdalene being married? At Magdalene not deigning to share her name? At Magdalene, seemingly completely indifferent to Sam’s presence? Either way, the swing from shy Sam to brash Sam was making actual Sam dizzy.

“You will have your interview, Ms. Threadneedle. Be at ease, I’m not showing any favoritism by saying that I will still rehire you. I bring a lot to the table. I also recognize that you do too. I can be as prepared as humanly possible, and believe me, I am, but reading reports and scorecards is one thing. Having been at the school for your entire life is something entirely different. ”

Sam flinched at the unvarnished truth of her personal history being laid out this plainly at her feet. Magdalene had indeed come prepared. Sam wondered if she should stop underestimating the woman now before she embarrassed herself further. She was clearly in the presence of a consummate professional. And Sam’s history was well-documented, after all. All Magdalene had to do was go through her records, as antiquated as the school filing system was, and perhaps through some of the school’s annual reports.

“Your awards aside, your history with the school, the obvious acceptance of your leadership among faculty and student body alike—as displayed both by you having been sent here by your inept peers and the staunch defense of you by your pupil—makes you a suitable candidate to spearhead the transition and help me make it as quick as possible.”

If Sam had more time she’d probably bristle at the qualification of her peers as ‘inept’ or herself as simply ‘suitable’, but that was a fight for another day. And she could not even begin to consider the war inside of her, her loyalty to Orla being what it was, despite the painful interaction they’d shared minutes ago. Sam also had to set her question about leadership acceptance aside for the moment. Clearly, Magdalene saw something or sensed something that Sam would have to ask her about later. Still, it was the last comment that got her hackles up.

“Quick, not smooth?”

Magdalene’s smile was lethal.

“You will discover, Ms. Threadneedle, that I have no interest insmooth. I do not care whose feathers I ruffle. The school is drowning in debt, mismanagement, and neglect.Smoothis not going to cut it to set it back on its course.Smoothis not what is needed to save it. Are you aware that, in the past five years, Dragons has operated exclusively in the red?”

At Sam’s dumbfounded expression, Magdalene turned towards the window, her brows drawing sternly together at the sight of Willoughby still lounging on his pillow, stretched to his full, impressive length now, paws twitching in his sleep. It’s as if he’d chosen the most impudent position possible to bask in the sun, simply to prove a point. Sam thought he was really pushing it with the new Headmistress, but could not help but smile at the audacity. She and Willoughby were birds of a feather today.

“The state of the endowment is such that the school will simply not survive even one more year under similar leadership, which has propelled it towards nothing but financial ruin. As it stands right now, the finances are depleted. But of course, let me use my time to coddle Fenway and spare her feelings. Is that what you’d want me to do? Or would you, perchance, prefer that I use my time to try to save the school she’s been so busy destroying during her tenure?”

Sam gasped, and Magdalene finally turned to face her full-on.

“I don’t do nice, Ms. Threadneedle. I don’t do doting or coddling. I do my job and hope it will be enough to first save Dragons, and then to perhaps restore it to its glory.”

Something in the way that Magdalene used the school’s name tugged at Sam’s mind, and she filed it away for a time when she was both calmer, and had her wits about her. Because currently the aroma of wild jasmine and something subtle that cut through it aimed right at Sam’s senses. The scent clouded her mind and reminded her of the time she’d feasted on that pulse point, the one where she’d surely left a mark that night, on the right side of Magdalene’s neck. It was doing strange things to her brain, rendering her mental acuity useless.

“Ah, I wasn’t aware things were as dire.” Sam felt she needed to say something, if only to keep the low husky voice speaking. But before she could stop herself, she mumbled. “And you were very nice to me when you didn’t need to be.”

“I sure hope you mean the elevator and not… afterward.” Hearing Magdalene stumble over what to call their night together again, unexpectedly warmed Sam, and she couldn’t hide her smile.

“Yes, ah, the elevator. Sure. That.” Now it was Magdalene’s turn to smile.

“Still tongue-tied, Ms. Threadneedle? I know a little something about panic attacks, I couldn’t leave you to it, even for self-preservation’s sake.” The words were bitchy to the extreme, but the intonation was warm, and the voice settled like velvet on Sam’s skin.

Before she could answer, the door opened without a knock for the fourth time and Sam braced herself for another disgruntled colleague or student. But instead, a short, dark-haired whirlwind made her way in and gave her a bright friendly smile.

“Am I interrupting then, Headmistress?” Clearly used to the formidable presence, the waif did not seem to be intimidated by Magdalene’s glare. “I’m Georgette Leroy, and who might you be, cutie?”

She waved away the hissed, “George,” from Magdalene and extended her hand to Sam, who felt swept up by the small, joyful hurricane.

“Sam Threadneedle, ma’am.”

“Oh, beautiful manners aside, none of this ma’am stuff. This one,” she winked cheekily in Magdalene’s direction, “might require such ceremony to soothe her dark soul, but I feel fine being called George, sweetheart.”

The second utterance of, “George,” from the Headmistress drew a rueful chuckle but did not deter the short woman at all.

“I’m ten years her senior and can get away saying things like that. Plus, I’ve been her secretary for oh, let’s see, never mind, an ungodly number of years, ever since she became Chair at Rodante. Such a wee, lovely lass she was back then.”

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