Page 6 of The Headmistress

The eyes that had rolled back so easily in complete abandon throughout that fateful—or should Sam sayunfaithfulunder the circumstances—night three months ago, sparked with something akin to anger. Touché then.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the perfect features returned to their slightly dismissive expression. Magdalene raised an eyebrow, and her full lips stretched into a very unpleasant smile.

“It’s Headmistress. Or Magdalene, in a pinch.” The smile turned into a full-on smirk, and Sam’s jaw dropped at the obvious reference to the well-known Star Trek captain, who similarly did not brook any doubts about her authority.

Sam knew her gulp could be heard by everyone in the room. Yeah, why she’d thought she could just brazenly take on this woman, she had no idea. Her opening salvo was parried away with ease, despite the initial scored hit.

But now Sam also knew for certain that Magdalene Nox knew who she was. Sam could vividly remember blabbering about her obsession with the Voyager captain in the darkness of the elevator, stuck between the eleventh and twelfth floor of the hotel in Greenwich Village.

She had to tuck this knowledge away, though. Just for now, just until this carousel stopped spinning, and she was alone again, with her racing thoughts that made no sense. She needed her cliffs. She needed her Dragons, and yet Sam knew she’d be stuck in this suffocating hall with these hysterical people for the foreseeable future. With the walls closing perilously in on her, she bit the inside of her cheek, and the taste of copper on her tongue slowly dispelled the fog that was descending on her mind. She needed her reasoning to be clear too, because the protagonist of her very vivid, and very hot dreams of the past three months kept speaking.

“As for why you should assume anything related to the powers I embody as Headmistress, I imagine this designation, signed by the Board of Trustees, should be enough.”

The sharp-featured face contorted slightly at the state of the table that held the mess of mugs, the now empty whiskey bottle, and the papers in front of Orla, but the newcomer nonetheless firmly placed a pristine document on top of the pile.

Her hand shaking visibly, looking twenty years older than her fifty-five, Orla reached for the document effectively removing her from the position she had occupied the last twenty years and that she’d given her absolute best to. Several long moments later she placed the paper down and, without looking at anyone in particular, nodded. The room erupted. Shouts of, “You can’t!”, “I’ve given my life to this place!”, “What are we going to do now?” filled the Mess Hall.

In the midst of the chaos, Magdalene Nox raised a hand, and the noise died down. Sam thought that for someone just appointed to a position, she had the countenance for it down pat.

“Now that you have had your little tantrums, when you’re ready to discuss matters like adults, preferably sober ones, make arrangements with my secretary to re-apply for your positions. If you interview to my satisfaction, you will have your jobs back. Those who are re-hired may proceed with their vacation plans. Those who are not, or decide that interviewing is not something they want to attempt, may vacate the premises and surrender the keys to their accommodations to the custodial staff.”

Magdalene’s arched eyebrow dared anyone to contradict her. But Sam was the only one who’d had the courage, or maybe the stupidity, to speak directly to the new Headmistress so far, and nobody else dared.

“Now, Doctor Fenway, if you would accompany me to my new office. I believe there are some things we need to discuss before the trustees arrive on the island with the twelve o’clock ferry.”

* * *

Their two distinct gaits could still be heard departing, the expensive heels clacking with absolute authority on the old granite floors, followed by surprisingly faltering steps of Italian loafers that the old Headmistress favored.

The new and the old. Sam could not help but marvel at the deep contrast between the two women, which had been so strikingly on display when Orla rose to follow the new Headmistress, whose sublime, red-haired coiffe sparkled in the morning sun, her skin flawless, and her black dress accentuating her lean body to perfection. By contrast Orla, shorter and older, just looked frumpy and unkempt in yesterday’s clothes.

An apt metaphor for the new power structure, Sam thought. She watched the two figures disappear down the long corridor, red hair waving gently with every assured step. Sam could still remember how soft it was, how it had fallen on her chest as Magdalene Fucking Nox had kissed her way down her body, how it tickled her thighs as Magdalene Fucking Nox teased her and how her fingers had gripped it when Magdalene Fucking Nox’s mouth had finally devoured her. Now that she knew her name, Sam could not stop saying it in her head. It suited her so well, too.

Sam had caught herself many times, daydreaming and imagining what the name of the woman who had so thoroughly captured her thoughts might be, and yet no matter which ones she’d come up with, none of them fit. None of them had, of course, been Magdalene Fucking Nox and now that Sam knew it, she could not imagine her mystery woman being called anything else. She felt juvenile in adding the expletive but right at this moment, with anger and fear both rearing their heads inside of her, Sam chose not to care too much. Magdalene Fucking Nox did not seem to care about Sam Threadneedle at all.

Rovington’s raised voice made her return to the rather disturbing present, and she took a deep breath trying to dislodge the vividness of her reminiscing. Such an empty gesture. These memories, just like—as she was beginning to suspect—the Headmistress, were not going anywhere.

“Sam, what are we going to do?” And just like that, all eyes turned to her. She felt the weight of the world slowly descend on her shoulders. It fell seemingly gently and quietly, like a petal dropping on the face of the water, but it robbed her of her peace nonetheless.

She felt a joke on the tip of her tongue and was tempted to share it to diffuse the situation. Then she thought better of it and decided it may not be the best way to proceed here, with everyone holding their collective breaths and hanging on her next words. But being in this position held so much anxiety and so much dread for her. Not just being the center of attention, but also knowing she was the true decision-maker, the true influencer behind the collective. She almost hated her colleagues a little, as her resentment towards the situation bubbled up. Joanne, Ruth, and David were just as important in their positions as the faculty Chairs. In fact, all three held more seniority and were, for god’s sake, older than her. So why was it that, when push came to shove, she was once again thrust into the thick of things?

“I think we should wait for Orla to return and for her to let us know what happens next.” She heard herself hedge for more time.

“We all know what happens next, that red-haired demon just told us what happens next! This is insulting! I have never interviewed in my life. I was courted for this job. Courted!” Rovington waved her hands so vigorously that Sam thought she might just fly out of her leather pants altogether. Others piped up with similar outbursts, and just when the room was about to descend into chaos again, Joanne’s quiet voice sounded from the central table where she was seated.

“And for some of us, no matter how good our interview might go, there surely will be no place at Three Dragons.”

At sixty-five, and with her occasional health issues, Joanne would probably be shafted out the back door, maybe even before she had the chance to open her mouth at the interview. Certainly Ruth as well. Wasn’t it customary for the new Headmistress to saddle up her own deputy for the job? Orla had picked Ruth when she’d arrived, the older woman having been a longstanding and beloved presence at Dragons for many years, and now at seventy she barely managed to complete her duties. Sam closed her eyes and sighed, things would certainly change, and she could already feel the collective minds turning at who would not be allowed to stay.

“And I don’t think many of us made a good first impression, anyway. What with the whiskey and everything.” David’s pointed dig at Mrs. Rovington started another bout of shouting and mutual accusations. As they bickered, Joanne motioned for Sam to come closer.

“I have to say though, little one,” she smiled when Sam approached and continued to whisper, “poking the demon, to borrow Rovington’s earlier appellation, perhaps wasn’t the smartest move on your part.”

“You mean the ‘Mrs.’ jab? I am not sure why I said it.”

“That temper of yours will get you in trouble.”

Sam took the frail hand between hers and sat down near Joanne.

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