The Headmistress by Milena McKay
Of Chaos & Thrust Upon Responsibility
They were on each other the moment the door closed behind them. The first taste of her mouth took Sam’s breath and reason away. She knew she was drowning and hazily thought that breathing was perhaps overrated when the feeling of soft, skilled lips was the best thing she had ever experienced. Those lips nipped and caressed, demanding yet patient, rushed yet gentle, hungry yet languid. And the little moans that occasionally escaped her… Like Sam was the best thing she had ever tasted, like she wanted to keep kissing Sam forever. Those moans were enough to make Sam press her harder against the door and hike that ridiculous and amazing, tight-fitting skirt all the way up those ridiculous and amazing thighs and cup her through the crimson satin of the most seductive panties Sam had ever seen. God, you couldn’t even call them underwear, or panties really. This work of art was lingerie, and Sam dropped to her knees to see it up close. As her breath caressed the now damp gusset of the beautiful craftsmanship, she heard her lover’s head fall gently back against the door.
“Please…” The voice, that low, gravelly, commanding one, the one that had bewitched Sam at the bar, wrapped itself around her now, like a caress. But the commanding note was gone, and instead, it was laced with a desperation that did unspeakable things to Sam’s mind and the gusset of her own panties. To have this woman up against the door, wet and pleading… Sam wondered if a person could come just from sheer awe. But before she leaned in and put her mouth on the tantalizingly wet satin, she looked up.
“I… ah… Under the circumstances… Damn it, I’m Sam, by the way, and I’m clean, if you’re wondering…” Sam cursed her own lack of social graces and her inability to speak cogently in the presence of a beautiful woman.
The woman smiled slowly before raising her hand and tangling long slender fingers in Sam’s certainly disheveled-by-now braid.
“I am clean, as well. And no names, darling. Names are not what this is about.” The words stung just a little bit, but the eyes, which were of an indecipherable color in the dim light of the room, scorched her, and the fingers tightened in Sam’s hair directing her where she craved to be most. At the first taste, Sam forgot that little sting.
* * *
Well, now Sam certainly knew her name. Magdalene Nox. Magdalene Fucking Nox. Which was all sorts of appropriate, since Magdalene Nox had done a lot of fucking three months ago. Sam had done a lot of the aforementioned fucking too, if she said so herself. In fact, she was pretty proud that she had probably done quantitatively more of said fucking. The fact that she made the ice maven who was currently standing in front of the whole faculty come three times, pleased Sam greatly. Actually, it had pleased both of them greatly. Sam could still remember the dazed and utterly satisfied look on that angular face as Sam had risen from between her legs, licking Magdalene Fucking Nox off her lips and fingers. That look had turned ravenous on a dime, and Sam found herself on her back yet again, but not before a husky, “How can I still be hungry for you when you’ve sated me so many times?” reached her dazed consciousness.
It had been said with a bewildered sort of expression, almost as an afterthought. Magdalene certainly didn’t think she spoke it out loud since she occupied herself immediately with thoroughly debauching Sam all over again. But the words had stayed with Sam. They kept her warm at night. And perhaps those words were what allowed her to lift her face and look Magdalene Nox straight in the eye as she stood across from her in the Mess Hall.
But the other woman did not falter, and Sam thought perhaps she didn’t even recognize her at all. It had been dark in the establishment where they’d first seen each other, and where Sam had had just enough guts to send a glass of Glenmorangie to the beautiful woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar. It had also been extremely dark in the elevator they got stuck in on their way up, and Sam never did get around to turning on the light once the elevator has been up in motion again an hour later and they’d finally made it to her small room.
The thought had not occurred to Sam before, but here she was having a stare-down match with the woman in front of whom she’d gotten down on her knees, whose panties she’d torn to shreds, shreds she’d have probably kept if she hadn’t felt it was the single most creepy thing she could have done. She’d wanted to, but perhaps her deeply religious upbringing, which occasionally raised its puritanical head, or her own rather narrow-minded view on the propriety of certain things, made her carefully place the torn little scraps of satin inside the bin instead. Plus, with Sam being so deeply in the closet, surely pocketing a stranger’s underwear was ill-advised. And maybe, just maybe, her one-night stand, which had featured in all her dreams ever since in full Technicolor and Dolby Surround, did not remember her.
The thought stung. Maybe even worse than the fact that Magdalene Fucking Nox had not considered her worthy of telling her her name. Well, she knew it now. And the bearer of said name had just fired her and all the people most dear to her. Orla, Joanne, Ruth. As her thoughts finally started to return to the actually important things, Sam felt that legendary temper of hers, the temper that had gotten Orla to call her the Fourth Dragon, raise its head within her.
“Are we to simply assume you have the power to fire the entire faculty, Mrs. Nox?”
Sam’s inflection on the title was on purpose. She tucked the thought that she had slept with a married woman aside, but she let it be known here and now that the simple fact that Magdalene Nox was someone’s wife did not mean they owed her any respect or obedience. Not yet. Not until the Board proclaimed her the new Headmistress. And then what? Sam didn’t know, but she took a page out of the words that had been drilled into her by Reverend Sanderson all those years ago—faith was the substance of things hoped for and evidence of things not seen. As she leaped, throwing all her sass, all her contrariness into the indignant query, Sam held some hope that she’d land on her feet somehow. She had nothing to lose anyway if they had indeed all been fired.
The eyes that had rolled back so easily in complete abandon throughout that fateful—or should Sam say unfaithful under 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.
“So you keep telling me. In fact, you’ve told me so almost my entire life. I have yet to see it come to pass.”
“Cocky. I watched you grow up, so don’t you sass me. Changed your diapers too. Nursed your skinned knees when you ran away to climb up those cliffs. Never listened to me back then either. Always came back with more scrapes. Listen to me now, little one. Magdalene Nox is not someone to trifle with.”
Something in Joanne’s voice made Sam seek out her kind brown eyes.
“How do you know her, Joanne? You sound like you do.”
Joanne just waved her free hand quickly, too quickly, in dismissal.
“Live long enough, work long enough in New England boarding schools for girls, and you’ll eventually know everyone, Sammy. She is renowned, and she is ruthless. You don’t rise like she did, from nothing, make a name for yourself in this business and not be absolutely deadly. ‘Demon’ may be a little harsh, but I doubt it is very much off the mark these days.”
‘These days’ had to mean that there had been other days, when the harsh moniker had been less applicable. Sam made a mental note to try and pry more out of the normally very discreet Joanne. But these were quickly becoming desperate times, and all the normal would have to be foregone for a while.
“You don’t think she’ll rehire you?” Sam’s heart plummeted into her stomach at the very idea. She knew Joanne had an estranged family somewhere out West. Sam doubted very much that her mentor would have a place to go if she was forced out of Dragons. Hell, if you were completely honest, Joanne’s entire life was here, at this school. She was one of the very few teachers who’d been born and bred on this island, and as a true islander, she had never left. An alumna of Dragons, she had remained at the school after she graduated, first as a teaching assistant and then as a teacher, after she’d received her diploma remotely from Boston College.
Sam had precious few people in her life whom she loved and trusted implicitly. Joanne, who had indeed helped raise the little foundling, was one of them.
“Would you rehire me, Sammy? My bouts of vertigo are not becoming less frequent with age, and I’m not young or spry anymore by anyone’s measure. There are hundreds of art and photography professors who would bring so many new things to the job. You know, I believe that all things considered, Magdalene will have just done this school some good.”
Again, with the inflection Joanne placed on the name, Sam sensed that there was a bit more familiarity in it than a total stranger warranted.
“What do you mean?”
“How many of us are relics here, Sammy? Too many. You and David? You are young, and you bring so much to your positions. Neither I, nor Rovington—regardless of those damn pants of hers, because they do make her ass look really good—nor Ruth have been challenged or stimulated or threatened enough in our positions for years to bring something new to the girls. To up our game, as you youngsters call it.” She threw a long look at Rovington’s aforementioned backside, as the PE teacher was still squaring off with David.
“First of all, eww. Quit it. This is like seeing my mother drool over someone’s butt, and I do not want any of those images in my head. Plus, seriously you have to lust after hers? It’s not even that great of a behind.”
“Ah, youth… Haven’t you heard it said that beggars can’t be choosers? I had it going on, Sammy. The stories I could tell you—”
“Oh, pfft, you may have looked, but you’ve never touched. Not at this school. And secondly,” Sam interrupted before Joanne’s favorite way of teasing her got under her skin as usual, “I can probably accept that you are right about Ruth and Rovington and maybe a few others, but you, my gross diaper changer, are still the best damn photographer I’ve ever seen. Talent is talent, technique is technique, and some things are not determined by your knowledge of the newest apps and gizmos. Though I have a distinct suspicion that you’ve kept up. The girls adore you.”
Joanne discretely wiped her face, and Sam felt her own eyes water.
“You are a good girl, Sammy. Sweet, and stubborn as a mule. You’re fearless, always have been. But don’t go causing a ruckus for lost causes, I know you love to take those up. Think of the bigger picture here. There is so much at Dragons that is worth fighting for. And your temper and stubbornness will be needed there. Think of the students, think of the school, think of Lily and Amanda and Suzie and the rest. They will all need a champion. Don’t go wasting your ammunition on me.”
As valiantly as Sam was fighting tears, she felt one escape at the mention of the scholarship girls and all the things that were in danger now, all the things she’d have to fight for. Joanne’s remarkably steady fingers wiped the tear and then, just as Sam was about to look away, gripped her chin and gently turned her back to meet the deep brown eyes of her mentor.
“Remember that the things that matter outweigh our attachments and our grievances. Too much is at stake here, Sam. Now, go follow them. Orla will surely need all the help she can get dealing with Magdalene Nox, with that hangover she is nursing. And as her unofficial deputy, it’s up to you anyway.”
And just like that, the world on her shoulders got heavier, the petals turning into rocks, falling on the already agitated surface of her mind, sending ripples everywhere.