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“Please, come in,” she said, holding open the black door and ushering me inside. “We have much to talk about.”
41
Stepping into the Headmistress’s office was like stepping back in time, I thought—specifically, stepping back into the Victorian era.
There was a grandfather clock with a golden pendulum ticking quietly in one corner and a plush oriental rug in maroon and forest green and muted china-blue on the floor. A stately mahogany desk with elaborate scrollwork dominated the center of the room and there was an old-fashioned high-backed wooden chair behind it.
Everything was polished to a high shine and the desktop was meticulously neat with only a single piece of parchment and a quill pen made of a large black feather sticking out of an ink pot. A brass light fixture hung from the ceiling, casting a dim golden glow over the entire office but the illumination it shed wasn’t quite bright enough to cast light into the corners of the room, which remained in shadow.
Across from the desk were two uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs and both of them were occupied.
Sanchez was sitting in one—an angry, sullen look on his beefy face. On his left cheek, the blue outline of my hand still showed prominently. It hadn’t faded a bit, I saw as my stomach clenched.
When he saw me, he glared at me, his eyes yellow and filled with hate. The look made my stomach clench even harder but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. I lifted my chin and gave him a blank stare before turning my attention to the other person in the room.
Sitting in the chair beside Sanchez was a woman who looked to be in her late forties, I thought. She had black hair twisted up into a bun at the back of her head and a pair of librarian-type glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her eyes were black as well and very sharp as she looked at me.
I thought her mouth was disproportionately large compared to the rest of her features. Her lips, which were painted a bright shade of mauve—seemed to take up the entire bottom part of her face and when she smiled at me in a business-like way, her teeth were large and square and ever so slightly yellow, as though she might be a smoker.
She was wearing a business suit with a skirt and blouse and jacket, all in the exact same shade of mauve as her lipstick. It was too much of the same color and it seemed too loud in the Victorian office where the brightest thing was the muted colors of the rug.
“Miss Latimer,” Headmistress Nightworthy said to me. “Do you know why you have been called to my office?”
Well, why is anybody ever called to the Principal’s office? Because they’re in trouble, of course. Great. Just great.
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and my mouth didn’t want to work but I made myself say in a calm voice, “I’m afraid not, Headmistress.”
“Bullshit!” Sanchez burst out. “That little puta knows why she’s here—she knows what she did to me!”
“Mr. Sanchez!” The Headmistress turned on him, her blue eyes blazing. “Your disrespectful term for Ms. Latimer is not disguised by your use of another language. I am fluent in many different tongues, including Spanish and the Drake dialect. If you ever use a word like that to insult a woman again in my presence you will have cause to regret it. Your misogyny has no place here—do I make myself abundantly clear?”
Sanchez’s beefy face paled a little at the threat in her low, intense tone and he nodded shortly.
“Right. Sorry, Headmistress.”
“You will be if you forget yourself again,” she snapped. “Now, then,” she went on, turning back to me. “Ms. Latimer, you are here because Mr. Sanchez alleges that you struck him Tuesday morning this week and gave him this permanent mark on his cheek.” She pointed to the blue handprint. “Is this true?”
I thought about apologizing or making excuses about how I hadn’t known what I was doing. But the steely glint in Headmistress Nightworthy’s blue eyes convinced me that would be a bad idea.
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin, “It is.”
“Very good. I thought as much.” She nodded briefly. “Very well then, this is Ms. Winifred Rattcliff, a very powerful witch of my acquaintance.” She nodded at the lady in mauve with the two-big mouth who rose and nodded at me.
“Hello, Megan,” she said, smiling at me and revealing those yellowed teeth behind her large, rubbery mauve lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I knew your mother well.”
“You did?” I frowned, trying to place her. I had never seen her before in my life, though I realized now who she must be—Nancy’s mother. I wondered if she knew what a bully her daughter was and if the Headmistress had told her about the incident we’d had in the Dining Hall my first day of school.
