Killer Queen

killer queen

L ooking around the campus with a critical eye, it isn’t hard to notice the differences between the campus of Swallowtail and State U. The major difference is age, of course, but even secondary schools overseas are unlike the blatant marketing machines that are American universities. State U doesn’t resemble the colleges I’ve seen in American movies or on TV, though much of that is the Society’s doing.

However, banners, statues, plaques, signs, and even architecture are emblazoned with the school’s motto— Honoris. Veritas. Potentia —as if constant reminders will enforce the virtues it extols. That differs from the places in Europe I attended or worked in.

“Getting used to the sales aspect of education here won’t be your biggest challenge and you know it,” I mutter to myself.

When the outcome of my trial led to a guilty sentence, I didn’t expect the punishment they handed down. Instead of being jailed for the murder of my ex, they decreed I would replace him as the Dean at State U. I wasn’t the only one who disagreed with my purgatory—the vote on the High Council was split down the middle until a mysterious figure cast a vote in favor of my exile. They summarily dismissed me from Swallowtail Academy and sent me home to pack my shit for a journey overseas to the nest of corruption created by the man I thought I would marry.

Not only am I the youngest Dean to ever hold the title, but I’m the only hybrid to head one of the Society’s schools.

Placing me at the helm of the crown jewel of their American institutions made their unorthodox punishment even more bizarre, but I’ve never believed the group that guides our kind to be infallible. The irony of replacing the being responsible for all the university’s current issues with the fiancee who killed him hasn’t eluded me. It’s like my penance for not blowing the whistle on him instead of taking my vengeance in blood.

They did not impress hard line elders with the eventual outcome, but that had to be expected. Some supernaturals don’t believe in the young being given positions of power, especially when that young candidate is also a woman and a hybrid. Given that I believe Magnus had cronies at various levels of government he was paying off, some of them must be worried I’ll expose them to prove I was right to remove him from this world. Either way, the assholes who are screaming I’ll ruin their precious programs and reputation haven’t shut up since I left the trial chamber.

Let them whine about their outdated, elitist standards. I’ll show them.

I turn away from the greenery of the campus, leaving the balcony to take a seat at the enormous desk in my overly plush office. Knowing the way parents and donors behave in this country, I assume every inch of this space has been purchased not by the college, but by donors who had ‘one little request’ for my ex. Magnus Corona was well-known in academic circles for milking the wealthy Americans until they ran dry, but his lack of ethics couldn’t go on forever. My greedy, dragon lover went on the lam after a series of scandals involving kickbacks, illegal sponsorships, sports, and sexual harassment. The last one is why I hunted him down and eventually watched the last breaths he took on this planet with vengeful glee.

I’ll start looking for a decorator immediately. If it’s not in the budget, my trust fund will cover it.

Like most lost ones, they left me on the doorstep of a very talented witch and her gargoyle mate. I never found my ‘real’ parents, but growing up on Swallowtail’s campus was not a burden. It was different when my adoptive parents were professors there—three hundred years brings a lot of changes. When I graduated, I attended Oxford and came back to work there in administration because I missed the old buildings and libraries.

That’s the gargoyle in me, I know.

My adoptive mother is blind—except for the gift of future sight. Being a beautiful, blind witch couldn’t have been easy when she was teaching, but she met my father in college and they’ve been together ever since. When they graduated, they came back to Swallowtail to teach. Eventually, she became the head of the Witchcraft they were constructed to evoke the feeling of Oxford and he loves those old buildings. I give the picture of them on my cherry wood desk a half smile and sigh when I realize it’s going to be awhile before I can extend that invitation.

First, I have to figure out how to get this ship back on course. Loyalty divides the staff; the students are due to arrive in two weeks, and I have a lot of house cleaning to do within these hallowed walls. It’s going to ruffle feathers to do the things that are necessary to keep our supernatural accreditation and our human sports certification. I’ll have to let some staff go, shuffle departments and assignments, and bring in new people to monitor certain aspects of the college’s accounting to satisfy all the requirements we need to meet by the end of the semester.

State U has never been forced to toe the line quite as closely as we must now, and that is all because of Magnus Corona’s lack of scruples and inability to think without his dick.

Not that any of his adoring fans will believe it for a second—and that is the rock I’ll have to push up the hill for the foreseeable future.

“They’ll have to get on board or get the fuck out,” I say as I compare the list of coaches, trainers, and support staff for the football team. “I don’t have a choice and neither do they.”

When I finally finish going over the massive budget for the major boys’ teams, my brain is damn near fried. I cannot fathom how colleges here justify the expenditures of these programs compared to the paltry sums I saw on the balance sheets for academic programs. Americans truly have lost their focus on education, and it doesn’t surprise me at all that Magnus could manipulate this to his advantage. There’s so many discretionary funds and black holes in the books that I’ll have to find someone much more numerically inclined than myself to help me wade through this shit.

It’s almost like it left room for loopholes and nefarious deeds.

Pushing to my feet, I rise from the high-backed leather chair and slip my shoes back on. I’ve been at this for hours and because I don’t have office staff, no one was there to remind me I should eat or take a break. I had to fire everyone who worked in Magnus’ immediate circle—both out of principle and necessity. I can’t prove they knew what he was doing, nor that any of them would try to harm me as retribution, but I’m also not stupid enough to let someone with loyalty to my ex pour my goddamn coffee.

Coffee .

The word makes my blood hum and I know it’s time to find sustenance—particularly caffeine. I locate my phone on the massive desk and slip it into the pocket of my suit pants. My appearance has been a topic of gossip on campus since I arrived—social media is a terrible curse when you’re in the spotlight, even if it’s for the right reasons. I’ve seen staff and alumni commenting on the ‘uptight murdering bitch’ strutting around campus dressed like someone from the Addams Family as if their vitriol isn’t public when they post on Facebook.

My lips curve as I look down at the bespoke Tom Ford suit, Zegna tie, and Louboutin heels. Dressing the part has always been a theme of mine, but Magnus preferred the ‘rumpled academic’ look. He allowed the staff to run around looking like grad students and that will soon end. If they hate me for looking sharp compared to my frumpy ex, they’re going to hate the new dress code when it rolls out in a week. I will not go as far as the Society schools did at home or in other countries, but I refuse to have the press haunting our grounds while taking pictures of grubby looking professors and coaches for their rags.

If this is the crown jewel, it needs more polishing than the Council realizes.

Before I go out, I shake my purple and black curls out of the messy bun, letting my hair settle over my shoulders. A quick check with the selfie mode on my phone tells me my makeup doesn’t need to be freshened—thank hell—so I close the camera and put on my sunglasses to keep my sensitive eyes from the waning sun.

I’ll need the State U app to find a place that’s out of the way. I open it and cringe—the damn thing is hideous in form and function. I make a mental note to interview app designers and web developers; the website has to be as poorly maintained as this bullshit. Yet again, I marvel at the level of incompetence men can show without consequence. It finally loads the map and I scroll around until I find a coffee shop on the edge of campus. I don’t want to go to a break room or the food court—there will be far too many eyes on me and I’d like to relax.

Noting the landmarks around the shop, I walk out onto the balcony and touch the amulet at my neck. My wings spring free, sprouting through the suit without a single tear, and I leap into the air. Catching a wind shear, I glide to the far end of the commons, then bank to the right towards the arts building. They nestled the little beanery I identified between the theater and the gallery, so I pull my wings back to descend slowly as I approach.

When I land, the magic of my mother’s amulet helps me slip my appendages back in gracefully and walk towards the door without missing a beat. I open the door, take off my sunglasses, and stride in with confidence. I’m not here to throw my weight around, but I can’t let anyone see me sweat, either. I look at the menu board before I lower my gaze to see the barista behind the counter.

Holy. Mother. Forking. Shit.

The guy behind the counter is beautiful, and I don’t say that lightly. His long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but somehow, it doesn’t look douchey. Paired with his patrician features and thin silver framed lenses, he projects the air of a student, but not a new one. My guess is a grad or doctoral student and this is his side hustle. The muscled forearms and powerful hands tell me he’s not just a bookworm, so I ponder what discipline this lithe, gorgeous supe is studying. When I finally drag my eyes back to his, the aqua color of his is mesmerizing.

“Can I take your order, ma’am?”

Yikes. That destroyed my brief fantasy.

“Um, yes, sorry. It’s been a long day. I’d like a triple espresso and a club sandwich, please.” I feel my cheeks heating not because I was staring—he’s got to be used to it—but because I got caught checking out one of the students.

It’s not forbidden at State U, but I am the murdering bitch with ice in her veins that’s here to destroy everything the university stands for. Or, so the article in the State U Review said last night. There’s no way this gorgeous coffee-serving man doesn’t recognize me and I’m sure I’ll get an earful about my evil ways once he’s done making my order. In fact, I should continue watching to make sure he doesn’t mess with my food for revenge.

Yeah, that’s why I want to watch him.

“I don’t blame you for coming here. It’s not one of the campus hot spots. Mostly we get professors, arts kids, and the occasional normie who wants to hide from the masses.”

I blink, realizing he’s nailed my reason for choosing this shop without even trying. “I think it’s rather cozy.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Dean LeCiel.” His pretty eyes meet mine again and I feel that heat creeping up my spine. “I’m aware of how contentious your appointment was. It doesn’t bother me, honestly. I’ve been a student through much of your ex’s reign and since the music department was of little concern to him, I don’t have any allegiance to the former administration.”

Definitely a doctoral candidate. His thesis is probably massive.

Covering my mouth as the unintended double meaning of my words occurs to me, I wait until the urge to giggle like a teenager fades. It would be extremely unprofessional of me to comment on his… attributes… especially since that kind of bullshit helped bring Magnus down. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not wondering now…

“Dean? Hello?” The hot barista is waving his hand as he looks at me curiously.

“I’m sorry to be so rude. I didn’t catch your name?”

There we go. That sounded totally normal.

“I’m Slade,” he replies with a slow smile.

That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, and I wonder if he might be part Fae. Not giving me his real name is part and parcel with them, and so is the ethereal beauty. “You may call me Morgana when I am here. I think titles are dreadfully stuffy, but…”

“Set boundaries early because you have mutinies to deal with.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “You aren’t reading me with magic, are you, Slade? Even during my ex’s time, that kind of invasion of privacy wasn’t allowed.”

“No, no!” He stops making the sandwich and gives me a sheepish look. “I inferred it. I mean, I don’t run with the undergrads or the popular crowds, but I hear things. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you’re at the hole in the wall shop so you don’t have to be on stage while you eat or that you’re going to make big changes because of all the charges against the former dean.”

I nod, observing him. “I believe you, though I probably shouldn’t. Betrayal hides in obvious places; I’m living proof of that.”

His features look sharper as he smirks. “There are those of us who don’t believe what you did was unjustified, Morgana. Living here at State U will provide you with plenty of evidence to give the Council that will mitigate your actions.”

“That’s both my desire and my deepest fear, Slade. There’s only so much bad PR this place can take before the Council shuts it down and moves on.”

A coffee cup and a plate with my sandwich slide across the counter as he murmurs, “You’ll have to decide if that’s what you want when the time comes.”

“I know.”