Everything is Darkness, and You Can Only Listen

"Let's start with introductions, yes?" The Dean casually brushes a bit of invisible dust from her jacket. "There's a name on my door, obviously, but that's as meaningless as whatever name you believe is You. So why don't we keep it simple: I will be Mistress, and you will be Girl."

The breath catches in your throat as the air sizzles around you, a slithering shiver enveloping your body that probes and prods at your skin as if seeking a point of entry. The wild thought seizes you that if you open your mouth, the serpentine aura will surge straight down your throat, prompting several **** inhales through your nose.

The Dean seems to find that deeply amusing. "That's not how it works, Girl." A curious look crosses her eyes. "Odd, though. How are you resisting my compulsion?"

You aren't about to open your mouth to respond, but thankfully the bored looking secretary speaks up in a husky, honey-tinged voice. "You already know how."

The Dean glances over at her secretary, an eyebrow raised. "What, this is the same defense that blocked my scrying at the school?" Oh shit, is she talking about your sigil? The secretary airily shrugs, prompting a snort from the Dean. "Cute."

You whimper as the seething sheath of energy tightens around you, your arms clamped to your side and your breasts squishing into your chest from the palpable **** of it. "Even if your 'defense' doesn't have a weak spot, which I doubt, I can keep this up indefinitely. You can't." The Dean inspects a nail, her cat-like smile spreading a little wider. "What's the plan for when you pass out, and I just bash your head in?"

You are so firmly held that you can't manage any sort of response. Again, the secretary takes the opportunity to answer for you. "You are such a child. It makes me sick."

The Dean chuckles at that, reaching out to deliver a sharp flick to her secretary's nose. "Shut up, ****."

Something in the other woman's words must have spoken to her, though, because the aura that has you entrapped suddenly vanishes. You collapse to your knees, one hand clutching your throat as you gasp for air while the Dean gives a dramatic sigh. "This is such a shame. I really had a lovely first meeting planned. It was going to be very witchy. I was even going to wear a big hat and everything. Who wants their first impression of their new Mistress to be in a pant suit?"

You manage to **** out a response. "S-sorry?"

"Sorry who."

"Sorry...Mistress?"

Shaking her head in bemusement, the Dean lifts a foot to push her nonplussed secretary from her seat to the floor, daintily settling herself down in her place. "I accept your apology, Girl. Despite everything, I am actually quite impressed."

You've struggled back up to your feet by now, wiping your strained eyes with the back of your arm. "What? Really?"

"Of course!" The Dean tents her fingers, leaning forward across the desk. "I expected at least one of you to seek me out ahead of schedule, certainly, but for you to have also found a way to block some of my magics? That shows potential."

The Dean's words trigger a flash of realization within you. Does she really not know...? "What do you mean, 'one of you'?"

The woman's smile spreads Grinch-like across her handsome features. "What, you thought I hadn't contacted your friends as well? You silly thing; you really gobbled up all that drivel about being special, didn't you?" The Dean takes your silence as confirmation, indulging in a moment of smug silence before she leans back again and puts her feet up on the desk. "God, you young witches. Always so **** for validation, always so ready to turn on each other at the first sign of an advantage."

"That's not-"

The Dean cuts you off with a raised hand. "I'm not judging, of course. You're a weak little girl, and weak little girls do what they must. And you can rest assured that you've managed to distinguish yourself from the rest of your petty coven. Feel free to celebrate." The Dean glances down to where her secretary sits sullenly on the floor. "Help Girl celebrate, ****."

The secretary raises a finger, slowly swirling it around in the air. "Whoo."

"Now, let's get one thing straight." The Dean cocks an eyebrow at you. "There is nothing you can do to me. I am protected from all manner of attack, from all forms of magic, and from any sort of silly game you might think is your trump card. I'm not some cheap conjurer flicking tricks from a piece-meal tome. My well of power is single-source and limitless."

The secretary rolls her eyes. "Listen to how much credit she gives herself."

The Dean scoots her chair over a little and kicks her secretary, sending the dusky woman sprawling to the ground. "Shut up, ****."

You bite your lip a little as you watch The Dean nudge her secretary back to the floor every time she starts lifting herself up, striking you like nothing less than a child burning ants with a magnifying glass. You'd better choose your words carefully. "So what do you want from me? Um, Mistress?"

The Dean smiles radiantly at that, giving her secretary one last shove to the ground. "I want you to finish what you've started! For you to prove that you are the worthiest out of your little trio."

"How do I do that?"

"Isn't it obvious? Get rid of those other two." The Dean waves her hands at the look that flashes across your face. "Oh, you don't have to kill them. Though honestly, that would probably be the smartest move. Do whatever it is your coven does. Turn them into birds, or brainwash them into puppets; beats me. Do whatever it was you tried to do to me, if you like!"

The Dean tilts her head to one side in curiosity at that thought, then looks over to her still strewn-out secretary. "Actually, what was she trying to do to me? What was that stuff?"

The secretary doesn't bother sitting back up. "I don't recognize that request."

The Dean's eyes narrow. "What was in the drink she gave me."

"I don't recognize that request."

The Dean groans in annoyance. "I demand to know any and all ingredients of the Peppermint Mocha given to me by Ashley Price,"--she irritably checks her watch--"five minutes ago, and I demand to know what effect if any it would have had on me. Is that good enough, ****?"

The secretary finally answers at that, her words drawn out as if dragged from her. "It contained one ounce of Starbucks Dark Roast trademark, two pumps of Chocolate Syrup, two pumps of Peppermint Syrup, four ounces of whipped cream, twenty-seven chocolate curls and fifteen ounces of ritual fertility cult milk expressed by one Sydney Munroe. It would have locked you into a test of wills by which you would either become initiated into the mysteries of the cult or turned into a docile cow."

The Dean makes a face at that, shooting you an unimpressed look. "Seriously? She was just going to make me stronger? Why do I even need your worthless self, ****?"

"You would have failed."

The look that flashes across the Dean's face strikes you as very dangerous as she regards her secretary. "Come again?"

"You would have failed." It's hard to tell from this distance, but it almost looks like the secretary is nursing a little smile. "You would have given in to bliss immediately. You would have become a dripping, gushing bimbo and you would have adored every second of it."

The Dean hisses, swiping the lamp off the secretary's desk to send it shattering against the floor. "Remove yourself, ****. Now." And then the secretary is simply gone. The Dean huffs out a breath of annoyance, carefully readjusting her clothes before she turns her wide smile back to you. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

"Um, me proving myself to you,"--The dangerous look flashes across her face again, and you quickly add on--"Mistress."

The woman nods in satisfaction. "Good. So that's settled. I was supposed to meet the first of you this Saturday, so let's plan on you having taken care of them in time for that meeting, okay? I'll even tell you the spot; it's the big dead oak at the center of campus. People have forgotten all about the witches who were hung from that tree in darker days, but it certainly still remembers the power all those deaths gave it. So okay! That's that, then. You may leave, Girl."

The door audibly unlocks behind you, but the Dean's voice halts you as you hastily turn to leave. "Oh, and Girl? If you don't succeed, I must say I will be very displeased. People don't remember the witches that hung from that tree in the past, but they would certainly remember the three that may very well be hanging from it come Saturday." She gives you a beatific smile. "Good luck."

It's all you can do to race out of the office, not stopping for one moment as you careen down the empty halls. You don't stop running until you've reached the parking lot, Jenny and Isabelle straightening up from where they sat on the hood of Jenny's car. Isabelle raises her eyebrows at your appearance, opening her mouth to say something until you frantically raise a finger to shush her.

The two girls stare at you in concern as you motion for them to go into the car, but they comply as you quickly draw a sigil onto the roof of the expensive vehicle. Once inside the warded car, you let out a heavy breath of air and slump against the seat. "Jesus. That was not great."

Jenny chews her lip in concern as Isabelle reaches out to touch your shoulder. "So it didn't work, then."

"No. No it did not."

Isabelle frowns at that. "We probably should have come up with a Plan B."

"That's okay." Jenny raises her eyebrows as you indulge in your first smile in what seems like an eternity. "We've got one now."