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Jamal Dlamini never liked parents’ evenings.
He knew this was a controversial stance, particularly for a (supposedly) upstanding member of the teaching community, but he could never work out what part he was meant to like. Was it the four hours of unpaid overtime? Being crammed into a too-small assembly hall? Or was it the part where he had to appease a dizzying parade of parents, half of whom had never shown the slightest interest in their children, demanding to know why their perfect little angel had only made ‘Second Tree’ in the Midwinter’s play? Some of his colleagues seemed to take it all in stride, enjoy it even, but for Jamal the whole thing just felt like a bloody waste of time.
Still, he had to show up, right? Show willing? So here he was, perched glumly on a rickety, fold-out chair behind a rickety, fold-out table, while outside an Eleusinian rainstorm howled around the brickwork and battered the assembly hall windows. Damnit; he’d been so sure that last year would’ve been the last time he had to do this! After all, hadn’t Mr. Doukas, the headmaster, all but promised to promote him to Head of Year this year? Heads of Year didn’t have to do parents' evening; they got to go to the PTA dinner instead, to say nothing of that nice uplift in pay, the big office, the reserved parking spot—
“Mr. Dlamini?”
—but no . That coveted role had been snatched from him by some oily bastard called Mr. Galanis, just three days before the start of the year! Mr. Galanis, with his well-pressed suit and carefully managed hair…where had he come from, again? Nobody knew, but since he’d arrived it seemed Mr. Doukas had been more on edge than ever before.
“Mr. Dlamini! Are you present, man?” someone clapped him on the shoulder, and with a jerk of surprise Jamal looked up to see the headmaster looming over him. He was a portly man, dressed in a faded, ill-fitting suit, with a particularly awful toupee perched atop his head. Jamal occasionally wondered if he knew just how bad it was, but had never worked up the nerve to ask.
“Ah, Mr. Doukas,” he forced a smile. “I was…watching the storm.”
“Seems like you were daydreaming, if you ask me,” Mr Doukas harrumphed . “Tell me, have you seen Madeline's parents yet?”
“No, not yet. They’re…” Jamal quickly scanned his list. “...my last appointment, in fact. Seven ‘o’ clock.”
“Well, I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you how important it is that they leave with a good impression of our school,” the headmaster said. “She is one of our most prized pupils, after all.”
“Yes, Mr. Doukas,” Jamal said.
“And be sure to send them to me after they’re done. I want them to know that they have my… personal attention.”
Mr. Doukas left, and Jamal sank a little lower in his seat. Poor Maddie; is this what she had to look forward to? She hadn’t asked to be born Empowered, or to famous, influential parents. In a just world, she’d be allowed to grow up safe, secure, and happy, just like the other kids in her class. She didn’t deserve to be singled out because of her… abilities, and she definitely didn’t deserve to be treated like a meal ticket by some second-rate headmaster looking to score some political points.
‘Most prized pupil’ indeed. In a just world, people like Mr. Doukas would leave her the hell alone.
The assembly hall bell chimed loudly, shaking Jamal out of his reverie. It was seven ‘o’ clock on the dot, which meant…
“Showtime, Dlamini,” he muttered, and clambered to his feet. Right on cue, the double doors at the far end of the hall swung inwards, revealing a lithe, athletic woman with rich, dark skin and an impressive shock of curly black hair, shot through with snowy-white locks. She paused for a moment, her sharp, calculating gaze scything across the room — and then it fell on Jamal. In that instant, he knew exactly how a gazelle felt when the birds stopped singing.
She strode —no, swept— across the room, haughtily ignoring the staring parents and rippling whispers, and Jamal felt sweat beading on his forehead. It was going to be fine, right? After all, everyone knew about Maddie’s mum; she was a veteran, a champion, possibly a hero . If even half the stories were true, there wasn’t a single person in this room who didn’t owe their life to her in one way or another…
…but then there were those other stories, like the one about the Matsouka family. They were a powerful criminal organisation; ruthless, deadly, and connected. At their peak, they had the police and half the Senate in their pocket, and their patriarch was a regular feature at high-society gatherings. It was at one particular soiree that he crossed paths with Maddie’s parents; they’d talked briefly, quietly, and then clinked glasses and moved on. Nobody knew what’d passed between them, but that very night screams and gunshots were heard from the Matsouka family manor, and the patriarch and his underlings were never seen or heard from again…
No — no, it was going to be fine. With an effort, Jamal put all thoughts of vanishing criminals from his mind and smiled bravely at the approaching woman.
“Um, good evening, um, ah…” he hesitated. Just how was he meant to address her? Her rank? Her title?
“Good evening, Mr. Dlamini,” she said, in curt, clipped tones. Her accent was undeniably foreign, with a curious lilt that he couldn’t quite identify. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Maddie.”
“Um…” Jamal felt a jolt of worry. “Good things, I hope?”
“Enough to pique my interest,” she sat down, fastidiously gathering the folds of her sundress about her. Despite the storm raging outside, it was bone dry. “It’s Ms. Magus, by the way.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You weren’t sure how to address me, correct? Ms. Magus is fine.”
“Oh, um…great. Thank you, Ms. Magus,” he said, and quickly sat down on his side of the table. “That’s, um…”
“Expedient,” Ms. Magus’ lips quirked. “I’m not about to choke on your titles, sweetie, so why should you choke on mine?”
“I suppose that, um…well—”
“The clock’s ticking, Mr. Dlamimi, and your cat must be getting hungry,” she said briskly. “So why don’t you tell me all about my precious little natural disaster?”
“You mean Madeline?” Jamal asked. Her eyebrow cocked in response. “Of course you do — sorry. Um, Madeline is…a bright child. Academically, I have no concerns.”
Ms. Magus inclined her head. “None at all?”
“Well…she sometimes needs a bit of extra help with her maths, but no more than any of the other children,” said Jamal. “But aside from that, I’d say she’s developing either in line or well above expectations.”
“Doesn’t take after me, then,” Ms. Magus muttered, a little ruefully. “How about art? Does she enjoy art?”
“She…” Jamal hesitated, and saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “It’s hard to say. She doesn’t seem to dislike —”
“It’s fine; you don’t need to sugar-coat it for my benefit. I just…” Ms. Magus irritably waved it aside. “Never mind. Anything else?”
“Well, I did have one concern,” said Jamal. “Next term’s history topic is going to be, well…we’re covering the Great War.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ms. Magus’ expression turned carefully blank, her eyes unblinking. “And your concern?”
“The Great War is a difficult subject for everyone . Most of the children know someone who died; aunts, uncles, grandparents…I mean, my father fought in that war—”
“Your father ? Goddess, now I feel old.”
“—but none of our families were as… involved as yours. As you,” he said pointedly. “We’ll be covering it in an age-appropriate manner, of course, but I’m just concerned that she might—”
“—learn things about her parents that we’d rather she didn’t?” Ms. Magus’ eyebrows jumped.
Jamal considered his next words carefully. “It’s one thing for us to talk about wars that happened long ago, but Madeline will be hearing about things that happened to her Mum and Dad . She might find that immediacy quite upsetting.”
She snorted. “I think you’ll find we did most of the ‘happening’, thank you very much.”
“Which is exactly my point,” he sighed internally. “I’d like to have a meeting with you and your husband before the beginning of next term, so that we can make sure we’re all…singing from the same hymn sheet. For Madeline’s sake.”
Ms. Magus’ gaze softened, just for an instant. “Fine. Consider it done.”
“Thank you.”
“So, academically she’s fine, but…is she happy ? How is break time? After last year—”
“You mean that…unpleasantness?”
“I mean the bullying, Mr. Dlamini,” her voice was suddenly quiet, almost a whisper, but it thrummed with barely restrained fury. “‘Freak’? ‘Witch’? Do those ring any bells? If she had come home crying one more time—”
“Yes, you’re right; I…misspoke,” Jamal said quickly. Suddenly, he was very grateful that there was a table between them, flimsy though it was. “I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as that girl’s parents were,” she growled. “Let me be clear, Mr. Dlamini; there aren’t many things in this world that I care about, but my family is more precious to me than life itself. Nobody threatens them and escapes unscathed.”
“T-That’s very clear, I assure you,” he stammered. “And you’ll be glad to know that Madeline is doing a lot better. She’s already made some new friends.”
“Oh?” Ms. Magus uncoiled, if only slightly. “That’s good; I’m glad.”
Jamal felt a wave of relief. A mercurial parent was one thing, but this parent… “Believe me, so am I. Those three are thick as thieves most of the time; in fact, they’ve done a better job of coaxing her out of her shell than I ever could.”
She nodded. “I’ll be needing names, Mr. Dlamini. Names and home addresses.”
He hesitated. “I’m…not sure that the school policy allows—”
“—the school has a special policy for Madeline, Mr. Dlamini,” her eyes narrowed. “As both her teacher and Head of Year, you must be aware of that.”
“But…I’m not.”
She frowned. “You’re not what? Not her teacher?”
“No. I’m…not Head of Year.”
Jamal wasn’t quite sure what to expect from that declaration. Confusion, perhaps, or possibly commiseration — but Ms. Magus froze, and then stared at him with wide, searching eyes as if he’d grown a second head.
“I’m sorry; can you repeat that?” she said, in a disbelieving tone that perfectly matched her expression. “Because after last year, I was informed by Mr. Doukas that Maddie would be being taught by the Head of Year—”
“Oh, I was going to be Head of Year,” Jamal said, and her eyes flashed at his interruption. “But I didn’t get the position.”
Her eyes narrowed once again, and when she spoke her tone was icy. “So who did?”
“Um…Mr. Galanis?”
“And just who is Mr. Galanis?” If her voice had been cold before, every syllable now chilled him to the core.
“Oh, he was an external hire—”
Ms. Magus closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “Okay; Mr. Dlamini, I need you to be very clear about this. You are not Head of Year?”
“That’s right.”
“And this Mr. Galanis is?”
“Correct.”
“And where did he come from?”
“I…don’t know; nobody does,” Jamal said, and felt a strange mixture of fear and uncertainty clawing away inside. “He just turned up before the start of the year and—” he looked left and right, and leaned in conspiratorially. “—stole my job!”
Her lips pressed together tightly. “My heart bleeds for you, sweetie, but there’s something rather more important going on here. It appears my dog has slipped its leash.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Madeline’s protection plan means that every teacher at this school has to be vetted — yes, including you, Mr. Dlamini. Mr. Doukas was meant to tell you this when he made you Head of Year,” she said. “I knew he was a pompous fool, but I never imagined he’d go behind my back like this.”
“I’m sorry, but…what’s going on?” Jamal's heart skipped a beat. "Is this—"
"None of your concern? That's correct," Ms. Magus stood up. “I don’t suppose you have a picture of this…Mr. Galanis, do you?”
“Just over there,” Jamal nodded at the far wall, where a list of faculty staff were proudly displayed alongside thumbnail pictures. Ms. Magus stared, and scowled.
“Goddess; right under my sodding nose,” she muttered. “Well, Mr. Dlamini; thank you very much for your time. You may have accidentally just saved me a great deal of trouble, and…”
“And?”
She smiled, and it was a bright, genuine smile, full of warmth and gratitude. “Maddie absolutely raves about you. Honestly, she thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”
“I’m, um…I’m very glad to hear that,” Jamal said, a little bashfully. “She’s an amazing little girl.”
“Isn’t she just? I genuinely can’t believe she’s my daughter,” she chuckled, and then her expression hardened. “So where can I find Mr. Doukas?”
“In his office, probably,” Jamal said, and for a moment he felt a little bad for the hapless headmaster. “He was very clear that I send you to meet him after you were done here.”
She shook her head. “That guy really is an imbecile. If I were you, I’d keep my head down and head home pretty sharpish. Who knows? When the dust settles, maybe we’ll both get something we want.”
Jamal did exactly as ordered.
The instant Ms. Magus vanished from view, he leapt to his feet, pulled on his coat, and rushed out into the stormy night. Those last ten minutes had been more draining than the rest of the day, and all he really wanted to do was get home, feed his cat, and try to pretend that he hadn’t just had a meeting with one of the world’s deadliest sorceresses. Tomorrow would be a new day, and he was sure that everything would be back to normal, right?
Wrong.
He felt the tension long before he reached the school, and found Ms. Ariti was waiting at the gates, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. The instant she saw him, she grabbed his arm and all but dragged him off to Mr. Doukas’ office — or rather, Mr. Doukas’ former office. According to Ms. Ariti, he was taking early retirement, effective immediately, and had moved somewhere far away. Somewhere far, far away. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but she seemed to be having trouble keeping a smile off her face.
The craziness didn’t end there. Waiting for him in Mr. Doukas’ office were two serious-looking men, dressed in suits and wearing sunglasses. They sat him down, offered him a cup of coffee — and then the questions began. How long had he known Mr. Galanis? Had Mr. Galanis ever shown an unusual level of interest in any of the children at school? Had he ever seen Mr. Galanis acting suspiciously, or ever had any reason to be suspicious of Mr. Galanis — and most importantly, did he have any idea of Mr. Galanis’ current whereabouts? Apparently, he’d simply vanished somewhere in the woods between the pub and his home. Jamal had his suspicions, but their knowing looks told him more than he really wanted to know.
Still, with Mr. Doukas gone Ms. Ariti was in charge, and she wasted no time in giving Jamal his long-deserved promotion. Head of Year, Year 3! He strode proudly back to his classroom, thinking of all the things he’d be able to get for his cushy new office with that nice uplift in pay — and as for that reserved parking spot? Well, he didn’t actually need the spot, not having a car, but it was one of his perks and he’d be damned if he was giving it up! Not only that, but he’d finally be able to ditch parents’ evening and go hobnob with the PTA and their fancy dinners—
“Morning, Mr. Dlamini,” a distinctive, lilting voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Ms. Magus leaning casually against the wall. In contrast to the sundress of yesterday, she was dressed in well-fitted, black clothes that looked disturbingly like combat fatigues. “Or should I say, Head of Year, Mr. Dlamini?”
“Good morning, Ms. Magus,” he said. “Busy night last night?”
“Pretty standard,” she shrugged. “Mr. Doukas and I had a very… productive talk.”
“I heard — and Mr. Galanis?”
She gave him a cool look. “A wise man wouldn’t pull on that thread. Are you a wise man, Mr. Dlamini?”
“I—”
“Good answer. I knew I made the right choice,” the cool look became a chilly smile. “Now, I’m sure you have a classroom full of kids just itching to start a rich, full day of learning, so how about you run along while I sort out this farce? Give Maddie my love.”
“Will do.”
“Marvellous,” she turned away, but then something seemed to occur to her. “Oh, and Mr. Dlamini?”
“...yes?” he asked warily.
“I look forward to hearing all about Maddie’s progress,” she said, and her eyes glittered mischievously. “At our next parent’s evening, of course.”