They heard the distinct sound of a door opening just a few shelves over, followed by the rapid clicking of heels on the floor.
Mal placed the book back swiftly, but there was no time to escape.
“Lux,” said a high-pitched voice Maeve hated as light popped into the air. Madam Florence stepped towards them, her mouth in a thin line.
“How unbelievably unacceptable. Two Paragons in The Restricted Area of my Library. You both should know better.”
“Madam-”
Florence cut Mal off quickly. “I have no time for excuses this late, Mr. Peur, as disappointed as I am to see you of all students here. To the Headmaster’s office, both of you.”
Mal didn’t look Maeve’s way, but she could see his wheels turning.
The walk to the Headmasters office was silent, save for Florence muttering under her breath about naughty children and the rhythmic click of her kitten heels. Maeve felt they suited Florence as they were incredibly tacky. She remembered her father once told her Madam Florence and himself butt heads quite frequently.
They stopped before a large floor to ceiling mural of a sleeping knight.
“Evening Sir Kale,” said Florence sharply.
The man in the painting awoke with a snort. “Heavens, Betsy,” he crooned. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to wake a sleeping knight?”
Sir Kale shifted his armor and shook his head sleepily.
Florence ignored him. “I need to speak to the Headmasters about these two.”
“Password?” Asked Sir Kale his eyes fluttering shut.
“Thimble,” said Florence.
Kale’s head dropped.
“Sir Kale!” Screeched Florence.
The knight startled angrily and huffed at her. “The Headmaster’s are away!” He snapped. “You can harass them when the sun rises.”
Florence’s lips pulled into a thin line. “Where are they?’
But Sir Kale was already snoring.
Florence stormed down the corridor, commanding them to follow.
“Come,” she said sharply. “I suppose your Court Heads will have to hear of your disobedience.”
After a long and silent walk across the castle they reached the Staff Quarters.
Florence swung open the double doors of the suite, revealing Professor Larliesl, Hummingdoor and Harquinton.
They followed Florence into the living area. It was decorated with layered rugs and mismatched armchairs of deep tones. The candelabras across the room dripped yellow wax onto the wood below them.
Larliesl’s face fell flat when he saw Mal and Maeve. Hummingdoor’s face lit up.
“Mr. Peur!” He shouted. “And Miss Sinclair!”
Florence frowned.
“What is it now, Florence?” Asked Larliesl lazily.
“Evening, June,” said Harquinton as he excused himself with polite nods to everyone.
