Lock and Key

by Evangeline Anderson

  “All right—winter blouses it is,” the receptionist said, breaking into my thoughts. “Now let’s get you a meal ticket.”

  She went to a far wall, where a long line of hooks were neatly fixed to a long wooden board. They all had lanyards with different colored plastic tags hanging from them. The colors were emerald green, sapphire blue, ruby red, and royal purple.

  Her long skinny fingers hovered over the lanyards with blue tags for a moment but then skimmed over to a hook far in the corner which hadn’t caught my eye before. Probably because the tags hanging from those lanyards were a dull, ordinary gray.

  “Here—you’ll have to be ranked with the Norms due to your Null status,” she said, taking one of the lanyards with the gray tags. “However, since the Headmistress herself is sponsoring you…”

  Her hand skimmed on to another hook, which held five rolls of colored tape—green, red, purple, blue, and a thick roll of black. Tearing a piece of red tape off, she applied it to the middle of the gray tag on either side.

  “And since you are supposed to be with the Sisters if you ever manifest…” she went on, grabbing another roll of tape—the blue one this time. Tearing off a piece, she applied it across the red tape so that my gray tag had a red and blue cross on it Well, at least it was more colorful than it had been, even though I still wasn’t sure what all the colors meant.

  Satisfied at last, she gave me the lanyard carefully, as though she was bestowing a diamond necklace.

  “This is very important—never take it off. All of our distinct groups must be marked and preserved. The lanyard is a constant reminder of your place in the Academy hierarchy and your adherence to our rules.”

  “Um, okay.” Shrugging, I draped the lanyard over my head where it rested against my Henley. Beneath the shirt, I felt the black key shift and grow even heavier but I tried to ignore it.

  “Now you can’t go to class wearing that,” the receptionist pronounced, eyeing my clothes distastefully. “So I’m going to send you to the restroom to change and then it’s off to the guidance councilor for your class schedule. Er…” She frowned. “Well, off to the school secretary, anyway. Our old councilor, Mrs. Rosenstein, had to quit and we haven’t had time to replace her yet. But you’ll be fine with Mrs. Vernon. You should be in time to make your second class of the day, if you hurry. The rest of your things will be sent to the dungeon.”

  I didn’t protest the idea of my clothing going to the dungeon this time. After all, since Nocturne Academy was located in a castle, it stood to reason that they would try to utilize every bit of available space. Though it seemed kind of unfair that the “Norms” whatever that meant, got sent to the dungeon.

  But I had no idea of how truly unfair things could get at Nocturne Academy—though I was about to find out.

  6

  “You can’t put me in remedial English! I was in AP Literature in my old school.”

  I leaned forward across the oak counter which separated the guidance office into two parts, staring earnestly at the middle-aged school secretary, Mrs. Vernon. She sat behind a heavy wooden desk, while I had to stand like a supplicant, as though to emphasize who had the power in the room.

  If the receptionist had been intimidatingly perfect and precise in her personal appearance, Mrs. Vernon was the exact opposite. Her hair was a strange, reddish-purple shade that clearly came out of a bottle and she was wearing a too-tight blue blouse with big pink flowers printed all over it.

  Also, she very clearly didn’t give a damn about what I was saying.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Latimer,” she said with a shrug of her plump shoulders. “That’s the only spot I have open. Honors classes aren’t normally available to Nulls. Besides, there are only fifteen seats in our honors English class and all of them are filled.”

  “But…but this is going to affect my college applications. I’m going to major in English Literature—how can I do that if I’m in remedial English?” I exclaimed.

  “Well now, a degree like that won’t get you very far,” Mrs. Vernon objected. “You should forget about honors English and take something practical honey, like Home Economics,” she told me, with the air of someone older and wiser imparting valuable advice.

  What so I can wind up as a school secretary? I wanted to ask but somehow I bit my tongue.

  “I want to get a doctorate and teach someday,” I said stiffly. “I want to concentrate on Fourteenth Century English Literature. You know—Chaucer? The Canterbury Tales?”

  “Ah yes, The Canterbury Tales,” a sarcastic voice murmured behind me. “Scintillating reading with the emphasis on sin.”

  I whirled around to see a boy about my age or maybe a little older leaning against the door jam. There was something about him—something that momentarily took my breath away. He was tall and had a swimmer’s physique—muscular without being bulky—but that wasn’t what drew a little gasp from my lips.

  He had the face of a fallen angel—perfectly chiseled with an angular jaw and cheekbones that looked like they could cut glass. I felt like I had seen that face before—perhaps in my dreams.

  Or maybe in my nightmares.

  For whatever reason, I couldn’t look away.

  Despite his model looks, his beauty was somehow purely masculine. The hair that fell carelessly over his high forehead was so black it was almost blue but I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were because of the dark sunglasses he was wearing.

  “Very funny, Griffin,” the secretary snapped at him with obvious dislike. “I was just explaining to Miss Latimer here that getting a degree in English isn’t the most practical career path.”

  “Well it’s the path I’ve chosen,” I said, turning back to her and trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “And I need to be in AP English to get to it.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Latimer, but as I have explained that class is full.” Mrs. Vernon crossed her arms over her ample pink-flowered bosom and glared at me.

  “You could let her sit in the back,” the boy called Griffin said, still lounging against the door jam. “She doesn’t look like she would bother anyone. Let her find out the hard way that AP English isn’t nearly as exciting as say, being a school busybody—I mean, secretary. After all, the greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.”

  I glanced at him, frowning. Had he just quoted Chaucer?

  If he had, it clearly went right over the secretary’s head.

  “That’s enough, Mr. Darkheart,” she huffed, her doughy cheeks turning an angry red and her tone going formal as she reverted to his last name. “I make the class schedules here and I won’t tolerate any sass about it.”

  “So you’re in charge and what you say goes, even if it ruins someone’s future. Is that it?” he taunted. “Who are you, Mrs. Vernon, to stand between someone and their dream of higher learning? Who are you to ruin her futile little fantasy of getting out of this dump of a town forever?”

  Mrs. Vernon’s face got even redder. “Mr. Darkheart! That is enough. You will shut your mouth at once if you don’t want more demerits than you can handle.”

  I cast another quick glance at him. He was saying exactly what I was thinking, but he wasn’t helping my case at all.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “I can handle this myself.”

  “You can, can you? How potent is the fancy!” he murmured, giving me what I assumed was a sardonic look from behind his dark shades. “People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.”

  This time I recognized the Chaucer quote at once. “You’re hilarious,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. Mrs. Vernon didn’t appear to agree.

  “Leave now, Mr. Darkheart,” she said, pointing at the door. “And since you’re so interested in her fate, you can take Miss Latimer with you to remedial English.”

  He gave me a disinterested look.

  “Now why would I want to do that? Let her find her own way.”

  But despite his mocking words, he held the door open for me an
d nodded me through it.

  I was reluctant to leave with my schedule still screwed up, but a look at the secretary’s red, angry face convinced me I wasn’t getting any further in my quest to get into the honors English class. Not at the moment, anyway. With a sigh, I left the office, which meant I had to pass within inches of Griffin’s tall frame.

  I tried to give him plenty of room—he was blindingly gorgeous and bitingly sarcastic—not a combination I was comfortable with. But he was wearing a white button-down uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and despite my best efforts, my hand brushed his bare arm as I went past him.

  At the brief contact, a tingle went up my arm. No, not a tingle—an electric shock. At the same time the necklace I was still wearing, safely hidden inside my long-sleeved uniform blouse, tightened and went from ice cold to red hot in an instant.

  I stumbled, suddenly dizzy, and Griffin caught me, the fingers of one long white hand curling under my arm and lifting me easily, as though I weighed no more than a kitten.

  “Don’t trip, beautiful. You wouldn’t want to wind up as a laughingstock on your first day at the prestigious Nocturne Academy,” he drawled sarcastically.

  “I…I…” I didn’t know what to say. Had he felt it too? The shock when our skin touched? The key was throbbing against my chest like a live coal. I was sure it was burning me but I couldn’t look away from his perfect face.

  “What are you, anyway?” He leaned forward and lowered his glasses a little, giving me my first look at his eyes. They were a pale arctic gray—almost white—that reminded me of the color of lightning, with a pitch-black ring around the outside.

  Striking eyes. Startling and somehow feral.

  “I…I’m j-just Meg Latimer,” I stuttered, feeling like a complete fool. “I’m new here,” I added stupidly.

  “Yes, I can see that, but I can also see you’re no ordinary transfer. There must be something about you—why else would you come to Nocturne?” Those piercing eyes scanned me again, narrowing in concentration as they flicked over my lanyard with its gray tag and blue and red cross. “You’re not a true Norm and you’re not a Null either—not really, no matter what this says.” He flicked the tag carelessly with his long white fingers, making my heart jump.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean,” I said, and it was the truth. I still had no idea what the terms “Null” and “Norm” meant, especially when applied to me personally. Never mind all the other names that had been thrown at me lately—What were Nocturnes, Drakes, Faes, and Sisters, anyway, other than just groups at this strange school who weren’t supposed to mix?

  Griffin’s own lanyard had a red tag with a wide stripe of black tape almost obscuring the red. Whatever that meant—I didn’t dare to ask him.

  At last, he straightened up and released my arm.

  “Never mind—it doesn’t matter. English is this way,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the main hallway.

  “I…um…okay, thanks.” I stumbled over the words. His perfection was making me stupid. I told myself to stop looking at his lightning eyes and that sensual mouth of his. But it wasn’t easy.

  “I too, am caught in the purgatory of remedial classes and believe me, it’s not easy being smarter than everyone else in the room,” Griffin continued carelessly. “Of course, that’s every class for me. Unless you’re planning to give me a run for my money in English, Miss Latimer?” He raised one pitch black eyebrow at me, pronouncing my name with that same, drawling sarcasm he’s used when he talked about the Academy.

  “I…I don’t know. I’ll certainly try,” I somehow managed to say.

  “Mmm-hmm. We’ll see.” He replaced his dark glasses finally freeing me from the intensity of his gaze. My eyes dropped from his gorgeous, remote features to the strong column of his neck…and stopped.

  Barely visible between the wings of his uniform shirt collar was a chain-link necklace held together with a padlock.

  It was a masculine looking piece of jewelry—something any high school boy might wear. Except that the thick links of the chain around his neck were pure matte black and the padlock that held them in place around his neck was the same color. When he moved, I saw a flash as the overhead lights caught the tiny red jewels set at the four corners of the lock.

  Blood stones. Exactly like the ones in my key.

  7

  The key under my shirt throbbed again, getting so hot I was sure I would have blisters. Yet I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the lock and wonder what the hell was going on.

  Griffin didn’t seem to notice my eyes on him. Probably he was used to being looked at. With a face and body like that, it was a wonder any girl in the whole school could look at anything else. He smelled incredible too—some cool, masculine scent I couldn’t put my finger on but which seemed to draw me to him. Not that I let myself get too close—I didn’t want to get shocked again.

  “Come on,” he said, and turned to lead the way down the long central hallway—one of the corridors connecting the four tall towers, which was apparently where the classrooms were located here at Nocturne Academy.

  I nearly stumbled as I hurried to keep up with him. All around me students in uniforms were digging in their lockers, shouting, laughing, flirting…and I could barely see any of them.

  All I could see was Griffin.

  He weaved through the crowded hall as gracefully as a dancer but it was clear he didn’t need grace to traverse the busy scene. Students stepped out of his way, almost instinctively avoiding him. This cleared a path for him and, by proxy, for me.

  We finally got to the English classroom and he led the way in without a second glance. Clearly he had forgotten about me or maybe he just didn’t care enough to say anything else. He went to the back of the classroom and sat in a desk in the corner, farthest from the window.

  I tried not to stare at him but it was hard—his lean, muscular frame looked even more seductive somehow when posed in that lazy slouch. He reminded me of a panther, all coiled strength and hidden power. What was it about him?

  Well, besides the lock around his neck.

  The key on my own necklace seemed to settle down some when the distance between us grew. It no longer beat like a second heartbeat under my new uniform blouse and it had gone from scorching hot to simply warm.

  I forced myself to look away from him and go to the front of the room to introduce myself to the teacher, an older lady with a heavily wrinkled face and faded, ancient eyes. Mrs. Wainright.

  Haltingly I explained the situation, how I used to be in AP English and how the secretary told me all the seats in honors English were filled here. Mrs. Wainright looked at me vaguely and I had the feeling she wasn’t comprehending any of what I was saying. How old was she anyway? At last she patted my arm and gave me a kindly, if distant smile.

  “Just have a seat in the front there, dearie and we can talk about it after class. We’ll be starting in a moment.”

  I thanked her, though I would rather have gone to sit in the back by Griffin. Which was stupid, I knew. He was so far out of my league we weren’t even in the same ballpark but something seemed to draw me to him. Could it be the key? Or was I just making excuses to get closer to him?

  He barely knows you exist, I reminded myself sternly as I chose a desk near the front and sat down, smoothing my new pleated uniform skirt over my knees self-consciously.

  But there was an itching sensation between my shoulder blades and I couldn’t help feeling like he was looking at me. I turned my head and saw that he was facing in my direction at least. His dark glasses, however, made it impossible to tell if he was actually looking my way or just staring blankly at the white board.

  I turned around quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed my glance.

  Soon enough, other students started filing in. I saw a couple of giggly blond girls but the majority of the class was male.

  Four in particular stood out. They were big and brawny with brown eyes a
nd black hair and they looked almost alike enough to be brothers. All of them were wearing lanyards with green tags on them.

  Since this was remedial English, I was pretty sure they must be on the football team—if the students at Nocturne Academy stooped to play such a mundane sport, that was. The rule at all schools in Florida, public or private, was no pass, no play. So these guys had probably been put into the easiest classes possible to keep them eligible for whatever sport they were playing.

  One of them seemed to notice me looking at them because he stopped right in front of my desk and stared down at me menacingly.

  “Hey girlie, you like what you see?” He did a little bump and grind and since his groin was on level with my face, I couldn’t miss the obscene bulge in his black uniform slacks. He wore them low and held them up in the front with one hand.

  Thug life at Nocturne Academy.

  My lips tightened and I leaned back in my seat, as far from him as I could get. Mrs. Wainright was writing on the white board, her marker screeching slowly across its blank surface, and she didn’t seem to notice what was going on. Probably she couldn’t hear it—I’d thought she seemed a little deaf.

  “What’s wrong, pretty girlie, can’t talk?” the asshole taunted me. “You’re new, right? Where did you move from—the North Pole? Is that why you’re all dressed up for winter?”

  His words brought home the fact that I was wearing a long-sleeved uniform shirt while most of the other students, with the exception of Griffin, had on short sleeves. I felt a sting of self-consciousness and wished I had worn my new school blazer to cover my choice of shirt. But the snooty receptionist had been right—it was warm, even in the stone hallways of the castle—too warm, I had thought, to wear the blazer which was currently draped over the back of my chair.