Lock and Key

by Evangeline Anderson

  “That’s okay—it was nothing.”

  “It was not nothing!” Avery said indignantly. “You stood up for Kaitlyn and protected her, like a true coven-mate would.” He nodded at me approvingly. “I knew you were our fourth the minute I saw you. You belong with us and you certainly proved that today.”

  “I wasn’t trying to prove myself,” I pointed out. “I just wanted to keep Kaitlyn from getting hurt—well, from getting hurt any worse than she already was,” I amended.

  Avery nodded. “She’s had a really hard time—when she came here, she wouldn’t talk at all, just kept her head down all the time. It’s taken ages to coax her out of her shell a little and now it seems like she’s back to square one.” He shook his head sadly.

  “She’ll bounce back,” I said, hoping it was true. “We just need to support her.”

  “Oh, we will! I don’t know if you know this, but Kaitlyn is kind of like a little sister to me. Well, Emma is too, but Kaitlyn is so much more fragile.” Avery sighed. “I’m just so glad you were with her to defend her like you did, Megan.”

  “I just did what any decent person would do,” I protested.

  Avery shook his head.

  “No, most ‘decent people’ are afraid to get their hands dirty or stand out in the crowd. Look how everyone else in the class treated her—I’m sure there were a few who weren’t very comfortable with the remarks Sanchez was making but you were the only one who spoke up for her.”

  “That’s not quite true,” I pointed out. “Ari Reyes stepped in, too. He punched Sanchez and said something in some weird language I’ve never heard before. The two of them had kind of a stand-off right there on the field.”

  “Yes, I heard about that too.” Avery looked thoughtful. “It’s really surprising, you know—a Drake going against his own kind like that. I wonder why he did it?”

  “I got the impression he was protecting Kaitlyn from Sanchez,” I said. “Do they have any kind of history or anything? I mean, Kaitlyn and Ari Reyes?”

  Avery shook his head.

  “Not that I know of. Reyes is pretty new to the school—he only started here at the beginning of this semester. Before that he was being educated in the Sky Lands.”

  “The Sky Lands?” I asked, frowning as we crossed the shadowy Dining Hall, heading for the entrance to the food service line and the kitchens.

  “The Drake home world,” Avery clarified. “They actually come from another land, just like the Fae come from the Realm.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. “How do they get here?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve heard they have a special portal in the sky that they have to fly through in dragon form. They bring the female Drakes with them, riding on their backs since they don’t have dragons inside themselves.”

  “Fascinating.” I shook my head. “I want to take a class in Other Studies so I can learn all these little details for myself. Do they have a class like that here? Maybe something I could get into if Ms. Yasmeen will ever let me out of Elementary Casting? Or if I can extricate myself from Home Ec?”

  Avery shot me a knowing look.

  “Had a hard time in your last two periods again?”

  I sighed. “You could say that. I still can’t light a candle…or bend a spoon with magic…or do anything magical, really. And in Home Ec today, none of the ovens would work right for me so my cake was burned on one side and just soup on the other.”

  “Oh no!” Avery shook his head sympathetically.

  I shrugged. “Another day, another F. I don’t know how much more of this my GPA can stand but Mrs. Hornsby still won’t let me out of it. Of course she thought the cake Nancy and the Weird Sisters baked tasted like manna from Heaven.” I rolled my eyes.

  Avery scowled. “That Nancy is such a bitch! I wish I could teach you a simple deflection spell to ward off her nastiness.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. As far as I can see, I don’t have anything magical about me.”

  He shook his head. “I just don’t believe that. I don’t feel the Flame when I touch you, but I don’t feel the absence of it either, like you do when you touch a Null. Maybe your magic is locked up somehow—trapped behind a wall or a dam.”

  “In that case, I might as well be a Null,” I pointed out. “Since I can’t get to it to use it—if it’s even there, which I doubt.”

  “I don’t,” Avery said firmly as we got to the rounded archway which led into the food service line.

  I looked in. There was the tall stack of green plastic trays, ready for breakfast the next day and the long metal bars to slide your tray along as you waited to be served. Behind the steam tables which would doubtless hold more nasty casserole tomorrow, was the darkened kitchen. Vast appliances—enormous convection ovens and heating racks as well as rows of stovetops with multiple burners loomed in the dimness.

  “How does all this non-magical stuff work if it doesn’t work elsewhere in the castle?” I asked, looking at the enormous industrial-sized appliances.

  “The kitchens are a magic-null area,” Avery explained. “They have magic shielding built into all the walls to keep any stray spells from getting in and messing with their cooking. Which also makes this a great place to come if you ever need to make a phone call—the shielding keeps the castle from interfering with your cell phone.”

  “Good to know—thanks.” I nodded. “But, uh, how can your magic bag work in there if that’s the case?”

  “Oh, because it’s personal magic tied to me. As long as I’m touching it, it draws from me like a kind of magical battery. The same way a flashlight works for you even if all the electricity goes out because of a storm.”

  I thought that he had a remarkably practical way of explaining magic, which I really appreciated. It helped to de-mystify what was, for me at least, an extremely confusing subject.

  “Okay,” I said. “Now what? Where’s the fridge? I mean, the cold storage unit?”

  “Around the corner, there.” Avery pointed to the left of one of the big stoves. “But you’re going to stay here and play look-out for me. If you see or hear anyone coming, hoot twice like an owl and call once like a whippoorwill.”

  I stared at him blankly. “I don’t know what a whippoorwill sounds like! Is that even a real bird?”

  Avery sighed and made a face like a professional actor working with rank armatures.

  “Of course it’s a real bird!” He shook his head, his blond hair gleaming in the dim light. “Emma will never play along with me either. Never mind, just cough three times if you see someone coming. If they ask what you’re doing out, pretend you’re going to the Healer’s office because you think you’re getting a cold.”

  I frowned. “Will that give you enough time to get away? Or is there a place to hide back there if they come checking around?”

  He shrugged. “I can hide in my invisi-bag if I have to—I’ve done it before.”

  I had to admit that was a neat solution to the problem.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll stand here in the food line doorway and wait for you then.”

  “Thanks. One roasted chicken dinner coming up.” He grinned at me and then glided off silently into the darkness behind the steam tables. Clearly he knew exactly what he was doing.

  I went back to stand in the doorway and looked alertly around the cavernous darkness of the Dining Hall as I waited for him. I didn’t expect any trouble. Avery’s nonchalant attitude towards raiding the kitchen made it feel like just a normal part of life at Nocturne Academy.

  I didn’t even feel bad about stealing because, really, was it stealing? Wasn’t my scholarship supposed to cover room and board? And shouldn’t I be getting something better than fish and fruit salad casserole covered with a thick, greasy blanket of orange cheese? I was pretty sure even prisons didn’t serve such nasty food—an elite Magic Academy ought to do better than a correctional institution.

  I nodded to myself. Put that way, the
pilfering seemed positively justified.

  As I mused, I kept my eyes trained on the wide entrance to the Dining Hall on the far side of the room. It was the only way either in or out of the area—that I could see, anyway. So I was pretty sure if someone was going to come check on the kitchens, that would be where they would come from.

  Which was why I was so surprised when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder from behind and a voice said in my ear,

  “Now what do you think you’re doing in my kitchen this time of night, Missy?”

  28

  I must have jumped a mile—at least it felt like I did. I turned quickly around and saw a plump, elderly cafeteria lady frowning at me. She was still wearing an apron and a hairnet and her eyes looked like sharp little raisins pushed into her doughy face.

  “Oh, I…” I put a hand to my mouth and doubled over, coughing. When I straightened up, I wiped at my nose and sniffed loudly. “I’m sorry,” I told her, hoping I sounded convincing. “I’m new here and I was looking for the Healer’s office. I…” I sniffed again. “I think I’m getting a cold. Can you show me the way?”

  She looked at me suspiciously but I faked another coughing fit and looked as miserable as I possibly could.

  At last, she nodded. “Well…I haven’t seen you around for long, that much is true, anyway. Come on—I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  She led the way out of the Dining Hall entrance and I had no choice but to follow her.

  “It’s that way,” she said, pointing down the stone hallway. “Take a left and go all the way down—it’ll be on your right. If you reach the South Tower you’ve gone too far.” She gave me a stern look. “Now get. And mind I don’t catch you poking around my kitchens again at night!”

  “No, ma’am,” I said humbly and sniffed. “Thank you.”

  She made a brisk shooing gesture and I had no choice but to start off down the hallway, just as though I was really headed towards the Healer. I could feel her little raisin eyes watching me the whole way until I finally turned the corner and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Whew—that had been close! I just hoped that Avery had heard me and had time to hide himself in his bag. But I had a feeling he would be fine one way or another. He was smooth enough to sweet-talk his way out of trouble, even if she caught him red-handed—a talent which I myself, unfortunately, did not possess.

  Wonder how long I’ll have to stay here before I can go back? I thought, glancing around the shadowy dimness of the large stone corridor. The evening before I had been too tired to notice, but it was actually really spooky down here at night.

  There were a few windows cut into the stone hallway but they were small and didn’t let in much moonlight or starlight. Every shadow seemed to have a shadow of its own and the slightest sound echoed endlessly.

  I went a little further, wondering if maybe Griffin was sneaking out again tonight. I wasn’t very far from the short hallway where I’d met him the night before, I didn’t think. Should I look for it? Should I try to find him?

  The key around my neck jumped at the thought. I wondered if it was really Griffin that it wanted or if it was just drawn to the thick black padlock at his throat. What would happen if we put them together? If I put my key into his lock?

  The key quivered again, eagerly. But somehow the thought sent a chill down my spine. Though I didn’t know why, the idea felt dangerous to me—extremely so.

  Without quite knowing what I was doing, I kept moving. My feet carried me almost all the way down the long main corridor, my slippers almost silent on the flagstone floor, until I reached the corner.

  This was it—I was certain that if I turned the corner, I would see the short hallway with its door that led outside the castle. Should I turn it? Should I go and see if Griffin was there?

  The key at my throat was urging me on eagerly and to be honest, I wanted to see him myself. I knew it was crazy and ridiculous—he had expressly warned me to leave him alone and all my friends had said he was bad news—not to mention extremely dangerous. Also, I couldn’t forget the way his fangs had gleamed in the dim light the night before.

  But all of that didn’t stop me from wanting to see him—wanting to talk to him—even though I knew it was stupid and unsafe. I just couldn’t seem to help myself—I felt as drawn to the tall Nocturne as the key was to his lock.

  As I stood there indecisively, someone came around the corner I had been debating on turning and headed right towards me.

  I started back, putting a hand to my pounding heart. I couldn’t see their face in the dimness of the corridor but I could tell whoever it was had to be male from his sheer height. Was it Griffin?

  “Hello there,” a deep, gravely voice snarled as he saw me. “I was hoping I’d find you out here.”

  The tall shadow stepped into a dim patch of moonlight coming through a nearby window. I felt my stomach clench like an icy fist as I saw his face.

  It wasn’t Griffin—it was Sanchez.

  29

  I turned to run but he already had me by the arm and was dragging me towards him.

  “Come here!” he barked, glaring at me. “Come here and fix what you did!”

  “What? What are you talking about?” I gasped. “I didn’t…didn’t do anything to you!”

  I tried to twist away from him but his grip on my upper arm was too tight—I was definitely going to have a bruise tomorrow. But right now that was the last of my worries. The big Drake’s eyes were glowing an angry yellow in the dim hallway and I was pretty sure if I got out of this with just a bruise, I would consider myself extremely lucky.

  “You call this not doing anything? Look at me,” he snarled, his face contorted with anger in the moonlight. “Look what you did to me, you little bruja!”

  I saw that he was pointing with his free hand to his left cheek—the same cheek I had slapped that morning in PE after he pissed me off being nasty to Kaitlyn.

  To my shock, I saw that my handprint was still there—a perfectly defined outline of my palm and fingers, splayed across his beefy cheek and the side of his face. Only instead of being an angry red, as it had appeared that morning, it was now a dark royal blue. A blue handprint that stood out on his skin like a sign.

  It looked strange and out of place—like a tattoo or a bizarre bruise. Or like maybe someone had played a prank on him and drawn a blue hand on his face while he was drunk or asleep at a party. But no one else had done this to him—no one but me.

  I did that, I realized, with a sick lurch of fear in the pit of my stomach. I marked him that way—but how?

  Vaguely I remembered the feeling of my anger taking physical form when I’d hit him—the feeling that some kind of power or energy had transferred itself from me to the big Drake standing in front of me. But of course I hadn’t done it on purpose—it had just happened—the anger pouring out of me and into Sanchez.

  Just the way the pain had poured from my mom into me. There was a connection there somewhere but I didn’t have the knowledge or experience to see it clearly. I was still so new to the magical world. I didn’t know…

  “Well?” Sanchez demanded, shaking me angrily until my teeth clicked together on the tip of my tongue.

  The sharp pain seemed to bring me out of the trance I’d somehow fallen into. I tasted the hot metallic flavor of blood and winced as I spit it out to one side.

  “I don’t even know how I did that in the first place,” I said, glaring up at him. “So I sure as hell don’t know how to take it away.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. But then, I don’t think there was a right thing to say at that moment. I know Sanchez certainly didn’t believe me.

  “You little puta!” he growled, snarling right in my face so I could feel his hot, fetid breath on my cheeks. “You’re going to be sorry—so fucking sorry if you don’t fix this!”

  “You’re the one who’s going to be sorry, Sanchez,” a dark, cool voice drawled from behind me. “If you don’t take your hands off my femal
e now.”

  I felt a cold, prickling sensation up and down my spine, as though someone had opened a door that led out into a snowy winter’s night behind me. Suddenly Griffin was there, glaring eye-to-eye with Sanchez.

  “Let…her…go.” He bit out each word and spat it at the big Drake as though he was spitting bullets.

  Sanchez pulled back, getting out of my face—which was a vast improvement—though he still didn’t release his grip on my arm.

  “You’re claiming her, Fanger?” he snarled.

  “I am. Megan Latimer is mine.” Griffin’s eyes glowed bright silver with the intensity of his statement. But still the big Drake wouldn’t back off.

  “Bullshit,” Sanchez sneered. “I don’t see your mark on her.”

  Without a word, Griffin bared his fangs and pushed the pad of his thumb against one sharp point. I had only a moment to see a dark droplet of blood well up before he was pressing his thumb to my forehead at the spot right between my eyebrows.

  I felt a cool tingling which started at the spot where his blood had touched my forehead and spread quickly through my body. It was like I had stepped naked out into a snowstorm and I could feel each individual snowflake melting into my exposed flesh.

  I wanted to jerk away and protest this strange treatment and the weird feelings that followed. I mean, what the hell was Griffin doing? But the way he and Sanchez were glaring at each other let me know it wasn’t a good time to interrupt.

  The big Drake shook his head bullishly.

  “You fucking fanger.”

  “Call me what you want—no one can dispute that Megan is mine. So get your hands off her. Now.”

  There was power in Griffin’s voice—a muted force that nevertheless spoke as loudly as if he’d cocked a shotgun or revved a chainsaw behind me.

  “You got no right to mark her—she’s a Sister and you’re a Nocturne. It’s against the Edict,” Sanchez pointed out, but I could see the unease growing in his yellow eyes.

  “And yet, I marked her anyway. Do you want to put it to the test?” Griffin asked with deceptive mildness. “No matter how big your Drake is, I think you know I could control it—all of my line have always had power over beasts.” He cocked his head to one side, considering Sanchez thoughtfully. “Would you like me to make you bite off the tip of your own tail? Or maybe I should have you rip your wings to shreds with your own talons?”