Lock and Key

by Evangeline Anderson

  The answer to both question was undoubtedly yes but before I could get too frightened, I heard a small click and a warm, golden glow lit the interior of the old caboose.

  “Oh,” I breathed, looking around, because a whole new world had been revealed.

  I had been expecting a dim, shadowy place, possibly dirty and somewhat decayed since the outside of the caboose was weathered and looked at least fifty years old. But the light revealed a neat little apartment, complete with a couch which I thought probably folded out into a bed, a table with two chairs, a large bookcase crammed with books—though they were all neatly arranged with their spines pointing outwards—and, (the biggest surprise of all, as far as I was concerned) a kind of music nook. There was an upright piano, a guitar hanging on the wall, a violin and even a cello.

  “Do you play all these?” I asked, wandering over to look at his collection of instruments.

  In answer, Griffin sat at the piano and played a complicated-sounding classical riff with apparent ease.

  I stared at him. I had taken four years of piano lessons as a kid, before my mom finally gave up on the idea of me becoming a great classical pianist so I recognized the technical skill it took to play with such easy grace. I had certainly never attained it myself. Either Griffin was a musical prodigy or he’d had a long, long time to practice.

  “That’s…very impressive,” I said, listening to him play.

  “Not really.” He stopped abruptly and put the lid of the piano down. “It’s easy to get good at something when you have nothing else to do…and you’re trying desperately to take your mind off…well, shall we say, other things.”

  His eyes went to my throat as he spoke—I was wearing one of my long-sleeved Henleys and I had put my hair back in a low ponytail to keep it from being caught in the branches and vines earlier, so my throat was bare.

  “What…what kinds of things do you mean?” I asked and then wished I hadn’t.

  Griffin gave me a direct look from where he sat on the piano bench.

  “I think you know the answer to that, little witch.” His eyes went to my exposed throat again.

  I felt a shiver go down my spine and wondered nervously if I should let my hair down to cover my neck but Griffin had already looked away, though he seemed to have to force himself to do so.

  “So…how long have you been practicing?” I asked instead, looking at the instruments.

  He shrugged. “In earnest? For as long as I have been Censured.”

  “And how long has that been?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know but I couldn’t help asking.

  Griffin looked down at his hands.

  “This Sunday it will be fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years?” I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re…how old?”

  “Older than I look.” He laughed humorlessly. “But since my people age slower than yours, I’m only a few years your senior in Nocturne years.”

  “But fifteen years…” I shook my head. “That seems like a really long time for a punishment.”

  “There is no time limit to the Censure,” Griffin told me. “I am condemned to it for as long as the sun rises in the East and sets in the West.”

  “So…forever?” I shook my head. “What could you have possibly done to get a life sentence?”

  He sighed and raked a hand through his thick black hair—a very human gesture, I thought.

  “I knew you would ask me that eventually but I wish we could have put it off a little longer.” He sounded very unhappy, though his face was carefully blank.

  “Would…would you rather not tell me?” I asked carefully. “Do you, uh, want me to withdraw the question?”

  Griffin shook his head and rose from the piano.

  “No, you deserve to know the answer—though you may wish you hadn’t when you hear it. Come…” He went over and sat on the couch, which was covered in a black spread, neatly tucked in. Sitting on one end, he nodded me to the other.

  I would much rather have sat beside him and held his hand, but I realized he was putting some distance between us for a reason—though I still didn’t understand why.

  I had a feeling, though, that I was going to find out.

  55

  “I lived with my family back then—before the Censure,” Griffin began, looking down at his hands. “I went to Nocturne Academy, though at the time I was living in the North Tower with the other Nocturnes. It was the weekend—a Sunday evening, so I was here in Frostproof. I was spending a little more time alone before going back to the crowded, noisy life of the Academy. The last thing I remember before it happened is walking in the woods—the same woods we just passed through,” he added, which sent another shiver down my spine. “And the next thing I remember…”

  He stopped for so long I wondered if he was ever going to go on.

  “It’s okay,” I said as gently as I could. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you.”

  “Oh, I think you might, little witch.” He gave another of those humorless laughs that sounded jagged and painful coming out. “I don’t think you’ll be able to help it.”

  “Look, just tell me,” I said impatiently. There was a terrible fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach—the feeling of not knowing something you are sure is going to be awful but something you need to know all the same.

  “I woke up near dawn with the taste of blood in my mouth.” Griffin spoke in a low, monotone voice and he kept his eyes on his hands, I noticed—not looking at me as he spoke.

  “And?” I prodded mercilessly.

  “And when the sun came up, I saw the bodies.” He looked up at me then. “Two of them. Young girls around your age, Megan. They had been…” His voice dropped. “They had been slaughtered.”

  “Oh my God.” I put a hand to my mouth. “But you didn’t…I mean, you couldn’t have—could you?”

  Griffin shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember doing anything to them. In fact, I had never seen them before in my life. And of course, I had never done anything like that before. We Nocturnes do not generally drink directly from humans, even when we take their blood. We get bagged blood instead.”

  “Why?” I asked, wanting badly to change the subject. “Why not just…bite them directly?”

  He shrugged. “Bagged blood is less messy. Also, biting a human—Norm or otherwise—over and over can lead to problems such as accidental vampirism. That is, creating a Made vampire. All proper Nocturnes are born, not made. And any Nocturne who makes a vampire, as well as the vampire he or she made, will be shunned by all of Nocturne society.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I had no idea it was possible to really turn a human into a vampire. Tell me more about that.”

  Griffin gave me a direct look.

  “I think we’re getting off the subject, somewhat. You need to know what I was accused of.”

  “You told me already,” I said, frowning. “And I’m sure you couldn’t have done it—you must have been framed or something!”

  “But I had their blood in my mouth and all over my hands…” He turned his hands with their long, white fingers in front of him, as though he could still see the crimson smears and streaks. “Anyway, the Elder Council certainly thought I did it.”

  “I…I don’t believe you did,” I said, trying to make my voice firm, though I honestly wasn’t sure what I believed. It flashed through my head again that it had been very, very stupid of me to come here and be alone with him. But how could I have known that he’d been accused of a double homicide?

  And why didn’t that knowledge change how I felt about him? How I wanted to be with him?

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” Griffin said dryly. “But the evidence was overwhelming. The only reason I wasn’t put to death was that the girls were Norms—if they had been Others, it wouldn’t have gone so well for me. Before he turned me out of the house, my father hired me the best attorney money could buy—a Fae gentleman who traveled all the way from the Rea
lm to take my case. He was able to get me off with a Censure—the terms of the punishment being that I will wander the halls of Nocturne Academy forever, never graduating or going free, except during nights and weekends, which I spend here.” He nodded at the renovated caboose.

  “But…” I bit my lip, not sure how to phrase my question. “But if the Council really thought you did those awful things, why would they lock you up in a school with other people’s kids?”

  “Do you mean why would they trust a hardened killer around their children?” Griffin asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I nodded.

  “Well, because of this, of course.” Griffin spread his collar open wider and pointed to the heavy black padlock set with Blood Stones in all four corners. They winked and sparkled in the dim golden glow of the overhead light.

  At the sight of the lock so exposed, the key at my own throat jumped excitedly. I felt it yearning towards Griffin—towards his necklace. As though it was desperate to get to him and fit itself in the inviting lock.

  I put a hand to my chest, trying to calm both the key and the drumming of my heart.

  “And what…exactly does that do?” I asked uncertainly.

  Griffin gave me a direct look.

  “It keeps me from drinking blood—any blood. I cannot even partake of the animal blood which most of my kind use to survive.”

  “How do you survive, then?” I asked. “How do you manage not to die of hunger or thirst or whatever?”

  “It is a thirst.” His voice was so low it was almost a growl. “A thirst so deep and wide I feel like I could drink an ocean of blood—if only this damn thing would let me.” He nodded down at the black lock around his neck again.

  “I think I have the answer,” I said, before I considered if it was a good idea or not. “The answer to your thirst, I mean.”

  His eyes widened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have this,” I said, lifting the key on its matte-black chain out of my shirt to show him.

  56

  “Ah…” Griffin’s eyes flashed silver and the key got so hot it burned my fingertips. It was yearning towards the lock he wore, tugging and pulling ceaselessly towards him as though it was desperate to go home—to bury itself in the heart of the lock and open the heavy black padlock at his throat.

  Griffin was tense—his entire body clenched like a fist as he sat on the very edge of the couch and turned towards me. I had the feeling that he wanted to get to the key every bit as badly as it wanted to get to him but somehow, for some reason, he was holding himself back.

  “Put it away, please.” His voice was courteous but strained.

  “But, if you need to be unlocked—” I began.

  Griffin held up a hand to stop me.

  “After fifteen years of unrelenting thirst? I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea, Megan. If you release me now, I do not think I could stop myself—I would drink you dry.” His eyes blazed like lightning as he talked and I felt as though my heart had stopped in my chest, just for a second.

  “I…I don’t believe that,” I said but my voice sounded uncertain in my own ears.

  “Believe it,” Griffin said steadily, his voice low and harsh. “You have no idea what the thirst can do. It’s like a live thing, clawing at my throat.” He motioned to the long white column of his neck as though to illustrate his point.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “How can you live without…without sustenance?”

  Griffin shook his head. “The lock sustains my life but it hasn’t allowed a single drop of blood to pass my lips in a decade and a half. Try to imagine how thirsty—and hungry—you would be if you hadn’t eaten or drunk in that amount of time. Blood is what a Nocturne lives on—it is our food and our drink—and I have had none for years.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice. “I…I can’t imagine. It must be torture.”

  “That is exactly what it was designed to be,” Griffin said dryly. “Now please—put the key away where I cannot see it.”

  I dropped the key back into my Henley, though it twisted and protested mutely between my fingers as I did so. When I looked up at him again, I thought Griffin’s silver eyes were blazing a little less intensely.

  “Goddess Bright…” He ran both hands through his hair and heaved a deep breath as though he was finally coming back to himself. “Where did you get that?”

  “I found it in a flea market in Tampa,” I told him, aware that the key was still twisting against my chest in an angry way. “I put it on and it wouldn’t come off. I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

  Griffin shook his head.

  “She said she’d thrown the key into the ocean—she said it would never be seen again—that I would wear this lock and bear the shame for all my days.”

  “Well, whoever she was, she was wrong,” I said firmly. “It came to me. I think maybe…” I bit my lip. “Maybe it found me because it knew I would be meeting you. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Not crazy at all, my little witch.” Griffin was still sitting on the far side of the couch to put distance between us but now he reached out and stroked a cool finger down my cheek.

  His touch made me shiver with longing. I wanted to get closer to him—but I sensed it would be very difficult for him to be near me so soon after seeing the key, so I stayed where I was.

  “Do you think…” I hesitated, not sure how to phrase my next question.

  “Yes?” Griffin looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Do you think that the only reason we want to…want to be together is because of these necklaces we’re wearing? Because of the lock and the key?” I asked in a rush. I was hoping his answer would be no—but desperately afraid it would be yes. After all, why else would someone as gorgeous as him want to be with average-looking me?

  Griffin took his time about answering.

  “I don’t think so,” he said at last, looking thoughtful. “The lock around my neck keeps me from drinking and it keeps me in perpetual thirst, but it does not control my emotions.” He ran one finger down my cheek again. “From the first moment I laid eyes on you, all I wanted was to be with you, Megan. I wanted it so much it frightened me—I was afraid I might hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” I said, scooting a little closer to him.

  “Not as long as you keep your key far from my lock,” he said dryly. And then, more seriously, “I think it would kill me if I harmed you—I would want to die. That’s one reason I tried to stay away from you at first.”

  “I wanted to be near you too,” I confessed. “Although I didn’t know why. And…and the feeling keeps getting stronger. It’s hard to believe I’ve only known you about a week. I feel like…like we’ve known each other forever somehow. I know that sounds bizarre.”

  “No it doesn’t.” He shook his head. “I feel the same for you. Almost a kind of bonding that was meant to be between us.”

  “Exactly!” I exclaimed. “It doesn’t make sense but that’s how I feel too.”

  It was a little like the instant sense of connection I’d felt with Avery and Emma and Kaitlyn, I thought. The feeling almost of predestination—like we had been marked for each other in some long distant past and now we were coming together like pieces of a puzzle finally fitting into place.

  Griffin looked at me intently.

  “I want to be closer to you—I want to hold you in my arms.”

  My heart leapt and then started beating double time. I could feel my pulse racing and it seemed hard to get a deep enough breath.

  “I want that too,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice calm and not succeeding very well. “But…well…is it safe?”

  He nodded. “I think so. As long as you keep the key hidden. It will be torture of course, to hold you close and smell the delicious scent of your blood rushing in your veins, but a sweet kind of torture. One I desire very much. Come to me, Megan.”

  57

  I went to him then—I couldn
’t stop myself from going. I meant just to sit beside him but before I knew it, Griffin had pulled me into his lap and I was leaning against him with my cheek pressed to his chest and his chin resting on the top of my head. His long arms wrapped around me, making me feel secure, and I could hear the slow, deep drumming of his heart as his cool, spicy scent enveloped me.

  “This is good,” Griffin rumbled, stroking one hand over my back soothingly. “This is what I’ve wanted from the first moment I saw you—to gather you close and hold you to me, little witch.”

  “It feels right,” I admitted. “Like we were meant to be together. Why…why do you think that is? Is it because I’m wearing your mark?”

  “I don’t think so—though that probably enhances it.” He sounded thoughtful. “I don’t fully understand it myself—I’ve never felt like this for any other girl, ever.”

  I thought of the girls he had woken up beside—the ones who were dead with their blood smeared on his mouth and hands. But I didn’t believe Griffin had done that—he was holding himself back from hurting me even now because he wanted badly to be close to me, to hold me.

  I didn’t feel in my heart that he was a killer.

  “I haven’t either,” I said. “Felt this way about a guy, I mean. I’ve had crushes before, of course. But this just feels like…”

  “Forever,” Griffin finished for me, stroking a hand through my hair gently.

  “Yes,” I sighed. A need welled up inside me—a longing to be closer—to have more. Daring greatly, I reached up to thread my fingers through his midnight black hair and tried to draw him down for a kiss.

  For a moment, Griffin allowed himself to be drawn. But just as I felt just the whisper of his breath against my lips, he pulled abruptly away.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured and his voice was almost as strained as when I had showed him the key. “But…I can’t.”