Lock and Key

by Evangeline Anderson

  70

  The Hallowed Glade was a small clearing in the woods not far from the orange grove which hid the Academy. It was, as Avery had said, ringed around the perimeter with a wild tangle of thorny green vines. There was only one opening in the briars and Winifred Rattcliff and her daughter and henchmen shoved me roughly through it.

  In the center of the Glade were two ancient trees, both with gnarled roots and leafless, brown-black branches reaching towards the sky.

  They were dead oaks, I saw, and it was easy to see what had killed them. Long tufts of grayish Spanish Moss hung like limp party streamers from their branches. Aunt Dellie had explained to me how the parasitic plant grew on trees, smothering them and covering their leaves so that photosynthesis could not take place, killing them slowly but surely until they were nothing but dry, lifeless husks.

  The trees made a grim sight but my attention was caught more by what was hung between them. It was a kind of hammock, I thought—that was easy enough to see in the bright moonlight—though there was something strange about the long, trailing edges of it. But why would a coven of witches put a hammock in the middle of their most sacred spot? It didn’t make sense.

  “Put her in it,” Winifred Rattcliff commanded, pointing to the hammock. “And make sure she’s tied down tightly. We wouldn’t want her to squirm away while we go get the other one.”

  My heart began to beat a mile a minute. Other one? Other one what? Who or what was the senior witch intending to put into the strange hammock with me?

  Whoever or whatever it was, I was completely helpless to stop anything they or it might do to me. I was still securely gagged and I had my hands tied behind my back—just far enough apart that there was no way I could pinch or cut myself with my nails to get even a tiny bit of blood to flow.

  Nancy and her two goons pushed me into the hammock and strapped me down securely with my hands tied above my head to one end of it and my feet tied to the other. I heard Winifred giving orders for Avery and Emma and Kaitlyn to be tied to trees around the outside of the Glade, “So they can watch,” she said and then their voices faded away.

  I lay completely still, my heart pounding. Had they gone? Was there any way I could escape?

  I began struggling but then someone leaned over the hammock and hit me, hard in the face.

  I flinched back as Nancy’s nasty sneer came into view.

  “None of that you little wanna-be,” she snapped at me. “Mother told me to watch you and your pathetic excuse for a coven and I’m not going to tolerate any trouble. You move so much as an inch and I’ll make you sorry!”

  I wanted to struggle some more—wanted to shout and scream with rage and fear. But of course I couldn’t—I was trapped and there was nothing I could do but wait as the endless minutes ticked by and the moon slowly set, waiting to meet whatever fate Winifred Rattcliff had planned for me.

  I was sure it was going to be nasty.

  71

  Maybe a little less than an hour before dawn, Winifred Rattcliff and several other witches came back into the clearing. I had been almost drifting off—you can only be terrified for so long, even when you’re waiting for your own awful demise. At least, I couldn’t. I had almost started dreaming as I lay tied to the hammock between the two dead trees, when the scuffling sound of a struggle woke me up.

  “Hold him!” I heard Winifred say to someone. “He’s a strong one—a direct descendant of the line. Keep the spell in place—don’t let him go!”

  I craned my neck, trying to see who they were talking about and what was happening but though the sky was growing a tiny bit lighter, I couldn’t see a thing except for shadows—a lot of shadows—heading towards the hammock.

  Then, suddenly a familiar scent filled the air around me—the smell of winter and dark spice.

  Griffin? My eyes opened wider and I struggled with my bonds, trying to get to him, trying to see if he was all right.

  “Be still, you little idiot,” Winifred Rattcliff said sharply and slapped me across the face. “Don’t worry,” she added, “You’ll be with your Nocturne lover soon enough.”

  “You bitch! Don’t touch her!” Griffin growled at her angrily and lunged, obviously upset that she’d hurt me. The senior witch hurriedly said some words I didn’t understand and made a few motions with her fingers, apparently shoring-up her spell.

  Her actions seemed to work because Griffin went suddenly rigid as a statue, just as Avery had earlier in the South Tower.

  “That’s better. You are a strong one,” she said, panting a little. “And savage too! Of course, that’s all to my benefit. It made it easy for the others on the Council to believe that you’d have no problem murdering those two Norm girls.”

  In the slowly growing light, I saw Griffin’s pale eyes grow wide with shock.

  “You…you did that?” His voice was hoarse with uncertainty.

  “As far as anyone knows, you did it,” she said, giving him a nasty smile. “I certainly went to the trouble to make it look like you had, anyway.” She made a face. “Draining all that blood was such a messy business but it certainly convinced the Council of your guilt.”

  What a bitch! I couldn’t believe she’d framed Griffin for murder and had him punished all these years with the terrible, painful thirst. I’d known Winifred Rattcliff was not to be trusted almost from the moment I’d met her but I’d had no idea just how awful she really was!

  “Why?” Griffin’s voice was hoarse. “Why would you do that to me? What had I ever done to you?”

  “Why, it wasn’t what you’d done but what you were going to do—if you got the chance, that is,” Winifred said, frowning at him. “And you almost did, you naughty boy,” she went on, scolding him as though he was a child. “I knew, you see, that you were the last unmated male descendant left of the founder of Nocturne Academy. And I further knew that if you were allowed to join with this little witch here—” she nodded at me, “the two of you would disrupt the balance of power for the entire Other world and ruin everything. And I couldn’t allow that, could I? So I took precautions.”

  She tapped one puce fingernail against the black lock in the hollow of his throat and looked at him meaningfully.

  “You’re not afraid of me—you’re afraid of Megan,” Griffin said angrily. “You’re afraid she’s stronger than you—afraid she’ll displace you as head of the Windermere Coven!”

  “Oh, I know she would—if she got the chance,” Winifred Rattcliff said, smiling nastily. “But she’s not going to—you’re going to help me see to that, lover boy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Griffin demanded.

  “You’ll see,” she snapped and then, to the three witches holding him she said, “Put him in the snare with her—do it now!”

  I could see that Griffin was trying to fight but her spell still had him completely immobile except for his head.

  “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” he demanded as they lifted him bodily and pushed him into the hammock with me. We ended up nearly face to face, with Griffin lying on top of me, which would have been extremely pleasant if the circumstances had been different. As it was, I was scared to death, wondering what in the world the senior witch had in mind.

  “Megan? Are you all right?” Griffin asked me anxiously.

  Of course I couldn’t talk, but I nodded my head—the most that I could move.

  “It’s going to be all right—we’ll get out of this,” he promised me. I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t see how we could possibly escape since we were both immobilized—me tied with ropes and Griffin bound with a spell.

  My greatest fear was that now she had us both in one place, the senior sitch would burn us—set the hammock on fire with both of us inside and then try to pass it off as some kind of bizarre accident. I doubted my Aunt Dellie would buy such an unlikely ending for her niece but would anyone care if she had doubts? After all, she was only a Null—what could she do about it if I suddenly died?

&nbs
p; But as it turned out, Winifred Rattcliff had an even worse plan for us.

  “Now then, my darlings,” she said, bending over the hammock to look at Griffin and me lying together. “Are you both nice and comfy?”

  I glared at her and Griffin twisted his head around as well as he could to look at her.

  “What do you want with us?” he demanded. “Is this some kind of spell you’re planning to work to keep yourself in power?”

  “Oh no! No, it’s not a spell, at all,” Winifred exclaimed, her eyes going wide and innocent behind her glasses. “No, you could say that what follows here will be just Nature taking its course. Nocturne Nature, anyway.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about and from Griffin’s face, he didn’t either.

  “Do you know,” she went on, in a conversational tone, “What they used to do to condemned prisoners in ancient times when they wanted them to have a really painful end? They would sew them in a sack with a wild animal—a predator of some kind. A wildcat, say or a wolf…” Leaning down, she stroked Griffin’s cheek lightly.

  He jerked away from her, a low growl rising in his throat.

  “Yes—definitely a wolf, I think,” Winifred Rattcliff said thoughtfully. “Anyway, you can imagine how long the condemned man—or woman—lasted, sewn into a sack with a ravenous predator that way. The answer is not long,” she went on. “Which is even less time than I believe you, my little Megan, will last when you’re sealed in this snare with your Nocturne lover.”

  “What are you talking about?” Griffin growled. “I would never hurt Megan—I have marked her and she has marked me.”

  “Oh, I think you might change your mind…once this is removed.” Reaching down, she tapped at the black lock again.

  Griffin’s eyes widened.

  “No…” His voice was low and hoarse. “No, you wouldn’t…”

  “Oh, but I would.” Winifred was practically gloating as she pulled out the key and dangled it above our heads. “Think how it’s going to be for you when the thirst takes over and you can’t get away. The warm, sweet scent of her blood…that pulsing vein so close to your fangs…” She motioned my throat and it was true—Griffin was lying a little lower than me in the hammock or the “snare” as she had called it—and his mouth was right on the level with my neck.

  “You can’t do this!” Griffin exclaimed. “Don’t do this—don’t make me hurt Megan. I love her!”

  “Of course you do,” Winifred said coldly. “The two of you were fated to be together. You can’t help but be drawn to her and she to you. After all, if Corinne had her way, the two of you would re-arrange the entire Other world. But we can’t have that, can we? So instead of ruining everything, you’re going to do what your kind do best…” She gloated down at him. “You’re going to rip open the little witch’s throat and drink her dry!”

  “Never!” Griffin swore angrily.

  “Oh, yes—you might resist at first but eventually the thirst will take over and you will give in,” Winifred predicted calmly. “And don’t imagine any councilor that your father might hire will save you a second time, Darkheart. You’ll be put to death for what everyone believes is your third brutal murder.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “Of course, I’ll only be able to say I told them so. I advocated for the death penalty last time but they wouldn’t listen. I can’t tell you what trouble it was to get that stupid lock and key be-spelled instead when it would have been so much easier if they would have just killed you. But then, all’s well that ends well, I suppose.” She shrugged philosophically.

  “You evil bitch!” Griffin growled.

  “The term is witch, Nocturne,” she returned coldly. “And I’m not evil so much as practical. Do you think I could allow the two of you to upset the order of the entire magical world, just for love?” She sneered at us. “I think not! And neither does anyone else in the Other world. Why, if the Council of Other Elders knew what I was doing, they would thank me for preserving our status quo. But enough talking—dawn is almost here and it’s time for your little feast. Do enjoy quenching your thirst for the first time in fifteen years.”

  She gave us a cool smile and I saw the disbelief and anger in Griffin’s face… as well as the desperation in his eyes.

  The night before when I had cut for him and taken his pain, I had felt how awful his thirst was. And it had been over twenty-four hours since I had done that, so I knew it must be back, probably stronger than ever, and raging through him even now. The black lock around his throat was keeping him from biting me but what would happen when the senior witch unlocked it?

  Exactly what she thinks is going to happen, I thought hopelessly. Griffin is going to lose control.

  What were we going to do?

  I had no time to answer that question or try to formulate a plan because just then Winifred reached down and fit the black Blood stone key into the black Blood stone lock.

  She turned it and with a small click the lock fell away from Griffin’s throat.

  72

  “No…no!” I heard Griffin muttering to himself. He had turned his head as far away from me as he could and I knew if he was able to, he would probably have gotten out of the weird hammock and run as far as he could get from the temptation of my bare throat.

  But he was still held in place by the spell Winifred Rattcliff had placed on him. There was no way to run and no place I could hide. We were pressed together and I couldn’t access my magic because I couldn’t draw any blood.

  Of course, in just a moment I was dreadfully certain that Griffin would be drawing blood from me—lots of it. But somehow I knew that kind of bloodletting wouldn’t work for my magic. I had to draw the blood myself in order to use the Blood magic and there was no way to do that with the bite guard between my teeth and my hands tied far apart.

  Then Winifred made it worse.

  “Seal it up,” she said, frowning at her daughter Nancy and a few of the other witches who had helped her transport Griffin to the Hallowed Glade in the first place. “Seal up the snare—he needs to smell her scent in order to strike. The little fools have marked each other—he must be lost to the blood madness before he’ll kill her.”

  Blood madness? That sounded really bad. But of course I couldn’t say anything in protest and then the witches around us were pulling up the long, hanging sides of the hammock and fitting them together somehow. I heard the long, low sound of a zipper being pulled up and realized they were zipping the sides together, creating an enclosure where Griffin and I were trapped together.

  “No!” he shouted as the zipper closed the canvas over our heads. “Goddess Bright, no!”

  But then we were locked in—pressed together in the canvas cocoon with his mouth very, very close to my unprotected neck.

  We were stuck and there was no escape.

  73

  “No. No, no, no,” I heard Griffin muttering and I knew he was fighting with himself—fighting with the terrible, relentless thirst that had been tormenting him for the past fifteen years.

  He had his face turned away from me but slowly…inevitably, I saw him turn towards me. His eyes were glowing so brightly in the canvas cocoon we now shared I could see his face plainly. He leaned towards me and I tried not to flinch away when I saw how long and sharp his fangs had become.

  “I don’t want to do this.” His voice was low and hopeless. “The Goddess knows I don’t. Megan, I love you!”

  I loved him too—so much I ached inside. And it occurred to me then, that I didn’t want his last memory of me to be cowering away from him, my face contorted with fright as I fought to get free of him. If he was going to give in to his thirst and drink from me—probably killing me in the process—I didn’t want him to think I hated him for it.

  Taking a deep breath through my nose, I tried to calm my racing heart. I felt the same way I had when I had cut for my mom and taken her pain into myself. I didn’t want to die, of course, but I told myself I could be brave—that I could ease G
riffin’s pain the same way I had eased hers. And enduring pain for someone I loved wasn’t so bad, was it?

  No, I told myself firmly. No, it’s not so bad. I love him—this is the last thing I can do for him so I’m going to do it right.

  Looking him directly in his lightning and pitch eyes, I turned my head to the side, offering him my throat freely.

  Griffin’s eyes widened.

  “Megan, what are you doing?” he asked in a hoarse, low voice. “Don’t tempt me this way! The thirst is too great and your scent is too enticing. You must guard yourself—not invite me to bite you!”

  But I was determined on my course of action. I felt a little steadier now that I’d made up my mind—a little calmer. I looked at him and nodded firmly. Then I offered him my throat again.

  Yes—go ahead. Do it.

  “Goddess Bright,” he muttered. “I cannot help it—I am losing myself in your scent…in the thirst…Megan…my little witch…”

  As he spoke the last words, I felt the warmth of his breath on the bare side of my throat.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply.

  It’s all right—it’s going to be all right, I told myself firmly. It’s all right—it will be over soon.

  And then Griffin struck, driving away every other thought in my head.

  74

  I felt his fangs, long and sharp, pierce the vulnerable flesh of my throat, sinking right into the thick vein that pulsed there. And it hurt—I’m not going to lie—but the pain was only for an instant. After that, I felt a deep, overwhelming pleasure pulsing through me. It made me moan behind the gag and arch my back, pulling against the ropes that bound my wrists and ankles.

  Was this what it always felt like to be bitten by a Nocturne? No wonder it was part of their love making ritual!