Lock and Key Read online

  Lock and Key

  Nocturne Academy, Book 1

  Evangeline Anderson

  www.evangelineanderson.com

  Lock and Key, 1st Edition,

  Book One of

  The Nocturne Academy Series

  Copyright © 2020 by Evangeline Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art Design © 2020 by Reese Dante

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to a retailer of your choice or evangelineanderson.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only.

  Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  Contents

  Lock and Key

  Nocturne Academy Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Epilogue

  The End? Of course not!

  Fang and Claw

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Also by Evangeline Anderson

  About the Author

  Lock and Key

  Nocturne Academy, Book 1

  What do a mysterious necklace, forbidden Blood Magic rituals, and a tall, sarcastic Nocturne boy with the face of a fallen angel all have in common?

  Me, apparently.

  Because ever since I started school at Nocturne Academy, strange things have been happening to me. There's the weird key necklace I found at a flea market and put on...which starts to choke me when I try to take it off. Also, the fact that I met a boy—a tall, beautiful, bitingly sarcastic Nocturne—who has a necklace that matches it, only his has a lock. His name is Griffin Darkheart and I can't seem to stay away from him, even though he's being Censured for mysterious crimes nobody seems to know the details of. Add that to the fact that the student body is composed of vampires, witches, were-dragons, and fairies and I no longer know what my future holds.

  Right now I'm just hoping to graduate alive, but that may not be possible. Because Nocturne Academy is full of deadly dangers...

  And I've already got a target on my back.

  Nocturne Academy Map

  1

  “Blood stones.”

  “Excuse me?” I looked up from the heap of jewelry, laid out the rickety folding table. It sparkled like plastic diamonds under the hot Tampa sun.

  “Blood stones,” the old woman who stood behind the table said again. She nodded at the necklace I’d been examining. It stood out in the glittering, tawdry jumble, maybe because it didn’t glitter—at least, the necklace itself didn’t. The fine-linked chain was made of some matte black metal I had never seen before. Hanging from it was an unusual pendant—a single key made from the same black metal and studded with four tiny crimson stones. The key was about an inch long and felt unusually heavy in my hand.

  “You mean these?” I pointed to the stones set in the head of the key. “I thought they were garnets.” There’s no way they could be rubies. Nothing that valuable would turn up at a flea market on the bad side of town. At least, I assumed this was the bad side of town. I’d only been in Tampa a few hours but so far I wasn’t impressed.

  “They’re rare.” The old woman nodded solemnly, as though imparting a piece of secret wisdom. “A piece like this…it’s not for just anyone.”

  “Riiiight,” I said skeptically. I could tell what the old woman was trying to do—she wanted to make the necklace seem special, unique. Doubtless so she could charge more for it.

  I was tempted to put it down and walk away. The flea market was crowded and loud and the heat from the Florida sun was oppressive—like wearing a fur coat I couldn’t take off. The long-sleeved Henley shirt I had on wasn’t helping but changing clothes wasn’t an option. All these minor aggravations added up and I was in no mood to be hustled, especially by a saleswoman who looked like one of the three weird sisters from Macbeth.

  But somehow I couldn’t let the necklace go.

  “Try it on,” the old woman urged, leaning forward. “You’ll know if it’s right when you try it.” She had straggly gray hair and a hooked nose with a wart on one side. Seriously, all she needed was a broomstick and a black cat to complete the image.

  “I don’t know…” I said. But already my hands were slipping the black chain over my head, moving independently of my reluctant thoughts.

  The necklace settled naturally around my neck and the key slipped into the open collar of my shirt and came to rest just above my breasts, almost as though it was coming home. Despite the fact that it had been lying out in the bright, hot sunlight, the metal felt strangely cool against my skin—almost cold in fact.

  “Looks good.” The old woman nodded approvingly. “The blood stones are almost the color of your hair.”

  “Not really. It just looks that way because of the light.” I put a hand to my long, wavy hair self-consciously. It’s auburn-brown but it looks wine-red in the sun—not that I got out to admire the effect very often. With my pale complexion, I exploded
into freckles if I spent too much time in direct sunlight so I pretty much avoided it like the plague. It had never been too much of a problem in Seattle, where I grew up. But after just a few hours in the intense Florida heat, I was beginning to think it was time to invest in some serious sun block.

  “It looks good on you,” the old woman insisted, nodding at the necklace. “You should buy it.”

  “That’s really nice of you to say but I don’t have much money on me.” I tried to sound regretful but honestly, I just wanted to get away. The old woman was giving me the creeps and the sun seemed to have gotten even hotter in the last few minutes. It pounded against my skull like a golden hammer, making me feel vaguely nauseous.

  I hate being hot.

  “I need to go find my aunt,” I gave as an excuse, as I pulled the necklace over my head to return it. Or tried to anyway.

  Because the necklace wouldn’t come off.

  I tried again. Hadn’t it slipped over my head with the greatest of ease just a moment before? The chain had been long enough that the key pendant settled almost between my breasts. But now it didn’t seem long enough to come off and the key was higher—nestled in the hollow of my throat.

  “It likes you.” The old witch eyed me with bird-like interest as I fumbled with the necklace. “A lot, it seems.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I slid the fine-linked chain through my fingers, feeling for a clasp of some kind. There wasn’t one. “It’s just a necklace.”

  “With blood stones in it. Very rare. Very precious.” She leaned forward, eyeing my neck in a disturbing way. “And it’s not the necklace—it’s the key, dearie. It’s the key.”

  “What about the key? Is this some kind of a trick?” I was beginning to panic. I yanked at the necklace, which responded by growing even smaller. It was almost a choker now, the cool black metal encircling my throat like icy fingers.

  “No trick,” the witch-woman snapped. “The key has chosen you.” She held out one gnarled hand. “I’ll give it to you for a hundred.”

  “Dollars?” Her words shocked me so much I forgot to fight with the necklace for a moment. The minute I stopped pulling at it, it loosened its grip and settled with the key in the hollow of my throat again. “I told you I don’t have much money on me!” I said.

  The old woman got an obstinate look in her faded brown eyes.

  “If you can’t give back the necklace, you’ll have to pay for it. It’s rare and precious—a hundred is a bargain.”

  “But I don’t have a hundred,” I protested. I was beginning to feel dizzy and the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach was growing. If only I could get out of this heat! Living in cool, gloomy Seattle all my life hadn’t prepared me for the muggy oven that was a Tampa late-September afternoon. Back home temperatures were in sixties—beautiful fall weather. Here summer still reigned supreme and it was in the high nineties.

  I yanked at the necklace again which tightened so much I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Stars danced in front of my eyes like phantom sunspots and I stumbled against the rickety table, knocking some of the fake jewelry to the ground.

  “Now look what you’ve done!”

  The old woman knelt stiffly in the sandy dirt, scrabbling to pick up her spilled treasure. Loops of glass and plastic beads hung from her claw-like hands, reflecting stray darts of sunlight into my eyes.

  “Please!” I twisted my fingers in the fine-link chain, feeling like I was being strangled. Or maybe garroted. If only the damn thing would let up for a minute so I could breathe…

  “Meggie, what’s wrong?”

  The cheerful voice of my Aunt Delilah made me spin around, still clawing at my throat. She was dressed in her usual thrift store splendor—a pale blue caftan dress imprinted with rainbows and clouds which floated around her plump figure like the robes of some strange priestess.

  “Aunt Delliee,” I managed to gasp. “This necklace…choking me. Won’t come off.”

  “Oh my, that is pretty.” Completely unperturbed by my distress, Aunt Delliee leaned forward to examine the key. “Let go now, dear—let me get a good look at it,” she said.

  She moved my hands gently but firmly out of the way. At once, and to my relief, the necklace quieted, the key settling once again in the hollow of my throat.

  I drew in a ragged, relieved gasp and then another. Now that I could breathe again, I was a little calmer. My hands still itched with the instinctive need to yank at the necklace, to get the strangling thing from around my vulnerable throat. But fear stopped me. What if it tightened up again the minute I touched it? Reluctantly, I kept my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

  “It won’t come off,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “It went on fine but now I can’t get it off.”

  Instead of expressing concern, Aunt Delliee smiled. “Well, it suits you. Just leave it on.”

  “But…” I stared at my aunt, uncertain how she could miss the obvious point. “But it won’t come off. And she wants a hundred dollars for it.” I nodded at the old witch-woman who had risen and resumed her former place behind the folding table.

  “Blood stones,” the woman snapped. “They’re not cheap.”

  “I see,” Aunt Delliee said thoughtfully. “As one practitioner to another, would you take fifty?”

  The woman gave her an appraising look. “You walk in the ways of the Goddess?”

  “Always.” Aunt Delliee beamed at her. She had never made a secret out of being a pagan, even though the rest of the family mocked her for it. I didn’t mind her weird religion, although to me she looked less like a witch and more like one of those eccentric ladies who lives alone and keeps about a thousand cats for company.

  “Ninety then,” the woman said, nodding as though she was doing Aunt Delliee a favor.

  Aunt Delliee didn’t bat a lash. “Sixty.”

  The woman got a mulish expression on her wrinkled face. “Eighty and that’s my last offer.”

  “All right then.” Aunt Delliee reached into the oversized bag printed with uber-cute kittens she carried everywhere and dug around in it. A look of concentration creased her plain but kind face and at last she pulled out three crumpled twenties, a ten and two fives. “Here.” She held out the bills to the old witch-woman who snatched them and made them disappear.

  “Thank you,” she muttered. “Blessed be.”

  “Blessed be,” Aunt Delliee said gravely and took me by the arm. “Come on, Meggie honey—we need to get going.”

  I’d asked her again and again to call me Megan or at least Meg but she seemed to think I was still six instead of sixteen. She started off into the crowd, pulling me along behind her.

  “Aunt Delliee…” The key around my neck felt heavy and the heat made me dizzy. I stumbled and nearly fell but my aunt dragged me up by the arm.

  “Are you all right?” She dropped her voice, scanning the busy booths of the flea market around us. “Are you on your cycle, Meggie?” she asked, her green eyes concerned.

  “No,” I hissed back in a horrified whisper. I had always been what people call “mature for my age.” If asked, I would have said that I was well past the age where everything an adult said was mortally embarrassing. But though I can deal with my aunt’s weird religion, loud clothes, and kitten bag, this topic was beyond the pale.

  “All right then, sorry.” Aunt Delliee patted my arm. “I just thought that might be why you were looking so peaky.”

  “It’s the heat. And this necklace.” I reached for the black chain again and dropped my hand to my side when I remembered the consequences of yanking on it.

  “Yup, it’s a scorcher.” Aunt Delliee looked up into the remorseless blue sky and shrugged. “Better get used to it, honey. Now that you’re gonna be living here, I mean.”

  My heart sank down into my shoes and for a minute I forgot all about the necklace. Living here—I was going to be living here.

  I was going to be stuck.

  And not even stuck in Tampa which was at least a d
ecent sized city. I was going back with Aunt Delliee to Frostproof.

  Frostproof was a tiny town right in the middle of central Florida. At the last census, it had less than three thousand residents. Which meant my old high school in Seattle had more students than my new hometown had people. Great.

  It was located right between two lakes—Lake Clinch to the west and Reedy Lake to the east—and the main industry was the orange groves that surround it. According to the Wikipedia article I read, that was how it got its name. The town fathers were trying to lure citrus growers there by promising the weather would never get cold enough to ruin their crops—hence the name “Frostproof.”

  So I was pretty sure it would probably be hot there all year round, which I was going to hate.

  The only interesting thing I had found when researching my new home was the cultural make-up of the town. It was mostly White and African American and Hispanic—which came as no surprise—with some Pacific Islander, Asian, and Native American thrown in for flavor. Which was great—being from a big city I craved diversity. But 14.35% of the residents listed themselves as other.