Lock and Key (Nocturne Academy 1)

“Go on now—get in there.” Then she turned and trotted away, her low heels clacking on the flagstones that led back to the stone arch and the entrance to the castle.

I watched her until she was out of sight and then, taking a deep breath, I had pushed open the North tower door and let myself inside.

Which was how I now found myself being scrutinized by the glasses-wearing receptionist who was had on an immaculate black suit and an expression of distain.

She looked up at last from the acceptance letter she’d snatched from my hand and shook her head.

“I don’t know what the Headmistress is thinking, admitting a Null Talent student on a full scholarship but she is known to like hard-luck cases. You’ll have to be housed with the Norms of course—unless you can manage to get into the Sisters’ dormitory in the South Tower. But I doubt that, so I’ll have your things sent to the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?” I exclaimed. “Why would you send my stuff there?”

“Because it’s where the Norms have their dormitory, of course,” she snapped briskly. “The Others have their quarters in the four towers. Sisters in the South Tower, Faes in the East Tower, Drakes in the West. And of course, Nocturnes in the North Tower, just above us here.” She pointed at the arching stone ceiling above her head.

“Okay,” I said. I’ll try to keep that straight when I’m finding my way around the different towers. Do you have a map of the campus I could have?” I asked hopefully.

But I seemed to have said the exact wrong thing.

The receptionist glared at me.

“You will never enter the towers,” she spat. “A student must never enter the dormitory of a group he or she does not belong to. Others avoid those of dissimilar origin, except for during classes, of course. That is unavoidable.” She sniffed. “But on the whole, Others do not mix. That is the number one rule here, at Nocturne Academy. You will do well to remember it, even if you lack Other status yourself.”

I stared at her uncertainly. Was this school segregated in some way? Wasn’t that illegal? Before I could ask any questions, she went briskly on.

“All right, now that you know the rules, let’s get you some uniforms and a meal ticket.”

She led me from the reception area—which was set up like a normal office, except it looked strange to have a normal office in the grand setting of a castle—and through a stone archway.

We walked into a room with racks and racks of clothing—all of them uniforms. I saw rows of neat white shirts, black pleated skirts, and black blazers with blood-red trim. There were slacks hanging neatly from hangers too, which led me to believe that there were male students here as well—though as yet, I hadn’t seen any students at all. Maybe they were all in classes?

“All right, let’s see…” The receptionist sized me up with her sharp black eyes and began pulling hangers off the racks. She got five skirts, two blazers, five crisp white blouses, and two blood-red ties and hung them all on a rolling gold luggage cart, like the kind you see at fancy hotels.

To these, she added a pair of plain black Mary Jane shoes, (after inquiring my size) some white socks, and even a bundle of plain white underwear and bras and some long, lacy nightdresses. Last, she added an indeterminate pile of folded black and white clothing and a new pair of pristine white tennis shoes. “For physical education,” she explained, as she put them on the bottom of the cart. “All students must dress out every day or risk disciplinary action.”

I nodded meekly. “Okay, got it. Thanks.”

“Now, on to personal toiletry items and your backpack for classes. It will come fully equipped with all the pens, pencils, notebooks, and paper you will need for each class,” she announced but I stepped forward to stop her.

“Wait—the uniform blouses,” I began hesitantly.

“Yes? What about them?” Her eyes flicked over my worn Henley shirt. “Are they not to your liking? Not the right size?” She indicated the white, short-sleeved uniform shirts hanging in a starched row from the gold bar at the top of the luggage rack.

“They’re the right size,” I said, lifting my chin. “But I would prefer those.” I nodded at another row of shirts—ones with longer sleeves—hanging in a row further down the line of uniforms.

“These?” She strode briskly over and pulled one out, to be sure she understood me. When I nodded, she frowned. “But these are winter uniform blouses,” she said, speaking slowly, as though to a slow child. “It gets very hot here in Florida, even with the weather incantations and the moat to keep things cool. You’re going to be extremely warm if you insist on wearing long-sleeves until around January when it gets chilly for a bit.”