Lock Down (Supernatural Prison Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Lock Down

  Supernatural Prison Trilogy

  Aella Black

  Contents

  Preface

  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

  Epilogue

  Power Up

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Aella Black

  Published by Grape Ape Publishing.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover designed by Paradise Cover Design

  Formatting by Emma Thomas

  Created with Vellum

  To Emma and Micah…Without you, I wouldn’t be who I am, and this story would have never been written.

  In order to rise

  From its own ashes

  A phoenix

  Must

  Burn.

  Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Talents

  1

  “Who else in this class is a native of our great state of Kansas?”

  Mr. Keller peered down at us from where he sat perched on his desk, his tone and words dripping with condescension. Sure, I was born and raised here too, but you didn’t see me rubbing it in everyone’s faces.

  I glanced around the room, noting the few hands that went up. Then I resumed scribbling in my notebook.

  Did none of the other students notice our teacher was kind of a jerk? Here we were, packed like sardines, and he kept going on about overpopulation and its “numerous negative effects on the community.”

  Specifically, this community.

  Considering most of my classmates didn’t choose to be here, it seemed pretty insensitive. It wasn’t their fault New Orleans was now covered in water. They didn’t cause the fires that scorched most of California. And the East Coast steadily being swallowed by the Atlantic wasn’t because of anything they did or didn’t do.

  Factually, Mr. Keller wasn’t wrong. Kansas City, once an unassuming and fairly small metropolis in the middle of nowhere, was now bursting at the seams as millions crammed into every available space. As the sea levels rose, the number of people here did too. And as the population grew, so did the problems.

  But I wasn’t complaining. In all the chaos, it was easier to fly under the radar, something I desperately needed to do these days. Now if only I could fly out of this room right now.

  Then again, I couldn’t imagine a view better than the one I had at this very moment. Xander Aldrich, whose tousled curls made me jealous on a regular basis, sat directly in front of me with his head lowered. I wondered if he was trying to avoid raising his hand too.

  Or he could have just been taking notes like the exceptionally good student he was. I should know. We’ve had classes together since kindergarten, and I’ve been crushing on him ever since. It was a lucky coincidence that Aldrich came right before Atkinson alphabetically, because I had a front-row seat to watch him tumble gracefully through puberty.

  Me? Not so much. If Xander or one of his football buddies tackled me, I’d snap in half. As a junior, Xander now towered over me. Almost everyone did.

  Doctors claimed my growth was only stunted during the chemo treatments I had as a kid, but it appeared I’d hit my limit at five-foot-nothing. The advantage to my small stature was that it was way easier to go unnoticed. That might have been one of the reasons I was nonexistent in Xander’s world, but it was more likely the fact that, despite our close proximity, we haven’t spoken in years.

  “Class, I assume you all are going to the game tonight?”

  I looked up, surprised at the sudden shift in topic. Only in Kansas. The world could be coming to an end—sometimes it felt like it was—but football would still reign supreme.

  And the king of Friday Night Lights was in the chair in front of me. Which was why, even though I cared nothing about football, I found myself desperately wishing I could go to the game.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall, watching the littlest hand count down the seconds to another long weekend.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  My mind wandered as Mr. Keller droned on about our team’s prospects of winning this season. I imagined the bell ringing, and I’d walk outside into the crisp autumn air with the feeling I could do whatever I wanted.

  Even go to a stupid football game.

  Then I got really creative and pictured hopping into Xander’s red Tesla after he led our team to victory. We’d hang out at his place, discussing the win with his parents, maybe watching a movie until it got late. He’d walk me home, because in my daydream, we still lived on the same street. My parents would be waiting up for me because that’s what parents of teenagers did, and they’d give Xander a hard time even though we were ten minutes early for curfew. They’d only be joking, of course. They’d adore Xander almost as much as me. After he returned home, they’d both hug me, reminding me they would always be there—

  I rolled my eyes at the absurd direction my thoughts had taken. Obviously, I liked a good fantasy as much as the next person, but the existence of vampires and werewolves was more believable than this.

  Xander shifted in his seat, and an intoxicating smell floated in my direction. Was that cologne? When did he start wearing cologne?

  He should wear it more often, I thought, as I rested my chin in my hand, gazing at those smooth curls my fingers were itching to touch.

  Something hit my arm and fell to the ground.

  I looked down at a crumpled piece of paper, frowning. When I glanced around to see who’d thrown it at me, I caught the gaze of Mercedes, a girl who’d moved here in middle school and had quickly risen in the social ranks. Scowling, she shook her head.

  I bent to pick up the paper and unfolded it. A small note in ridiculously perfect handwriting stated: Stop staring. You don’t have a chance.

  Flaming heat seared my neck and singed my cheeks. Busted. By the head cheerleader, no less.

  I crumpled the paper as quietly as I could and then stuffed it in the pocket of my hoodie. Everyone knew cheerleaders had dibs on the football players, and for all I knew, Mercedes and Xander were together now. Honestly, could they be any more cliché?

  My eyes lowered, and I grimaced when I realized I’d been doodling Xander’s initials in big, girly bubble letters. Ugh. Could I be any more cliché?

  I flipped my pencil around and quickly started
erasing his name. Then, because apparently my luck in life had now caught up to me at school, the bell rang and Xander turned to grab his backpack that hung from the back of his seat.

  My body pitched forward to cover the evidence of my crush. As it did, my knee knocked Xander’s bag to the floor, causing pens and pencils and who knew what else to roll out of the open flap.

  Xander turned all the way around. My normally pale face hadn’t quite recovered from Mercedes’ unwanted attention, and I felt my face burn even hotter. “I’m sorry!” I quickly bent to retrieve his stuff. “Stupid,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You’re far from stupid, Phoebe.” At the sound of my name, I risked a glance up to find his eyes lit with concern. “Are you okay?” Xander asked as he carefully took the backpack from me.

  His hand brushed mine, and my stick legs turned to cooked pasta. I sank back into my seat. “Yeah, thanks,” I said quietly, “and sorry again.”

  Xander gave me a smile that could light up the darkest days. Feeling my face scorch—we’re talking four-alarm fire level—I reached for my backpack to make a quick getaway when he kept talking. “How have you been? I mean, I see you around, but…” He shrugged.

  It was true. These days, I rarely saw Xander outside of AP classes. Once in a while when he popped in the diner where I worked, but that’s it. It seemed like another lifetime ago, but we were once neighbors, our families friendly with one another. Things went downhill—at least in my life anyway—and then it just became embarrassing and awkward so we stopped talking altogether.

  The quick trip down memory lane reminded me that the last thing I wanted was to give him the opportunity to ask about my family. “I’m fine. So, um, good game.”

  Good game? He hasn’t even played yet! Talk about awkward.

  Heart hammering, I grabbed my backpack, stuffed my notebook inside, and ran out of class without so much as a goodbye.

  Had I known that might be the last time I saw Xander Aldrich, I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave.

  2

  The Fletchers lived on our old street in our old neighborhood. It just so happened they also used to be friends with both Xander’s parents and mine.

  For the past few years, I’ve kept Friday nights open so Griff and Lana could go on their weekly date nights. The pay was excellent, plus I adored their twins, Zoe and Zane. Spending time with them gave me a sense of what it would have been like if I’d had siblings of my own.

  I felt a familiar pang in my chest as I walked past the house I grew up in. It had hardly changed in the five years since we lived there. I didn’t know it at the time, but after my mother left, my dad could no longer afford the mortgage. We moved to an apartment several miles away but still in the same school district—barely. There was one complex on the outer edge of the wealthy area, which was where we currently lived.

  Well, where I currently lived.

  Passing Xander’s old house, I noticed it hadn’t changed much either. I wasn’t sure when they moved, but I assumed it was shortly after his mother became mayor. I didn’t recall seeing Xander’s dad around much, probably because he was always traveling between here and D.C. Last I heard, he was a Congressman, but I had no idea what he did now.

  I walked up the long drive to the Fletcher’s large, Victorian-style home, and rang the bell. Not two seconds later, the door flung open. Zoe stood there, her two top front teeth missing from a wide grin. “Phoebe’s here!” she hollered. Then she launched her little body at mine.

  Mrs. Fletcher appeared just as I disentangled myself from Zoe’s fierce hug. Lana invited me inside, smiling her perfect smile, her lips glossy and red.

  By all accounts, she was the embodiment of the perfect wife. Dressed in an evening gown that clung to her slim, fit body, her auburn hair was fixed in a gorgeous updo and her makeup was absolutely on point.

  The way she doted on her children was her best quality, though. I could never see Lana Fletcher leaving the twins for more than a few hours, let alone a lifetime.

  “How are you, Phoebe?” she asked sweetly but briskly. The woman was always moving. Even as she spoke, she checked her reflection in the mirror and patted her already perfect hair while grabbing her handbag.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Are you really?” She turned to me, pausing for a moment. “I mean, school and, um, everything else is good?”

  I plastered on my best fake smile. “Yes, ma’am. Busy, but good.” At least it wasn’t a total lie.

  I have been busy.

  Zoe flung herself at me again, latching her arms around my waist. And though I was ashamed to admit it, I was so starved for physical affection, I hung on just as tightly.

  “Can we play princess? Pretty, pretty please?” She ran her tiny fingers down the length of my longish blonde hair. “You wouldn’t even have to fix your hair. It’s already as beautiful as Cinderella’s.”

  The girl was fabulous at using flattery to get what she wanted. How she didn’t have her father wrapped around those precious little fingers, I would never understand.

  But I was onto her tricks. “Is that what Zane wants to play too?” I asked, knowing good and well it wasn’t.

  She pouted. “Zane wants superheroes.”

  “Maybe we can play both.” This seemed to appease her. She ran off just as her father sauntered down the stairs.

  If Lana was the perfect wife, her husband appeared to be her perfect match. Rich and successful—though I never knew what it was he did—Griff Fletcher always looked the part.

  Tonight was no exception.

  Dressed in a tux, his salt and pepper hair styled forward and cropped short, he looked like James Bond before a mission. Or a mafia boss after ordering a hit.

  Mr. Fletcher’s right hand was buttoning his left cuff as he reached the bottom step. When he looked up, his dark eyes locked on me. “Hello, Phoebe,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  Mrs. Fletcher scribbled on a check and ripped it from her pocketbook, handing it to me. “Remember to feed the twins dinner before seven,” she said. “Any later and they won’t go to bed until midnight. Also, don’t forget to tuck Zoe in around her shoulders the way she likes. Oh, and let Zane lock the doors or else he’ll be up all night. You know how he is.”

  Nodding where appropriate, I listened while she ran through the list of instructions that I could recite by heart. I wasn’t annoyed, though. Lana cared about her kids, and who could fault her for that?

  As she continued, I felt a tingle along my neck. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Mr. Fletcher watching me, his mouth pressed into a thin, firm line.

  He’d never been overly friendly, but he hadn’t been rude to me either. If I were being honest, I’d always gotten a weird vibe from him, but this felt different. Needless to say, I was a little rattled.

  “…and turn the elephant nightlight on before they go to bed. Any questions?” Lana’s blue eyes were warm and questioning.

  I attempted a smile. “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Thanks again, Phoebe. Oh! I forgot my earrings.” She looked to her husband. “I’ll be right back down.”

  He gave her a winning smile that wasn’t there before. “No rush, love.”

  After Mrs. Fletcher had disappeared up the stairs, he fixed me with his intense gaze once again. A few awkward moments of silence passed. I was about to go find Zoe and Zane when he spoke. “How is your dad, Phoebe?”

  “Fine.” It was an automatic response, but this time my voice cracked a bit. I’d never been good at lying.

  “Haven’t heard from him in a while,” Mr. Fletcher mused, shoving his hands inside his pockets. “Give him my best, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  Did he know something? The way he eyed me, it seemed like he did.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Fletcher appeared at the top of the stairs . “I’m ready, Griff,” she announced. Then we both watched as she elegantly made her way down the steps. “Call us if you need anything, Phoebe. We’
ll be later than usual tonight.” She frowned slightly. “Don’t expect us back before two.”

  “No problem. Have a good time.” The smile on my face was genuine now.

  I watched while they collected keys and such, and then Lana ducked out the door. Mr. Fletcher gave me one last look before following her. When the enormous oak doors shut with a sound that reverberated throughout the large foyer, my smile fell.

  What was that all about?

  A second later, I didn’t have time to think about it.

  Zoe shot out of the kitchen, her brother hot on her heels. “House! We have to play house!”

  I almost laughed. What happened to “princess”?

  “Do you want to see my new toy?” Zane asked, holding aloft an action figure with a cape and a mask. “You can play with him if you want.”

  “Thank you, that’s very generous. But dinner first, you guys.”

  “Yay! Will you make us Chicken Alfred?”

  “Sure, let’s make sure we have what we need,” I said, heading toward the kitchen with the twins in tow. “If so, you two can help me make chicken alfredo.”

  Zoe and Zane climbed up on counter stools, and I pulled open the fridge door to take stock of the ingredients inside. Score!

  While gathering the necessary items, I asked, “Did you know this was one of my favorite dishes when I was your age?”