The House of Grey- Volume 5

by Earl, Collin

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Taris’ eyes tightened playfully. “You’re making fun of me!”

  Monson gave her incredulous look. “Now, would I do something like that?”

  She gave him a smack on the arm; it actually hurt. “Silly boy.”

  More cameras snapped at Monson as their lights blinded him. He shielded his eyes while Taris posed for more pictures. His gaze inadvertently shifted when a suspicious movement tugged at his peripherals.

  Two people were now exiting the building, only one of whom Monson recognized. Kylie Coremack wore a sultry, ankle-length, Chinese-style dress of the deepest red. The dress’ slit was high, allowing free range of movement. Her crimson lips matched the dress, while her hair hung long and straight in all its golden glory. Kylie moved conspiratorially, apparently doing her best not to attract attention as she shielded another person whose head and shoulders were covered by a dinner jacket, a girl judging by the visible portion of the outfit. Damion Peterson, suspiciously jacketless, stepped out a half-second later and followed Kylie and the person under the jacket. Kylie led them quickly out of sight, taking an alternative route away from the flashbulbs. Monson strained to see. Who on earth could that be?

  “Monson sweetie?”

  Taris startled Monson as she grabbed onto him forcefully. Monson turned to look at her as she did. He cocked the eyebrow.

  Sweetie? he thought. Since when do you call me ‘sweetie’?

  Coherent thought died in the blitz of camera flashes that started up again right as Taris grabbed his arm. Monson instinctively threw up a hand, but dropped it as Taris whispered in his ear.

  “I know it’s annoying, but roll with it for just a bit.”

  Monson gritted his teeth and tried to do just that.

  ***

  The Senators Room at Coren University was located on the eastern side of the campus. The central chamber of the Senators Room was where the festivities would commence, including the four-course Dinner of Elegance, which was part of the Spring Solstice tradition.

  Monson and the others arrived at the gleaming marble staircase of the Senators Room and huddled together uncertainly as pandemonium descended upon them.

  Reporters, security and wait staff lined the area, calling out, taking pictures, and herding guests up the stairs to the main entrance. Monson leaned into Taris, who was still holding onto him.

  “Is it always like this for you?”

  Taris drew him closer as she answered, breathing softly into his ear.

  “An unrealistic life made up of unrealistic people, Mr. Grey. This world is the true test of any relationship. Can you handle it?”

  “You sound like you’ve had some experience.”

  Taris ignored his statement.

  Monson pulled back to look at her as her words, as they so often did, left him baffled. His eyes connected with hers; connected in a way that they never had before. She gave him a look, a look that made him see only her, despite the tug and pull of unimportant people. Her eyes. They were shy, yet expectant. Monson was not sure how to respond to this coy Taris.

  Taris leaned towards him, her eyes starting to close as she did. Monson kicked into panic mode; what was she doing? She was not going to…do that? Here? Now? Monson suddenly noticed that he was moving towards her as well.

  She was…they were…Taris freakin’ Green was going to kiss him in front of all these reporters and TV cameras. Monson hesitated for just a fraction of a nano-second before Taris closed in. Wrapped up in their illusionary isolation, situational awareness fell to the wayside.

  Still, something nagged at Monson, a bothersome lingering feeling. The situation seemed wrong.

  The rush of the crowd behind them forced them to move and Monson pulled away from a closed eyed Taris.

  After they parted, and began to automatically ascend the stairs, Monson and Taris–still in their own world–walked headlong into the people in front of them. As he bumped the head of a girl in a dark dress, Monson instantly crashed back to reality and prepared to apologize.

  “Sorry about that…” His voice trailed off as a pair of frosty blue eyes met his.

  Chapter 50 – Solstice

  “Damion!”

  Taris spoke in a strained tone. The cameras and voices were distracting. Damion answered Taris but Monson could not hear them, could not hear any of them.

  Cyann looked like she had never looked before.

  Appearing taller than normal above him on the first of one of the many landings of the staircase, her mountain of dark hair was curled and pulled elegantly to one side as rosy color lit up her cheeks—Cyann was wearing makeup! She never wore makeup! She did not need it; she, of anyone on the whole planet, did not need it. Monson wanted to look at her dress but was unable to pull his gaze away from her face…and her eyes. Her eyes…were soft.

  Those eyes dropped from him, enabling him to break away from her face and study the rest of her. Monson searched Cyann up, then down, and then up again. She had wrapped herself in floor-length black satin. The dressmaker had magically twisted liquid darkness into a tangible albeit airy form; the sleeveless dress, with a slit to mid-thigh and a teardrop cutout below the neckline, was as beautiful and stylish as any found in the shops on Coren’s Main Street. . Monson tried not to stare at that open space below Cyann’s collarbone as he contemplated whether it was the dress that made the girl or the girl that made the dress. Regardless, it fit her. The dress fit her like it was painted on. This observation did not apply only in the physical sense either, but to her overall presence. It…no…she was normally reserved, but now she totally overpowering in beauty and personality.

  He wanted to tell her his thoughts but stumbled over his words even as Damion steered her away at a brisk pace.

  The touch of Taris’ hand jolted him.

  “Come on, Monson. They’re expecting us.”

  Taris guided Monson up the remainder of the stairs, gripping him firmly as they ascended. They touched upon the final landing of the Senators Room, momentarily overwhelmed by the grand entrance doors towering above them. A virtual flood of flashing light smacked the two of them, forcing them to slow their place as they stepped into the opulent space.

  The place was large and decadent to the point of being ridiculous. Suffice it to say that everything—everything—glowed creamy white, from the massive stone columns to the marble floors to the diamond-laced chandeliers. The distinct absence of color in the space, besides likely being impossible to keep clean, made the individual people milling around in their colorful evening attire really pop.

  Reporters littered the place like rats in a junkyard, many screaming hysterically and calling Taris’ name. Monson spotted Cyann and Damion a short distance away talking with a group of reporters while burly security men stood impressively on either side. He narrowed in on Cyann’s face as she spoke. Her irritation was evident. The sound of his own name drew his attention back.

  “Mr. Grey, what is it like being one of the richest people in the world?”

  “How do you respond to continuing allegations of your grandfather’s involvement in the events at Baroty Bridge?”

  “Is it true that you and Ms. Green are engaged?”

  Monson did his best to push past the groups of reporters and cameramen while barely maintaining his composure. He muttered under his breath.

  “If one more of those idiots mentions my grandfather, I may just hit someone.”

  The smile on Taris’ face remained firmly in place. “It’s frustrating, I know. Like I said, unimportant musings of unimportant people. They can certainly try the patience.”

  Monson leaned in a little closer to her. “You know, there’s something that’s been bothering me.”

  Taris gave a perfunctory wave to a few enthusiastic fans specifically invited for the purpose. “Really? What’s that?”

  “Why do you strive so much for the limelight when you obviously don’t like it?”

  Taris stopped smiling, arc
hed her back, and turned to look at him. “Wow—that was random. What makes you say that?”

  Monson started to run a hand through his hair, which Taris caught before it could do any damage.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You don’t want to mess up your hair.”

  Monson felt a renewed conviction as Taris stepped into him.

  He stopped her, placing a hand on her hip to keep her from getting any closer to him.

  “What’s the truth, Taris? What is it that you’re seeking in the camera flashes and gossip columns? What is so important that it drives you to remain in a lifestyle that you find so distasteful?”

  The last hint of Taris’ smile faded as she looked at Monson. It was like the haze was lifted between them; like she was really seeing him for the first time. He actually pulled her closer without even thinking. Her answer sounded meek. “You’re talking all crazy. Why would I do this if I didn’t love it?”

  Monson laughed. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

  A tug at Monson’s shoulder interrupted them. They both turned to face the newcomer when a particularly bright flash blinded them. The hand on his shoulder forced Monson into a hurried walk as yells of disappointment trailed him and Taris. What was happening? Why were people yelling?

  Monson attempted to clear his vision and head, all while the sound around them swelled to a grating level. Monson heard the creak of a seldom-used door, then a resounding click and finally, silence.

  Monson’s eyes slowly cleared and the form of a person came into view. While the person’s features were still fuzzy, his voice told Monson exactly who was directing them. Mr. Gatt clamped Monson on the shoulder.

  “Mr. Grey, Ms. Green, welcome to the seventh level of Hades. I hope you brought your idiot repellant.”

  Taris and Monson chuckled, each taking a quick glance around the room as their eyes fully adjusted to see a long, mirrored hallway visible beyond a large doorway, through which many people bustled in and out.

  Monson refocused his gaze on Mr. Gatt, who grinned sardonically. “I’m afraid I’m all out of idiot repellant, Mr. Gatt, which is unfortunate as the mere scent of the little vixen here seems to bring them out of the woodwork.”

  Taris giggled. “What did I tell you about those fancy words, Mr. Grey? Keep this up and I might have to speed up my plan to seduce you.”

  Mr. Gatt’s eyes popped, almost as if they were about to shoot out of his sockets. He glanced back and forth between Monson and Taris, his lip twitching ever so slightly.

  Taris did not seem to notice, however, as she spun on her toes and asked, “Where are the others? You didn’t grab them too?”

  “No, they are not going to be introduced like you two and the rest of the candidates. Once people have arrived and are situated, the two of you, Mr. Peterson and Ms. Harrison will all be escorted to the center table followed by the rest of the candidates and their dates. Your party will be waiting for you there.”

  Monson attempted to control his sneer. The thought of sitting with Damion did not please him at all. Taris affixed her vapid smile, the one she used when she did not want to reveal what she was really thinking.

  Mr. Gatt leaned into the two students, giving them a quick once-over.

  “You two look great. Please follow me.”

  Mr. Gatt led Monson and Taris into the bustling hallway. They were definitely behind the scenes, in the midst of all sorts of people pushing, pulling and being directed into different places by the Coren staff. Everyone appeared haggard and harried, as if their very livelihoods depended upon this evening. Monson tried to ignore the fact that was probably the case.

  Most conspicuous were the additional security forces that were spaced evenly down the hall. Many appeared foreign, perhaps some additional protection for one of the many dignitaries making an appearance that evening. Monson was inadvertently reminded of Mark and Jim, Baroty’s MIB, and the glowing ball of energy that Casey used to wipe their memory. He grimaced. He should visit them in the hospital when he had the chance.

  Taris remained silent for the duration of their journey down the never-ending hall and its gauntlet of staff and security. The pensive look on her face did not suit her. She took hold of his hand as they walked down the hall, her fingers interlacing his, but her grip felt dead and limp. Monson did his best to give her the time to work out whatever she was dealing with despite the distinct feeling that he had done something wrong. A sharp detour in his thought process brought him to the subject of Casey and Kylie: two childhood friends, once so close, now with enough bad blood between them to poison a vampire.

  Enough bad blood to poison a vampire…ugh…what a terrible figure of speech. He made another mental note: No more vampire love stories before bed.

  Monson’s mind instantly started to wander again, and some unexpected images came to him: a man ready to bite the neck of a beautiful, oblivious woman. A winged skeleton found in an underground tunnel in northern Africa. These were followed by memories of various lessons from Mr. Gatt; the story of Loch Ness, of Merlin’s hidden castle, and many other outrageous and wonderful stories and myths. An idea formed as Monson considered these. It was unexpected, but had so much potential that Monson almost stopped mid-stride.

  “Research,” whispered Monson to himself. “You came to do research.”

  Monson disentangled his hand from Taris’, giving her a half-smile and throwing up a finger asking for a reprieve. She smiled and nodded. He quickened his pace, coming level with Mr. Gatt. The professor noticed his behavior and cocked his head to the left to take a look at Taris, now on her phone. Monson made no preamble.

  “How’s your research coming, Mr. Gatt?”

  He grimaced again; not exactly tactful.

  “It is going very well, Mr. Grey, why do you ask?”

  Monson cocked the eyebrow. “You know what I’m talking about?”

  Mr. Gatt appeared to be slightly confused. “Of course. I told you months ago that I remain here to do research. Were you not just asking about that research?”

  “Well yeah,” confessed Monson. “I just didn’t think you would know what I was asking since it was so long ago. Do you remember everything you say?”

  Mr. Gatt chuckled. “Hardly, only the important stuff.”

  Monson scratched at his head in continued bafflement. “Why would telling me you were doing research be important?”

  Mr. Gatt shrugged. “I am a teacher; you are a student. Of course everything I say to you is important.”

  Monson rolled his eyes. That was a cop-out if he had ever heard one.

  He was not getting anywhere. He should just try the more direct approach. “Mr. Gatt, do you know anything about the Garden of the Gods or the Midday Darkness?”

  The expression of controlled curiosity slid from the visage of Markin Gatt, quickly replaced by one of ironic comprehension. “It appears that you and your friends have finally become aware of Ms. Coremack’s activities.

  His words shocked Monson. “You know what Kylie’s been up to?”

  “Of course—I was the one who pointed her in the right direction. Though if you are asking me about the subject, it appears that she has yet to find Sage’s hideaway.”

  Monson bit at his lip, unsure as to how much he should say. “Don’t have any helpful information, do you?”

  “I am afraid that I do not, my boy,” said Mr. Gatt regretfully. “I was on one of my many adventures when the elder Ms. Coremack was here. I returned only recently to Coren for an amazing opportunity that never quite materialized. Now I am back to teaching. Not that I am complaining. I love teaching; I have missed it. This is actually my first year teaching in about three years.”

  Mr. Gatt stopped short, looking thoughtful. “Well, perhaps that is not correct. I am not totally sure.”

  Monson laughed. “I thought you remembered everything important.”

  Mr. Gatt grinned. “My dear boy, at my age the years just run together.”

  He took a deep breath. “Back to the
topic at hand. Ms. Coremack, from what I hear, was a bit of a recluse. Did you know that her older brother was also the Horum Vir?”

  Monson jerked, veering abruptly to one side and almost colliding with a man carrying a stack of polished silver trays. “No way!”

  Mr. Gatt nodded, dropping his head in a sort of conspiratorial gesture. “Damion Peterson idolized him. Maximillion Coremack. He was the first sophomore Horum Vir. He almost won his freshman year also, but of course the competition is….” Mr. Gatt paused again.

  “Fixed?” asked Monson.

  “So, you have heard. Good. You and I should talk about that sometime. I am very curious as to how you won. Anyway, from what I heard, Sage Coremack was very close with her older brother. You could ask him. He probably does not know the location of the hideaway, but he may be able to give some clues though I would assume that Kylie would have gone over this with him already. You are a smart student. I bet with the right motivation and a little luck you could find Ms. Coremack’s hideout.”

  Monson cocked the eyebrow for a second time. “The right motivation?”

  Mr. Gatt nodded. “Yes. The right motivation. You will find you are capable of extraordinary things when placed in the right circumstances.”

  A tug at his arm announced that Taris was interjecting herself into the conversation. “OK, I’m bored. You should talk to me now.”

  Mr. Gatt chuckled again. “You had better do as she says, Mr. Grey. The heavens themselves have been shaken by a woman’s scorn. Avoid it as if your life depends on it—some of the best advice I can give you.”

  Monson attempted to object but held his tongue as he glanced at a pouting Taris. He had lost. Who could argue with that face? It was better to not even try.

  Taris caught hold of his hand with both of hers as they continued their walk down the endless hallway.

  ***

  “I think that was the best meal I’ve ever had.” Artorius rubbed at his belly suggestively. “The Dinner of Elegance? They should really call it the Dinner of Delectable Divine Deliciousness.”