by Earl, Collin
The House of Grey- Volume #4
By Collin Earl
Copyright 2012, SilverStone Books
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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 38 – Invitation
Chapter 39 – Vision
Chapter 40 – Journal
Chapter 41 – Mirrors
Chapter 42 – Ice
Chapter 43 – HUMANE
Chapter 44 – Truths
Chapter 45 – Runes
Chapter 46 – Colors
Chapter 38 - Invitation
Monson, Artorius, and Casey sat around Monson’s coffee table staring at the completely ordinary envelope. Anyone who saw the three might find their behavior very curious, but only because they did not understand the gravity of the situation. On the surface, this envelope was like any other, but in actuality, the small white object was so much more. A certain level of awe surrounded the boys as they sat completely intoxicated by the possibilities Baroty’s letter held. Unable to stand the quiet, Casey cleared his throat as he started to speak.
“So he came specifically to talk to you?”
Monson affirmed, “Yeah. And naturally, I have no idea why.”
Casey threw his hands behind his head. “And you didn’t think to ask?”
“Didn’t give me much of an opportunity, did he?”
“Hmm. Dude, now that is heavy.”
Artorius picked up the envelope, eying it apprehensively. “Open it, Grey. Enough messing around.”
Monson smiled weakly, putting out his hand. “OK, Arthur, hand it here.”
Artorius placed the envelope in Monson’s outstretched hand. Monson’s hand started to tingle as he slid his finger under the sealed lip of the envelope. He ripped the paper, careful not to harm the contents and peered inside, only to see a white folded piece of paper as plain and ordinary as the envelope itself. He took out the paper and slowly unfolded it. Then he read aloud:
The GM, Inner Gardens, Main Gazebo. 10:00 tonight. Come alone.
“That’s some cloak-and-dagger stuff right there,” said Casey. “Why do you think he wants to see you alone?”
Monson shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he wants to reminisce about my grandfather.”
Artorius rubbed at his stubble with his massive hand. “Doubtful. I don’t think you should go, Grey. It seems fishy to me.”
Monson chewed on his lip, thinking. “I don’t know if we should read that much into it. You saw how Baroty was acting during the assembly and at dinner. He’s a weird one. This is probably just him being theatrical.”
“I think I’m with Arthur on this one, Grey.” Casey gestured towards Monson, indicating he wanted to see the note. “This is little too I-am-going-to-invite-you-over-then-frame-you-for-killing-the-president for me.”
Monson shot Casey a questioning glance. “Now that’s just silly–the president is not even here.”
“Grey, try and be serious for once,” Casey said. “I really don’t think you should go tonight. For all we know he could be a crazed ninja assassin come to kill you, drink your blood, and dance on your corpse. There are too many things to consider.”
Monson sat up, stretching his back as he did. “Like what? Well, besides drunken ninja assassins.”
“I didn’t say anything about him being drunk.”
“Like it matters.”
Casey nodded. “How about your safety, for one? Does that matter?”
Artorius nodded his agreement. “Or did you forget? A little over a week ago, someone attacked the Diamond for absolutely no perceivable reason. Everyone loves Peterson, except for maybe Derek, but not even Derek would go so far as to actually try something physical. Oh—and let’s not forget Peterson has a second-degree black belt in kempo. Freakin’ kempo, Grey! You saw the picture. Damion looked half-dead.”
“I already look half-dead, so I guess I don’t have anything to worry about.”
Artorius almost started yelling. “I’m being serious here, Grey! Something weird is going on. We can’t let you see this dude. Not like this. ”
“Arthur, you don’t understand. This might be my chance, my one and only chance, for some answers about my past. I have to go. If I don’t, I’m going to regret it. I know I will.”
“I understand your dilemma, Grey,” said Artorius, sounding sympathetic. “But finding out about your past is not more important than keeping you in one piece.”
Monson gritted his teeth in borderline anger. “Artorius, what on earth are you on about? I’m a high school student and not even one of consequence. I appreciate the love, but your concern is totally out of proportion to the situation.”
“Says the guy who’s almost died like seventy times in the last six months.” Artorius continued, “I’ve just got a bad feeling about all of this. This whole Baroty thing is weird. I think you need—”
“No, Arthur!” blurted out Monson. “There is no way that I’m not going—”
Artorius’ eyebrows furrowed as he threw up a hand. “Dude, chill. I wasn’t saying that you shouldn’t go.”
“But you—”
Artorius threw up his other hand. “What I meant is you shouldn’t go without us. You need someone to watch your back. Who better than us?”
Monson’s gratitude burst through his composed, somewhat steely façade and warmed him from the inside out. Artorius and Casey really were the best friends anyone could ask for. However, he knew that their worry was misplaced, seeing as he was pretty sure he was the one who had attacked Damion; but how was he going to get them to stay behind?
If he was being truthful, he already knew that short of lying to them, he could not convince them to stay behind. And he could not stand the thought of lying to them more than he already had; there were already too many secrets floating around. His only hope was to figure out a way to keep them out of sight while he met with Baroty.
He studied the faces of his two friends. "Do you guys even know where the Inner Gardens are?”
They both nodded their heads.
“Fine, you can come, but you have to stay out of sight.”
Artorius and Casey whooped, smacking their hands together in this hand-slapping, knuckle-pounding sort of greeting that was super-confusing. Monson was absolutely amazed that this was the first he had seen of it. He was attempting to work out its various parts when Casey spoke up.
“You won’t even know we’re there. We’ll be like straight-up ninjas.”
Monson cocked the eyebrow. “Huh?”
Artorius yawned. “Ignore him, Grey—he’s been on a ninja kick ever since he bought that new gaming console.”
“Which reminds me….” Casey rummaged around inside his bag. He pulled out a video game that Monson didn’t recognize.
Artorius gestured towards the game. “I hate to come back to this, Casey, but I’ve had time to think about it and I disagree with you.”
He pointed to the cover of the game, which showed a righteous digital picture of a wicked looking ninja in glossy black leather.
“Your boy there is definitely not a real ninja.”
Artorius looked at Monson. “He doesn’t get a name because he’s not a real ninja.”
Casey’s eyes popped dramatically. “Not a real ninja? How can you even say that? Of course he’s a real ninja. And not just a ninja, he’s the ninja, Arthur. The
Dragon Ninja. It says so on the box.”
“Casey, there is no way that he’s a ninja. Ninja were assassins trained in the arts of spying and stealth. You’ve played the game. I’ve seen herds of elephants that were more inconspicuous.”
“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur…when you’re the god of destruction dressed in a black pleather suit, you don’t need to be stealthy.
“You aren’t seriously going to argue—”
Monson grabbed for his remote and his gaming console controller, feeling jaded but at the same time content. The opening credits of Casey’s latest obsession flared to life as Monson prepared to fight and ascertain, at least until ten o’clock, whether the nameless shinobi really was a ninja or not. Maybe he could pick up some moves along the way.
***
Sneaking out of The Barracks after curfew, while stressful, was disquietingly easy. At the designated hour, Monson, Artorius and Casey took the private elevator to the ground floor and into the Atrium, doing their best to proceed as inconspicuously as they could. While none of them would readily admit it, there was a perceptible giddy feeling of adventure and recklessness trickling through their little group. So much so, they over-exaggerated the need for stealth in their every movement, peering around corners and hiding behind too-small vegetation and statues. It was because of this foolish behavior that it took them almost ten minutes to reach the front doors of the Atrium.
Monson’s key card was in his hand even before he realized it. He motioned the blue plastic card towards the door sensor when—
“Grey! No!”
Casey jumped forward, smacking Monson’s hand away from the card reader knocking the blue plastic card to the ground. Monson rubbed at his smarting hand.
“Ouch, Casey! What was that all about?”
“You can’t be serious, dude! Hello, this is an electronic lock. They had to program it to accept that thing. So what do you think that means?”
“That someone has too much time on his hands?”
Casey slapped Monson upside his head. “Grey, you are seriously the dumbest smart person I have ever met. No dude, it means that they have a record of who comes and goes.”
Monson whistled, rubbing at his head. “My bad. But then how are we going to get—”
Casey opened the door without a problem and glanced back, smirking over his shoulder.
“Boy Scout motto, milord,” said Casey in his best British accent. “Always be prepared.”
“Don’t let him fool you, Grey,” cut in Artorius. “It was my idea.”
Casey tried his best to glare at Artorius but seemed to be finding it difficult to hold back his amusement. The trio exited the front doors into the cool night air. The brilliant luster of thousands of stars littered the sky like diamonds in blackened rock. The residual light from sparsely distributed lamps had hardly any effect on the formidable darkness. While the blackness of the night was imposing, it also held a certain air of freedom. Under the cover of night, Monson could be anyone or anything and did not have to worry about searching eyes or judgmental hearts. He could be him. Though to be him meant to be afraid of the darkness that provided him his freedom, as that darkness could be scary in its own right. He fought that feeling. The presence of his friends fortified him in combating his fear of the dark, pushing it to a tucked-away, private place where he could leave it to decay with other concerns like self-pity and doubt.
The lack of light was a great asset for any nighttime endeavor. They would be able to move with impunity as long as they avoided the security sweeps. Monson hoped this would not be too difficult to accomplish.
“So how did you guys keep the door from locking?”
Casey glanced at Artorius and said two words. “A penny?”
“Yeah, I placed a penny in the—”
“Shhh!” hissed Casey, pulling both Monson and Artorius towards the brush.
“Case—what the heck?!”
“Shhh, Arthur! Follow me.”
Casey, Artorius and Monson each took a step back from the lighted path, the latter two looking at Casey for direction. Casey’s head whipped from side to side a number of times until he abruptly moved towards a cement bench not far from where they were standing. He broke out in a run as he neared the bench and then, launching himself over a hedge, he disappeared into the darkness. Monson and Artorius followed his lead.
In retrospect, this was a very stupid move. There could have been any number of things waiting for the boys on the other side. Rocks, small trees, more benches, and rose bushes, just to name a few, were abundant on Coren’s property. Thankfully, all of the boys landed noiselessly on the semi-damp grass, popping up seconds after hitting the ground. They all flattened their bodies against the hedge, listening while holding their breath. Nothing happened.
“Casey.” Monson placed a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “Why are we—?”
“Shush, Grey. Wait for it.” Casey pointed towards a section of lighted pathway just under one of the lampposts. They watched the spot until a person popped out of seemingly nowhere.
Monson rubbed his eyes. That could not be right, but true enough, a girl dressed in black, with curly blonde hair tied in a half-ponytail, emerged from the darkness into the light looking thoroughly distraught and after a moment, incredibly relieved. Monson squinted at the girl only to recognize the face of Kylie Cormack. He took note of the massive backpack strapped over her shoulders and, in her arms, a large box brimming with documents.
Monson saw the danger. “Casey, please don’t make a scene with—what are you doing?”
Curious movements from Casey made Monson briefly forget his concerns. He watched as Casey bent over and starting digging around at the base of a shrub. He came back holding a couple of rocks.
“Don’t even think about it, Casey!” Monson grabbed at his hand.
“Yeah Case, that’s not cool,” whispered Artorius. “We can’t let you throw rocks at her.”
Casey did not utter a word, but put up a single finger. Artorius and Monson exchanged a look of concern obvious even in the lack of light. The boys spied on Kylie for what felt like a long time, all the while wondering why she was there and, for that matter, how Casey knew she was coming. The boys strained their eyes staring at the scattered lamplight along the main pathway. Monson’s heart skipped a beat when he saw two Men in Black walking straight towards Kylie, who was oblivious to the oncoming trouble.
“What do we do? Kylie’s going to get caught,” Monson said, a bit louder than he intended.
“I got it. Stay hidden.”
Monson reached out a hand. “Casey, wait!”
Casey was already gone, moving to a nearby opening in the hedge. Monson lost sight of him briefly as he traveled like a phantom through grass and vegetation. When Monson finally spotted him again, Casey was already on the other side of the hedge, stalking the outskirts of the lighted areas. He moved with such stealth that Kylie did not notice his approach. Monson and Artorius ducked when a whistle and tongue click caused Kylie to jump. Consequently, she fumbled the box in her arms and dropped it.
Monson whispered to Artorius, “What happened?”
“I think Casey threw a rock at her.”
Monson shrank back. “Man, your breath reeks. Hold up—I have a Tic Tac.”
“Shut up, Grey.”
Monson smiled “did he actually throw a rock at her?’
“No—well not at her. I think he is trying to get her attention.”
On the other side of the main pathway leading to The Barracks, Kylie was finally realizing how crap-tastic her own situation was becoming as a second rock thrown by Casey landed at her side. The rustle and crack of heavy footsteps startled her and caused her to spin around. She stared at the MIBs the moment she caught sight of them.
“That’s her! Hey you, stop!” one of them yelled. They both started off after her.
Kylie ran as fast as she could, but was hampered by the large backpack and box. While she had a decent head start, that distance was dim
inishing as the MIB closed the gap. She rounded a corner, taking off through one of the many paths that led away from The Barracks. The men followed, gaining on her more quickly. Monson felt his heart drop ever so slightly. The conclusion was pretty clear. Kylie Coremack was going to be caught by Christopher Baroty’s MIB and then who knew what would happen to her.
A blur wearing blue jeans and a red shirt sprang in front of the MIB like a magician’s apparition. The two men did not have time to react, tripping over themselves and falling flat on their faces. Casey watched with disdain. He waited for them to get back to their feet.
“Another rule breaker,” said one of the MIB, a dark hair, dark eye fellow with soft features. He reached into his jacket. “You bratty little rich kids think you can do anything you want. Jim, you go after the girl. I got this one.”
The other MIB, a blond haired blue eye-baby face that was not much taller than Casey, nodded his head and attempted to move past Casey to continue his pursuit of Kylie. Refusing to consider any Coren student a threat, the big man did not even see the two blows that Casey threw.
At least Monson thought there were two blows. The strikes were so fast that Monson was simply guessing at how many there were. And if Monson was not sure how many Casey threw, there was no way that “Jim” had a clue what hit him.
Jim landed hard, mashing into the ground. Monson cringed. The blow and landing looked like they hurt, but to his surprise, Jim sprang to his feet. Dusting off his clothing, he spoke to the other MIB.
“I think we need to teach this little boy a lesson, Mark.”
The other MIB, Mark, nodded his head. “Fine—but don’t bloody him up too bad.”
“Oh, I won’t kill him or nothing.”
Jim moved in an exaggerated way, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a black metal rod. Monson squinted, desperately trying to make out the object in Jim’s hands. A sharp swinging motion and resounding click answered his question. Jim held a retractable baton aggressively in front of him.