The House of Grey- Volume 3 (2 page)

“How do you feel?”

Monson cocked the eyebrow. “I…feel fine. Why?”

“Just fine?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.”

“Um...OK.”

Cyann’s dark hair fell in curtains, which, coupled with her deep blue eyes, created a quite striking effect. The sight conjured in Monson the image of icy blue light from behind a waterfall. Then Cyann’s face sagged and she finally looked away.

“Well…congratulations.”

Abruptly she left, leading Indigo by the arm,  not giving Monson the chance to answer.

“She is a unique one,” said Casey as he watched them leave.

“That she is,” agreed Monson.

“A beauty if I’ve ever seen one, though,” added Artorius.

Casey laughed. “That might mean something coming from someone else, but you say that about most girls.”

Artorius sneered. “I do not. I will have you know  that I am very picky when it comes to women.”

Casey’s laughter turned from chuckle to I’m-having-a-hard-time-breathing laughter.

“It’s true!” yelled Artorius, “I wouldn’t date just….”

Monson stopped listening to Casey and Artorius, their argument quickly increasing in decibels, opting instead to watch Cyann retreat with her sister. She certainly was a strange one.

“You never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

This time Monson felt a hand on his shoulder and an accompanying squeeze. Damion Peterson had pulled a Cyann and appeared out of nowhere.

Monson turned to face the Diamond. “What do you mean?”

Damion nodded in the direction of Cyann. “I mean that you’re amazing. Think about it, you beat me at the
Horum Vir
competition, you take bullying in stride, you get both Taris Green and Cyann Harrison
-
the two most popular girls in school
-
to talk to you, and then you go and catch the winning ball in one of our biggest games of the year. You do realize that you playing in tonight’s football game was supposed to be ceremonial at best, right? A publicity stunt? You weren’t actually
supposed
to do anything; just run a couple of routes for the cameras and sit back down.”

“And whose fault is that?
You
weren’t supposed to throw it to me. And as far as amazing anyone, you’re one to talk,” said Monson, “going from an unknown to a celebrity within a couple of years. Where did you hide all that talent for all that time?”

This comment seemed to surprise Damion. “I see. You’ve done some checking up on me.”

“Checking up on you?” Monson laughed. “All I have to do is watch Monday morning talk shows. You’re a common topic.”

“The price of stardom.”

“Funny, I would say that freedom is the price of stardom.”

Damion’s expression became thoughtful. “Now there is an interesting sentiment.”

“Why do you say that?”

Damion rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “No reason in particular. It’s just that you’re famous, right? Maybe not as famous as me or Taris or some of the other big hitters here at Coren, but you’re up there.”

Monson nodded. It was true. He was famous to an extent, as much as he didn’t want to admit or think about it.

“I’m sensing a point somewhere in there, Mr. Diamond. I apologize if you made it and I just missed it.”

“No point. Just an observation
-
I learned something new about you.”

Damion pulled out a piece of paper and hesitated slightly. “I’ve got something for you that I should have given you long ago.”

“What is it?”

“Just open it when no one else is around. I think you’ll find it useful.”

Monson took the paper and placed it in his pocket. “Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see it.”

Damion Peterson turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Monson to resume ignoring Casey and Artorius’ argument.

***

“This place is a zoo,” observed Monson.

“Don’t insult zoos, dude,” answered Casey. “At least at a zoo you get to see lions and tigers and bears
-
”

“Oh my!” finished Artorius, who started giggling.

Monson and Casey stared at him. He stared back. “What? I like the reference.Lions, tigers and bears are pretty scary.”

Casey shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

“You did not just say that.”

“Guys!” interrupted Monson, “Less argument, more trying to navigate this craziness.

The problem with Coren’s football field being in the middle of the national forest was the fact that space was limited. The grant allowing the stadium to be built woefully underestimated the amount of space the school would need for parking. This was the reason why so many people were still lingering instead of racing for the exits. It was a better idea to get a hot dog and watch a movie on a tablet than force your way out. Luckily for them, Coren’s students lived within walking distance and didn’t have this problem.

“I am in desperate need of some peace and quiet. What do you guys say we skip the after-party?” Monson pulled up his hoody against the wind; the evening had turned cold.

“Grey, you’ve got to come to the after-party,” argued Artorius immediately. “Your stock is hot! You just caught the game-winning touchdown for the Legion, dude! What’s the point of being a superstar if you can’t bask in the admiration of our peers?”

Monson put a hand to this forehead. “Arthur, you make my head hurt.”

The boys bobbed and weaved in and out of students, spectators, paparazzi, news crews and an array of locals from inside and outside the valley. Monson was suddenly pleased that he was wearing a hoody; the wind was unusually strong for the valley, kicking up dirt and debris from the game. But that wasn’t the only reason he was happy about his  attire. Paparazzi were lingering, probably hoping for photographs or an off-kilter interview with Coren’s stars. Monson didn’t consider himself to be among them, but he was glad he could  hide his face, just in case someone else did.

Suddenly a chill ran up Monson’s back, like the streak of a cold finger up and down his spine.

Artorius spoke from what sounded like a great distance. His voice echoed. Then a scream pierced Monson’s ears, his mind, with two words:

Watch out!

Monson froze, unable to move his legs, his breath lost in his chest. Danger. He was in danger.

Screeching tires, wails from the crowd, and the steady rising hum of an engine. Lights bore down on him like the god of death himself was coming for him
-
and he was on wheels.

A blur of movement, a flash of fire red, and two hands touching his chest
-
Monson’s body was lifted off the ground and thrown.  He felt the impact, but no pain. A car raced right by Monson, in which moment, he caught a glimpse of the person driving. A second impact, this one much louder,  reverberated like a sound in the woods never should. Monson watched as a tall red-headed boy flew, seemingly in slow motion, up and over the hood of the car. Monson realized that Arthur Pain…Arthur…had been hit by the car.

Monson attempted to get up, but his body burned. An intense desire to close his eyes overtook him…he was so tired. He closed his eyes and knew no more.

Monson’s head was splitting, which helped him form two conclusions: One, he wasn’t dead, which was a pity because that meant he was probably in the hospital…again. Two, something smelled nice enough that it seemed worth opening his eyes.

“Welcome to the land of the living. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Casey was right up in Monson’s face. He was eating a stick of bacon.

“Dude, where am I? And you’re not holding up any. Why are you eating bacon?”

“You’re in the campus hospital, of course I’m not holding up any fingers
-
who actually holds up fingers?
-
and I’m eating bacon because it’s bacon. Are you still messed up from the drugs? Because that is an incredibly stupid question. Why does anyone eat bacon?”

“I’m in the hospital, but how did I get
-
” Monson broke off. It came back to him: the game, his weird conversations with Cyann and Damion, and walking through the parking lot with Casey and Artorius. Artorius…. He remembered screams, screeching tires and
-

“Artorius!” Monson sat up and tried to get out of bed, only to realize that he was hooked up to an IV. Monson looked down at his arm. “Seriously?”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“It was mine, actually.” Mr. Gatt walked in, followed by Brian and Artorius.

“Arthur!” Monson ran over to Artorius, pulling the IV stand along with him. He threw his arms around Artorius. “You’re all right? You didn’t get hit?”

“Grey!” Artorius appeared embarrassed. “Get a grip. I’m fine. I got a little banged up, that’s all.”

Casey yawned. “He really is, Grey. Arthur has always been resilient. You should be far more worried about the guy who almost hit you.”

Casey lowered his voice. “And his car. I always said that Arthur’s oversized girth would be a problem. He basically broke that guy’s Ferrari.”

Artorius popped Casey over the head. “I don’t have ‘girth.’ That makes me sound like I’m some sort of blob.”

Casey started whistling in a
I’m-not-going-to-say-anything
fashion.
Artorius adopted his classic scowl, and Brian and Mr. Gatt laughed.

Brian made his way over to Monson. “You seem to have a knack for near-death experiences, Master Grey.”

Monson, wanting Casey and Artorius to stop their argument, made a show of settling himself back in his bed, while smiling at Brian’s comment. “Don’t I know it. Between the happenings at Baroty Bridge, a massive statue almost falling on my head, and just about getting creamed by a runaway Ferrari, you’d think someone had it out for me. “

Casey raised his hands. “Now I know that death is bad. I get that. But if you’ve got to go, death by Ferrari ain’t a bad way.”

“Cassius!” exclaimed Brian. “Now
that
is incredibly insensitive.”

“I don’t know about that, Brian.” Monson pulled up his blanket. “Casey’s got a point. Everyone’s going to go sooner or later. Death by Ferrari…it could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah,” added Artorius, “like death by hybrid. I can’t think of a worse way to die.”

“A hybrid couldn’t kill
you
, Arthur,” Monson assured him. “You’ve got too much girth. I thought we went over that already.”

“Oh snap!” yelled Casey.

Brian and Mr. Gatt tried not to laugh, but  Monson and Casey had no such inhibition. They let loose and eventually even Artorius laughed.

“It’s good to see you in such good spirits, Monson.” Mr. Gatt walked to Monson’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a train hit me, now that you mention it.”

Casey pointed at Artorius. “Well, in a way, a train kind of did. A giant red-headed train with bad breath”

Artorius shrugged then glared.

Monson smiled at this.  “I guess I’m not really sure what happened. What’s going on with the guy who almost hit me?”

“He’s in custody,” responded Mr. Gatt.

Monson sat up. “Like jail? Why would he be in jail? It was an accident, right?”

“Well, he did hit Artorius.” Casey picked at a fingernail. “He almost hit you. And he plowed into another car. I think the police thought he was drunk. They were on him like a fat man on a Twinkie right after he hit Artorius.”

“So had he been drinking?” asked Monson

Casey shrugged. “I’ve got no idea. You’d have to ask
-
”

“He wasn’t,” interrupted Mr. Gatt. “They figured out very quickly that he wasn’t drinking.”

“How do you know, Mr. Gatt?” Artorius asked.

“I happen to be well-acquainted with the county magistrate and he relayed the results of the man’s blood test to me.”

Artorius leaned towards Casey. “What’s a magistrate?”

Casey shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it’s
old man
for ‘cop,’ but I can’t be positive. Keep listening
-
you might be able to figure it out from the context.”

Mr. Gatt ignored them. “Anyway, Deputy Craig said they were going to keep him for observation until his family flies in.”

Monson posed the question. “Any why would his family need to fly in? Do they need to bail him out or something?”

“No, Mr. Grey, though considering the circumstances that’s not a bad guess. I need to clarify that the young man is in custody, not jail.”

Monson scratched his head. “Isn’t that where they take you when you’re in custody
-
to jail?’