The House of Grey- Volume 5 (10 page)

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.”

Casey grabbed at an imaginary pen and paper, speaking as he wrote. “Note to self: Never ever let Artorius do any marketing, especially anything that has to do with naming things.”

Artorius scowled. “Shut up Casey. Don’t be jealous of my witty comments.”

Casey made another mark on his pretend pad. “Reexamine possibility of mental health institution for friend. The delusions are getting worse.”

Artorius gritted his teeth and was half a second away from throwing a scrap of bread at the still-writing Casey. He stopped as he caught a sharp look from Indigo.

Monson smiled and looked down at his own emptied plate. Artorius was right about one thing; that had been one of the best meals of his life. It was a good thing, too, as it gave Monson and Taris something to focus on other than the incredibly awkward atmosphere surrounding the royalty candidates’ table. Monson promised himself that if he got the chance he would punch whoever put together the seating chart for the Dinner of Elegance.

Everything up until the actual dinner had passed without a hitch. Dean Dayton had introduced Monson, Taris and the other royalty to the important people in attendance, quickly reciting a list of accomplishments and honors for each of the candidates. Monson did not even mind that his list was distinctly shorter than anyone else’s. In fact, he would have been just fine with a simple name. After his introduction, he took his seat at the center table in the massive dining area. Dean Dayton continued talking, welcoming guests and thanking sponsors, but Monson was busy worrying about sitting directly underneath the world’s biggest chandelier He could not stop the mental replay of the massive jumble of crystals and lights crashing down on him and his friends. He shuddered at the thought.

The chandelier was the main reason for his preoccupation, though his general uneasiness, apathy and weariness also contributed. Sharp blue eyes brought him back to reality.

The dinner had taken a turn for the worse once he realized who was also at the table. Apparently the dinner planner felt that it was prudent to place all the students together, so without any time to prepare himself, Monson found himself sitting directly across from Cyann Harrison. He should not have been surprised; Mr. Gatt did mention that Cyann and Damion would be sitting at the same table, but not that Monson had an assigned seat right across from her. It was uncomfortable.

Cyann did not appear to be in a good mood, as she had hardly spoken a word the entire meal. Directly to his left and not making things any more relaxed was Taris. She floundered through the meal with a distracted air. Across from her and huddled close to Cyann sat Damion Peterson. Damion also spoke very little, yet continually drained a Pepsi-filled wineglass, eyes narrowed in a somewhat irritated expression. It was hard to gauge how the sports star was feeling and Monson was not sure he really wanted to know. It didn’t help that the image of Damion plunging a giant knife into him flashed before him whenever the sports star shifted in his seat.

Monson did not know what to do so he continued to eat, reaching a gloved hand towards a basket of rolls glistening with honey.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Cyann’s voice rolled over him; quiet, but cracking like a lion tamer’s whip. “Why are you wearing gloves?”

Monson’s gaze shifted slowly from his bread to Cyann. Great. He was going to have to lie; he was a terrible liar.

“They were a gift from me,” said Taris, leaning into Monson and placing a hand on his neck. “He wears them as a gesture of affection.”

“That’s pretty sentimental, Monson,” Damion took another swig of his Pepsi. “I didn’t picture you as the hopeless romantic.”

Monson ripped his honey bread in half. “Yeah, there’s plenty that you don’t know about me.”

Monson felt an intangible crackle and turned to see Cyann and Taris glaring at each other.

“Good evening.”

Monson and the others stopped talking immediately as Dean Dayton took his position waving for silence.

Monson turned to face the dean but paid no attention to his words. Avoiding Cyann Harrison had just become his new priority; she was not one to give up and he did not feel like explaining the glove thing to her—in other words, what had happened to the scars on his hand. He could just imagine that conversation.

Monson inadvertently locked eyes with Casey as his visage slid over the other students sitting at their table. He did a
double-take
as Casey started to mouth something and pointed towards the dean.

“Saved by the dumbbell! Lucky!” Casey pointed at the gloves on Monson’s hands. “Take off the stupid gloves!”

Monson rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the dean.

***

Monson and his friends entered the main chamber of Coren’s Coliseum and gasped when they realized that—