The House of Grey- Volume 5 (13 page)

to
the equipment

11:07
pm

Monson typed back with frenzied fingers. “How do you know?”

Grayson’s response came quickly.

FROM: Grayson G

I’m in charge of the AV club

it’s
my equipment they’re using.

I set my pocket PC to send me status

updates
and log any issues.

The log shows there’s

an
error
in the power management coding.

11:08
pm

Monson reread the message in amazement. He tried to stay focused.

TO: Grayson G

Why would
someone

try
to mess with the power?

Whats the point?

11:08
pm

Monson tapped the send button and waited for the response.

FROM: Grayson G

How should I know?

Whatever viral code

disrupted
the power

it
waited until now to execute.

Maybe someone is

trying
to embarrass

Cyann. That seems

like
the only

logical
conclusion.

11:09 pm

Monson swore. The power was on the fritz and Boston was nowhere to be found. He did it. He had to have done it, but why?

A replay of a small hand smacking the arrogance off a flamboyant face popped into Monson’s head.

He arrived at his conclusion: Boston was trying to get back at Cyann and doing it in the worst possible way. He searched for something, anything, to improve the situation. What could he do to help? Was there anything? Would Cyann even accept his help?

Monson found his eyes glued to Cyann, who stood stationary among the restless, simmering students as girls pointed and gestured towards her. Monson focused on her face, which was staring up at a man in the balcony.

A man with silver-black hair and a regal disposition leaned over the balcony, appearing concerned.

“Her father,” said Monson aloud. “That has to be her father.”

He swore again. The next time he saw Boston Timberland, it would not be a pleasant encounter for Boston.

Monson began to move towards Cyann. He had no idea what he was going to do but he had to help her. He had to try and do—

“Grey, I know what you’re thinking.”

Casey and Artorius both gripped him much as they did the first time they saw Cyann’s dance routine in The GM. Casey spoke again. “You can’t yet.”

“Let go of me, Casey. I need to—”

“Do something?” interrupted Artorius. “And what are you going to do, Grey?”

Monson replied in a low, inaudible mutter.

“What was that, Grey?”

Monson didn’t answer. He did not have a plan and they knew it.

“I have an idea, Grey, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

Monson grimaced. Again, he hated when people—especially Casey—said stuff like that.

Casey nodded to Artorius. “Listen carefully, Grey. I want you to wait two minutes and then walk out to Cyann.”

“But why would—”

Casey put up a hand. “Trust me, Grey.”

Monson held his tongue. Casey and Artorius disappeared, moving away at a breakneck pace.

Monson returned his attention to Cyann, who was still looking up at the balcony. He saw her tremble slightly, the desire to run away crawling over her smooth skin. She was trying to be strong, trying to finish the project that had held her captive for so long. It was all so wrong, all of it. It was not supposed to happen this way.

It was then that the unthinkable occurred.

Someone started to boo Cyann. The booing was low at first; starting as individual voices around the room, but it grew louder and louder as time passed.

Monson scowled. Oh how quickly they turn on you.

The
pluck of a guitar sounded as a voice rang out
—a voice that Monson recognized.

Casey stood up onstage in front of the mic, guitar in hand. Behind him was Artorius on the keyboard and Kylie on the violin. What in the—?

“Monson Grey. Paging Mr. Monson Grey. Can you please come to the center of the dance floor? Ms. Harrison is waiting for you.”

Monson’s jaw dropped! This is your brilliant plan, Casey?

In one giant movement, every face in the room turned and looked straight at Monson. He stared back at them, all of them, for an extended second. Silence pressed in upon him and he muttered to himself.

“Casey, you are SO dead. I am SO going to kill you.”

Monson hesitated, but undid his jacket and pulled at his tie. He made his decision.

“So it’s a dance you want?” whispered Monson under his breath. “Fine, it’s a dance you’ll get.”

He took a shaky step, and then another, and watched as those around him parted to let him through. They cleared a path slowly at first,
then
more quickly as they realized what was happening.

“What are you doing?” Cyann whispered as he closed in.

“I’m coming to dance with you.” His gaze did not betray a single drop of emotion. “I’ll watch you for the changes—show me when you want to come back together. Open up a bit, would you? This isn’t going to work if we aren’t connected…oh, and try not to be afraid.”

“Afraid? What are you—
”

Monson walked right up to her, coming incredibly close. It surprised her. He grinned slightly at her discomfort.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She threw her hair behind her, starting to tremble with indignation. She squeezed her hands together then shook them out for a moment before grabbing his hands and placing them on her hips. She stepped closer to him, putting her own hands on his chest.

“You were saying something about being uncomfortable?”

Monson glared at her, but before he could say anything, the Cassius Kay Trio started to play.

***

The final note of Casey’s voice struck at the same time that Monson pulled and dipped Cyann Harrison. He held her almost parallel to the
floor,
sweat beading on both of their foreheads. Monson stood her up slowly to meet the looks of a bewildered crowd. An approving roar exploded a half-second later, the whooping and yelling loud enough to awake the dead if that were possible. Cyann grabbed Monson’s hand and they took a bow. He was not sure how, but they did it—and they did it with style. He smiled smugly.

He leaned towards her. “You owe me big time.”

They bowed a second time.

“I owe you? What about me? You suddenly walk into my showcase—”

“And saved your butt from embarrassment. Yeah, you’re welcome. Your father is waving at you, by the way.”

Cyann’s head whipped upward just in time to see the man with silver-black hair yelling at the top of his lungs and waving like a drunken sports fan.

“How did you know?”

Monson smiled knowingly. “I guess I’m just psychic. You’d better be careful.”

“Har har har, you are so funny. You owe me an explana—”

“Thank you, Mr. Grey and Ms. Harrison, that piece was truly delightful.”

Mr. Gatt was back on stage next to a grinning Casey, who was still holding the guitar. Mr. Gatt raised a hand, gesturing upward. The lights centered on him. Satisfied, he spoke.

“Coren University, are you ready to meet your next Augustine and Augustana?”

Monson and Cyann looked at each other. It was all happening so fast that they did not have time to register any of it.

The students filed in around them, hovering close to the stage, waiting for Mr. Gatt.

“I have the envelope here.” Mr. Gatt raised his hand to reveal a small white envelope with a gold seal across the flap. “Shall I?”

The crowd roared its approval. Mr. Gatt tore open the envelope
. “This year’s Royal Couple is…
”

Chapter 52 – Tie Goes to the Girl…Everyone Knows That

“I bet you twenty bucks you and Damion win,” Monson whispered to Cyann. She glared at him. He grinned back.

“Wow—you’re cheap.” She ran a hand through her shiny black hair. “Are you sure?
Twenty whole dollars?
I wouldn’t want to break the bank.”

He flinched at the sarcasm. He had forgotten whom he was talking to. He sneered. “Oh, you are just hil-arious. All right, princess, what do you propose?”

Cyann’s eyes narrowed. “How about the classic favor bet? If I win, you do anything I want, no questions asked, no limits.”

Monson studied her suspiciously. “Are you sure you want to make that sort of bet? That would almost certainly ensure that you would have to come into contact with me. I wouldn’t want to upset your sensibilities.”

Her eyes narrowed further but Monson continued before she could edge in. “You’re on, Ms. Harrison. And you can ante up the same thing; you do whatever I want if I win. Deal?”

Cyann nodded. “You’re on.”

“Done.” He ran through the candidates in his head. Who was going to win this thing? Well—that was easy.

“I’m saying you and the Diamond. Hands down. No contest. I don’t know why you took this bet. It’s only natural to assume that Coren’s lead couple would win out in the end.”

Cyann’s glare strengthened to the intensity of death ray, but at the same time came across as collected and smug. “Well then, I’m just going to have to say you and the It Girl. I hear you’re engaged. Of course, winning would be a great preamble to your wedding. Grey and Green. That sure does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

It was Monson’s turn to glower.
Such a sharp-tongued woman.
How could he not like her? “Have I ever told you that you seriously bug me?”

“No, at least not to my face.”

“Remind me to fix that.”

“I think you just did.”

Mr.
Gatt
’s voice rose above all the other noise. Monson and Cyann looked at each other and nodded their approval. They slapped fists
quickly,
doing a similar handshake to one that Monson, Casey and Artorius periodically performed, and then faced Mr. Gatt.

“Drum roll, please.”

The patter of a snare drum came from the stage as Mr. Gatt spoke.

“And this year’s Royal Couple is! Damion Peterson and Taris Green!”

Cheers broke out all around them. There was a huge congratulatory boom as fireworks shot into the air, spilling light, color and sound. Out of nowhere, Damion Peterson was at Monson and Cyann’s side. He quickly grabbed her, drawing her in for an awkward embrace, then let go and strolled to the front of the stage and an awaiting Taris, who looked very pleased.

More cheers and elaborate fireworks followed. War-like sounds and bright colors assaulted the students below, whose gazes were directed upward. Mr. Gatt again brought Monson back to reality.

“Will all students please clear the dance floor for the Royal Couple?”

The students slowly dispersed. Damion and Taris, arm in arm, made their way down from the stage. Damion walked solemnly, periodically glancing in the direction of Monson and Cyann. Just as they reached the center of the floor, Casey and the others kicked up a beat and Kylie’s voice rang out.

“There were nights when the wind was so cold.”

Giggles broke out around them, giggles that did not make sense to Monson.

Cyann, still straight-faced, shook her head. “Celine Dion.”

Monson turned. “I’m sorry?”

“Kylie is singing an old Celine Dion song. That’s why people are laughing.”

Their eyes met. She started again. “You looked a bit confused so I thought I should explain. It’s funny, because that song is like forever old, but Kylie is a huge fan. Celine is her favorite artist.”

Kylie’s song caught them up as the chorus rolled in: “But when you touch me like this and you hold me like that….”

Further thoughts of conversation drained away as the thread of Celine Dion’s love song fell upon Monson’s ears. He turned to look at the dancing Royal Couple. Damion’s hands were on Taris’ hips while hers hovered lightly on his shoulders. They swayed slowly, moving in a small circle. With her back to him, he could only see Taris’ hands on top of Damion’s rigid shoulders, but after a few more seconds he could finally see her face.

Monson stared at her expression.

Taris was smiling, but not merely smiling; she was smiling like…like an angel might smile at her creator.

She has never smiled at you like that, said a voice in the back of his head. Thankfully, it was not Dawn.

“So what should I make you do?”

Monson turned to Cyann. “What should you make me do? What are you talking about?”

She returned his baffled stare. “Don’t tell me you forgot already? Our bet! I was just wondering out loud what I should make you do for me.”

“I understood what you were talking about, but I’m not sure what there is to ponder. Neither of us won, or did you—”

“Ties go to the girl.”

Monson’s eyebrow shot up so quickly he was in danger of losing it. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. When you make a bet with a high school girl any tie goes to
said
girl. Everyone knows that.”

“I think you‘ve taken to many stick blows to the head, my dear. You really should be more careful. They’re starting to affect your judgment.”

Cyann shook her head again. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that. It’s a good thing I’m here to help. You might end up looking foolish.”

Monson rolled his eyes. “I think I liked it better when you were standoffish.”

Before Cyann could decide whether to reply, couples started to walk back out onto the dance floor, filling in the space around Damion and Taris. The final notes of Kylie’s Celine cover faded to scattered applause, and Kylie gave a quick bow just as Casey started towards the mic.

“Monson Grey.”

Monson glanced sharply upward.

Casey pointed at him. “This song goes out to you, buddy.”

He picked at his guitar and Kylie’s violin joined in as Casey started to sing.

“I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house….”

Monson sighed in exasperation.
Casey and his old-time country music.

“Would you like to dance?”

Monson’s answer, some clever remark, caught in his throat as he refocused on Cyann. Soft eyes observed his hesitation and discomfort then pleaded for…. Cyann was asking him to dance? What? Why? Words would not come. He simply nodded.

They walked side by side to where dancing couples slid, seemingly of their own accord, out of their way. Monson grabbed Cyann’s right hand, taking her by the hip with his other. Cyann responded by placing her palm on his shoulder. They slowly turned just as Casey hit the chorus.

“And what hurts the most, was being so close and having so much to say….”

Cyann’s icy blues caught Monson’s eyes and he lowered his head to gaze directly at her. He smiled as he pushed away and spun her out.

Their eyes broke for the spin but instantly found one another again as she came back and stepped a little closer.

“Thank you for helping me.”

Monson did not answer, but Cyann did not seem to notice.

“I’ve always liked dancing, you know.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “But until now I’ve been too afraid. It just seemed like something that wasn’t me; like a desire from another lifetime, an idea from a dream. I’m still not sure, but I’m glad that I got to experience something like that. ”

Monson wanted to answer, but could not seem to find the words. He settled on something neutral. “Well, I’m glad that you enjoyed it and that I could be part of it.”

He had meant to stop there, but for some unknown reason he then said, “Dancing really suits you.”

The statement seemed to surprise Cyann, but Monson continued before she could ask. “I feel like I get to see some of the real you when you dance.”

Monson laughed at himself as he thought of Taris. “I seem to be saying that a lot these days.”

“The real me?” repeated Cyann, her tone growing slightly defensive.

“Yes—the real you. I know you’re not as scary as you’d like people to believe.”

The words just kept spilling out of him like vomit. “The angel in you is trying to get out. It makes me wonder why you keep such a tight lid on her.”

Monson, realizing the cornball line that had just come out of his mouth, pulled another dance move. He took Cyann’s hands together in both of his and then pushed out, only to bring her back to him. In one fluid motion, he stepped towards her taking her hands and pushing them over his head, effectively wrapping them around his neck. Her hands parted and he felt her small fingers glide across the skin of his neck only to clinch and hold fast when they came to rest on his shoulders. He replaced his hands, this time with both of them on her hips, gently guiding their circular swaying. They continued dancing with light steps until Cyann tossed her hair and once again found Monson’s deep blue-gray eyes with her own icy sapphires. “I’m no angel, Monson. Angels don’t live in perpetual darkness.”

Monson answered. “Angels could live in darkness, just as a devil could live in light. Regardless of the angel or devil argument, I think the fire within
you says otherwise. You belong in the light.”

“Such flattering words, Mr. Grey, but you don’t know anything of the darkness of my heart—”

“All people have darkness, Cyann. But you’re forgetting that all people also have light. We have the choice to walk in either the light or dark and the power to choose our destination.”

Cyann sighed. “You sound like a fortune cookie. So what about you, Monson, do you choose to walk in the light?”

Monson gripped her more tightly, moving his hands along her waist. He whispered, “Well…to be honest, I’ve always been scared of the dark.”

She sighed a second time. “I guess we’re opposites, then. You are the light and I am the dark. Two things that can never touch.”

“We’re touching right now Cyann, and I can promise you this....”

Monson pulled her body across his and dipped her, still holding her close to him. “I promise that if you ever find yourself in real darkness...I will find you; I will find you and pull you into the light.”

They held each other’s gaze and Monson watched in disbelief as tears formed at the corners of Cyann’s eyes. She spoke in such a low voice that he almost had to read her lips. “Idiot. What does that even mean?”

Monson shook his head. “I don’t know, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

Monson swung her upright, hearing a slight sniff as he did. He gently wrapped both of his hands around her head, cupping her face slightly.

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time.” Monson swept his thumbs across her cheeks, pushing away her rapidly rolling tears.

She placed her own hands on his wrists and then looked at him.

Monson’s breath caught as Cyann Harrison…Cyann Harrison…smiled.

***

Somewhere in the background, Casey’s song ended and movement announced the start of another song. Monson guided Cyann back to the table he and the others had claimed at the beginning of the dance. Fortunately, none of the others were anywhere to be seen. The last thing he needed right now was ribbing from Casey and Artorius. 

Monson reached into his pocket and pulled out his green handkerchief. The cloth jumped out with a jerk, but it was not the only thing. The still-broken chain with his grandfather’s stone slapped to the floor with a small ping. Cyann picked it up and held it out to him.

“You know, I’ve always wondered about this little stone of yours. Where did you get it?”

Monson was relieved to realize that she was back to her normal self. The time on the dance floor had granted them some sort of moment; a moment that Monson was not prepared to think about right now.

“Molly gave it to me,” said Monson. “It was my grandfather’s.”

Cyann’s focus flickered back and forth from Monson to the stone. She held it up to the dim light. “It’s beautiful. Where did your grandfather get it?”

Monson shrugged. “I’m not sure. Molly just gave it to me when I came here. She never told me where it came from.”

This last statement seemed to stick to the tip of his tongue, the sensation of it moving up his nose and back up into his brain. The statement startled him because he could not believe that he had never given the stone’s
origin
any thought before now. How had that happened?

Cyann pointed to the stone and its chain. “Why were you keeping it in your pocket?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to get it fixed, just haven’t had a chance yet.”

She examined the chain then looked at him thoughtfully. “Fixed? Why would you do that?”

In one smooth motion, Cyann draped the chain holding the silver stone around her neck. Her hands fiddled briefly and
then were
back at her sides as the necklace dangled from her neck, the silver gray of the stone gleaming regally against the blue of her dress.