The House of Grey- Volume 5 (14 page)

Monson smiled. “You fixed it?”

Cyann shook her head. “No, it wasn’t broken.”

He rubbed his face. “That’s impossible. I could have sworn I broke it.”

“Master Grey,” sounded a distinctly female voice.

Monson and Cyann turned just in time to see Grayson and Marie coming up to their table. Monson rounded on Grayson.

“Where have you been?”

“You’re awfully testy for someone in the company of such a fine woman.”

Grayson grasped thin air in an attempt to tip a nonexistent hat. “Ms. Harrison.”

“Hello…Grayson, was it?”

“Yes ma’am, and this here is my date, Marie Delastar.”

Marie curtsied politely. “Ms. Harrison. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cyann cocked her head, her curtain of shiny black hair rippling. She stared curiously at Marie as if she was not sure what to say.

Marie smiled a second time and rushed to Cyann’s side. Surprised, Cyann hardly had time to react before Marie was right next to her.

“Master Grey, isn’t this your necklace?”

“Yes, Marie—why do you ask?”

Marie glanced back at him deviously, but addressed Cyann. “This looks lovely on you, Ms. Harrison. Gray certainly goes wonderfully with blue. They really complement each other.”

“Thank you, Marie. It is a beautiful stone.”

“I’ve always thought gray went much better with green.”

Damion Peterson materialized out of thin air. Monson gawked at him, wondering how long he had been standing there. Damion stood a few feet back with his hands clenched tightly.

Marie glanced sharply towards Damion, her interest momentarily piqued, but turned back to the stone as if he was not worth her time.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to disagree with you, Mr. Peterson. Gray and blue are much better suited to each other.”

Damion did not reply to Marie but addressed Cyann instead. “Come on Cyann, there are only a few songs left and I want to dance a bit more.”

Cyann nodded, not looking at the others at the table. Monson zeroed in on Damion, realizing that if he was here then Taris should also be available. Monson did a
double-take
when he noticed Damion’s eye.

“Damion—what happened to your face?”

Looking closely now, Monson could see the faint outline of a
handprint.Monson
and Damion locked eyes until Damion’s arm wrapped around Cyann. “Your girlfriend has always had a mean right hook. Thankfully she only slapped me this time.”

Damion guided Cyann away without another word, leaving Monson too shocked to object.

***

“Umm…I think I need to find Taris,” Monson quickly said to Marie and Grayson.

“Try the level one outer balcony.” Grayson pointed upward. “That’s where you’ll find her.”

Monson cocked the eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

Grayson raised his eyebrow in return. “Do you really need to ask?’

Monson was about to dispute the point but let it die. Arguing was not going to get him anywhere.

“First level outer balcony?” he repeated.

Grayson and Marie nodded. Monson dipped his head once and was about to shoot out of there when the sound of Marie’s voice stopped him.

“Wait a moment.” Marie rushed to his side and handed him his jacket. “Take this. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Monson tossed the jacket over his arm and took off, waving a “thanks” as he rushed to one of the many staircases in the Coliseum.

He bounded up the stairs, dodging groups of friends and kissing couples. The upper deck was generally off-limits to the students. No one really knew the reason why they weren’t allowed, and students complained incessantly about it. But apparently there were a few times when this rule was relaxed. Monson was now moving at a frantic pace. Twice he knocked someone down and came close two other times. He stopped himself after the last
near-miss
, pausing to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

Taris slapped the Diamond? Taris slapped Damion. What sort of crazy world were they living in? Monson was trying not to jump to conclusions but seriously, what other conclusion was available?
Only Taris Green
possessed the nerve to do something like that. The question was, why?

Monson grimaced. The question was always why. In truth, the reason for that slap did not seem as mysterious as it once might have. It was about time that he and Taris had a serious talk.

The vibration of his phone startled him. He opened it to see a text from Grayson.

“One more thing. When we saw Taris, she was crying pretty hard. Proceed with caution. We wouldn’t want another mishap.”

Monson pocketed his phone. Leave it to Grayson to think about magic at a time like this. He paused to consider Grayson’s admonition. He again pulled out his phone, navigating to his photos. He tapped a file labeled Remember. Monson touched the first picture that loaded, a shot of the Atrium’s fountain. It showed the fountain in pristine order, the delicate sprouts of water glistening. Monson smiled as he looked at the picture. He took a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes before he tapped the next icon on his phone. The picture was exactly the same as the last, the same lighting, angle, distance, even the same time of day—with one stark difference. The fountain was completely frozen.

Monson closed his eyes for a second time and took another deep, calming breath. Grayson was right. He had to make sure his emotions were under control. After everything he had been through in the last year, it was no wonder that he sometimes found himself a bit on edge. He had to keep it under control. Thinking of Dawn’s warning to keep his emotions in check, he thought he would first talk to him about Taris. Only Dawn, for some reason, was not answering his calls.

Odd, thought Monson. What’s your deal, Dawn?

He was not that concerned. If he tried, really tried, Dawn’s presence echoed, but from a distance. It felt disconnected.

Monson rolled his eyes. It looked like he was going to have to figure it out himself. Counting to ten, breathing deeply, and rubbing his temples helped to take the edge off. Maybe he would try some yoga later. He felt much calmer, at least until he saw something that thoroughly pissed him off.

Monson stopped in his tracks, aghast at what he was witnessing. Christy Wayne and Boston Timberland were attacking each other’s lips like a fat man attacks an unsuspecting Twinkie. They were not so much kissing but attempting to consume each other’s faces. Monson watched, bug-eyed. He sneered. If everyone looked that ridiculous when they kissed, maybe he would pass on the whole thing.

Without realizing it, Monson found himself walking towards Boston. He needed to find Taris; he wanted to find Taris. Nevertheless, he owed Boston, and Monson was not one to default on a debt. It was a bad business practice; Molly said so.

He walked right up to Boston and Christy and waited for them to notice him. It took them only a moment to do so.

Christy’s expression transformed from blushing delight to sheer horror. “Monson...you…what are you doing?”

“Relax Christy,” said Monson calmly. “I don’t have any beef with you. Disappointed in your choice of boyfriends, but to each his own. No, I’m here to see him.”

Monson pointed at Boston, the latter sneering outrageously. Monson surveyed him calmly. “I have a question for you, Boston.”

“Yes, Mr. Horum Vir,” replied Boston with a certain level of distaste. “What can I do for you?”

“I just want you to answer my question, honestly if you possibly could. That will determine what happens next.”

Boston did not answer, so Monson continued, uttering only one word.

“Cyann.”

Boston rolled his eyes. “Oh that. You see, little freshman Horum Vir whose name isn’t important enough to remember, that little bi—”

A sudden flash of anger boiled over Monson. He punched Boston cleanly across the face, dropping
him.The
anger pulsed within him.

“You dare. You dare! Don’t you even think....
”

The words were leaving him, falling away with all rational thought. Monson attempted to regain control while Boston Timberland stared at him, stared with over-large eyes as blood ran down his nose, mixing with a few tears.

“You! Do you know who I am? I’m Boston Timberland. You won’t—you can’t—YOU—”

“Boston, I know exactly who you are. You just said it. But my name was not important enough to remember. It’s Monson Grey. Remember it well, because if you ever say anything, if you ever even think about Cyann Harrison again, I will find you and make you regret it.”

“You’re threatening me?”

Monson shook his head. “Not a threat Boston, only cold hard fact. Try anything like you did earlier again. And you will pay. I will see to it.”

Monson, showing his back to Christy and Boston, walked away. He wanted to say more; actually he wanted to do more, like beat Boston to an indistinguishable pulp. He had to get away. He had to find Taris.

The image of a crying Taris popped into Monson’s head and pacified him a bit. He rushed to find her.

He sprinted along the endless wraparound hallway of the first balcony floor. There was supposed to be an exit here of some sort, one with a view of the campus and the town. The whistling of wind told him he had found it. A set of huge, highly ornate double doors had been flung open, inviting in a warm and welcome breeze. Framed just outside the doorway sat Taris, crumpled in her creamy white dress. Brokenhearted sobs floated on the breeze, which moments ago felt so inviting. Monson felt the echoes of Taris’ lamentations. He steeled himself.

This time it will be different.

He would not let her suffer alone in the grip of her despair, but should he let her suffer? There was a wealth of new feelings, some revelatory and shocking, others painful and disgusting. He pushed them all aside right now. Whatever the implications of this newfound information, he would deal with it later. Right now, Taris needed him.

Monson moved to her. She did not notice him until he was directly in front of her. Taris looked up with big, broken eyes, convulsing with pain, streaks of tears gouging her normally smooth and beautiful skin. She tried to regain her composure.

Monson took his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, wondering what to say and how tonight’s events had changed things. He spoke the only words that came to him.

“It’s hard to change for someone you love, especially….”

Taris’ face morphed at the words, her eyes widening with guilt. Monson placed his hands on her shoulder.

“Especially when they don’t seem to notice or care.”

Fresh tears gushed from Taris’ bright green eyes as she folded herself into Monson’s arms. Monson simply held her as she wept.

Chapter 53 – Kissing is not a Dirty Word

Monson was acutely aware of how long he held Taris. It was difficult not to be; the river of tears running down her face soaked his dress shirt and undershirt while her trembling shook his very frame. Despite all that, he found that he did not mind. He was unsure what to do for Taris, so he did the only thing that made sense. He held her and let her feel his strength, support and love. Love?
he
thought. Now that’s a heavy word. What did he know about love?

“You must hate me,” sounded Taris’ muffled voice.

Monson squeezed her tighter. “I seem to have a funny way of showing people I hate them.”

Taris sniffed loudly.

“If I hated you right now, think of what I would do to you if I suddenly despised you.”

She sniffed again.

Monson sighed. “Taris, who could ever hate you? You’re Taris Green. Hating you would be like hating…”—he struggled for a comparison—“would be like hating…cake!
I mean come on
,
it’s cake
! No one hates cake. Yeah, they might try not to eat it and it’s not the greatest thing for you, but you still love it.”

Taris let out a mixed squeal, half sob and half giggle. “Are you saying I’m bad for you?”

Monson pulled her away from his chest. She looked terrible. The skin around her eyes was puffy, appearing painful and scorched, while the green emeralds that were always so full of life appeared dull and grainy. Monson realized that he was staring into the chasm of her suffering and that he was
ill-prepared
to deal with it.

“Of course you’re bad for me. My nerves are at the absolute limit. Having you for a friend—it’s exhausting.”

Thankfully, Taris giggled at his inappropriate use of humor. It dramatically improved her appearance.

“Friend? I thought I was your girlfriend!”

Monson laughed as well. “Well, kudos for me then. Girlfriend Taris.”

Her eyes dropped. Monson wondered if he had said something wrong. “Ex-girlfriend Taris,” she said quietly.

Monson laughed again, this time letting the merriment run deep. “That has to be some sort of stupid record. I had a girlfriend for like five seconds. Plus two points to the ex-
girlfriend
as she was able to break up with me using the fewest number of words possible. Now that is impressive.”