The House of Grey- Volume 5 (16 page)

***

Taris pulled away from Monson while the latter simply stood staring dumbfounded. Monson wanted to talk to her, wanted to know why this was happening, but the words did not come. Taris flushed, burning patches of red creeping up her face.

“Taris…I…you…we just….”

Monson’s words, completely inadequate, collapsed into a pointless, formless babble. His heart and head were spinning around in an uncontrolled frenzy. He did not know what to do or say, so he just stood there. Taris took an unsure step back. She looked like a frightened child as she touched her lips in a combination of horror and wonder. She brushed those lips softly with trembling fingertips as if she had just now remembered she had them,
then
she shook her head as if to fight off the air of disbelief surrounding them. She seemed not to notice the sudden movement of her own arms, which she crossed protectively across her chest as one hand clutched at a beating heart. Tears started to well up.

They stood for a moment more until Taris turned from him and broke into a run. Only then did Monson find his voice.

“Taris! No, wait!”

She was gone, disappearing into the crowd of milling students and leaving Monson to his confusion.

“Dude, at the very least you could have waited until you were somewhere a little more private.”

With impeccable timing, Casey and Artorius trotted up to him. The sudden appearance and comments made him blush deeply.

“Shut up Casey. I didn’t know that she was going to…was going to… well, you know.”

“She kissed you, Grey.” Casey slapped him on the shoulder. “Go ‘head and say it; it’s not a dirty word.”

He thought it was improbable, maybe impossible, but sure enough, Casey’s grinning face caused his to turn a deeper shade of red. Monson attempted to redirect them.

“Enough about me, let’s talk about how I should hit you.
The dancing with Cyann thing?
That was your brilliant idea? Me getting up in front of our entire school and making an idiot of myself?”

“Dude, you sound like a chick right now. Stop your bellyaching. You guys owned that like a dance has never been owned before. I’m impressed you remembered that much of the piece; you only saw it once.”

Monson pushed aside Casey’s comment; he was trying not to think about Cyann. “OK, topic change. What’s with the sudden performance? When and where did you learn to play like that? There is no way that you, Kylie and Artorius could just bust that out with no practice or anything.”

Artorius glared, sulking and obviously upset by Monson’s luck with the ladies. “We all went to St. Brown together, Monson. Everyone there was required to learn an instrument. Most opted for the piano, as it had the easiest course schedule. I took up the keyboard and bass; Casey and Kylie tried something else.”

“But that doesn’t explain how you were able to play together without any—”

Artorius cut him off. “That’s what I’m telling you, Grey. We did practice. We practiced together a lot. Do you remember the story I was going to tell you on the very first day of class about Casey and Ky—”

“Arthur!” snapped Casey sharply. “Now is so not the time.”

Artorius groaned. “Case, come on—he’s going to find out eventually.”

“That is beside the point. Plus, she might hear you.” Casey pointed across the room. Kylie Coremack stood slightly pink-faced a fair distance away near the northern exit of the Coliseum. To his surprise, she was not alone, but standing with—

“Cyann?”

Cyann was already looking at him when his eyes found her. The icy, vengeful expression on her countenance cut into him. Monson wondered why she appeared so angry.

Kylie and Cyann exited through the back door together and were quickly out of sight.

The boys watched the two older girls, letting their gazes follow them.

Casey turned to Monson. “Did you know they were friends?”

Monson shook his head. “Sure didn’t. Something weird is going on here.”

Artorius interjected. “You mean besides you making out with Taris Green right after you have the world’s most romantic moment with Cyann Harrison?”

Casey and Monson gawked at Artorius’ bitterness. He sneered.

“I hate you, Grey.”

Monson was about to answer when an echoing scream cut him off. The sound of the scream was excruciatingly painful, shaking him to the very core of his being.

He stumbled to his knees, grabbing at his head. Casey and Artorius were at his side in an instant. The screaming jumped in intensity, the shrill, piercing noise filling his ears. The sound raged hotter in his mind until it abruptly cut off, but not before a voice he did not recognize called out.

“Help me….”

Monson gulped the air around him, drinking it in. Casey and Artorius exchanged concerned looks and were ready to ask what the heck was going on when the dull thud of wheels stopped them.

“Grey!” Monson heard Grayson’s voice, minus his accent. “Grey–snap out of it! Something is wrong!”

Monson felt his mind clear as Grayson and Marie neared, but his mind was far from peaceful. The screaming…who had been screaming?

Monson slowly stood up, intending to look for the source of the screaming. But Marie had other plans. She came upon him so quickly that she almost tackled him. Her hands were sweaty and hot—apparently she and Grayson had been moving quickly—and her touch jarred him. This coupled with her ragged breathing told Monson that right now, he needed to listen to Grayson.

Grayson wasted no time and rolled right up to Monson, Casey and Artorius. Once in reach, he grabbed Monson’s arm tightly and pulled him towards a small, shining screen. Grayson was trying to speak but seemed to be having trouble articulating the problem.

“Grey, we have to go...the Reading, it’s out of control…you don’t understand….”

Monson tried to cut Grayson off. “Grayson, seriously—chill, I can’t understand anything you’re talking about.”

Grayson, still rambling, pointed at a device in his lap. The small gray box looked like one of those old-school portable TVs from the late 1980s. Monson was about to laugh when Grayson finally got his words out.

“The Reading, Grey. This is a Reader.”

That wiped the smile off Monson’s face.

A Reader, the device that H.U.M.A.N.E used to find and track magic users, a device that had brought Grayson and the whole of his organization into Monson’s life, was blinking erratically. Monson dipped down to look at the piece of equipment.

He did not understand the meaning of the lights, numbers and colors that flashed across the Reader’s screen, but he did know what the single climbing line meant.

“Someone is here, right?” Monson asked Grayson. “Someone we aren’t equipped to handle?”

Grayson nodded slowly. “It’s off the charts, Grey. Something extremely powerful is here and spewing power like a nuclear power plant.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Casey gave both Monson and Grayson a bit of a shove. “You guys make it sound like we’re going to be attacked.”

Monson and Grayson shifted to stare back at Casey. As they held his gaze, Casey’s face became increasingly grim.

He gestured towards Artorius. “What aren’t you guys telling us and where did your accent go, Grayson?”

Grayson answered quickly. “It will take too long to explain. Just know that someone with strange abilities is coming this way and they probably don’t intend to make nice.”

Grayson paused briefly to pull out his pocket PC. He started tapping quickly. “Sorry about the accent. When I get excited I forget it sometimes.”

Artorius and Casey stared in slack-jawed confusion.

“I assure you it’s quite real,” said Grayson, slipping back into the southern drawl. “I can just turn it off and on. It’s one of my special talents.”

“Master Grayson, we need to be going. We should call the helicopter before that whatever-it-is comes this way.”

“Wait,” interrupted Monson. “Do you know what direction it’s coming from?”

“Yes, of course. The Reader is quite accurate within a couple of —”

“Where’s the source?”

A thought–one single, terrible, terror-soaked thought—suddenly occurred to Monson.

Marie dipped her head and fiddled with the box.

“Northeast, the power surge is coming from the northeast.”

All the color drained out of Monson’s face. He realized the implications of that particular direction.

Monson faced Casey, the look of foreboding still on his face. “Cyann and Kylie.”

“Ms. Harrison and Ms. Coremack?” Marie started to rummage in a small handbag. “What about them?”

Artorius answered. “They just left through the northern exit.”

Monson and Casey did not say another word but took off, leaving a shouting Marie in their wake.

“Wait, Master Grey!”

Monson did not look back to acknowledge her.

Two minutes later, Casey and Monson burst out of the exit on the northern face of the Coliseum breathing heavily and feeling panicked.

“Where do you think they got off too?” Monson searched desperately. Nothing. He did not see any signs of movement anywhere near the
new lighted
walkway, courtesy of Christopher Baroty. The walkway led to an equally new, huge marble statue display on the northeastern side of the Coliseum.

“Who knows?” panted Casey. “I don’t know where girls go to sulk.”

Thumping footsteps announced the arrival of Artorius. With nothing else to look at, Casey and Monson turned to watch him trot up next to them.

Monson swore aloud. They were wasting time. They had to find the girls. He had to find them before…before that scream erupted again.

Monson started to take off just as Artorius’ massive hand stopped him from going anywhere. “Wait Grey—look.”

A towering column of silver light flooded into the air not fifty yards from where they were standing.

Then Monson heard it again. The scream echoed again in the foreground of his mind. He did not waste any time. He ran.

Moving quickly up the white path, the three boys came to a set of new steps, which they bounded up two at a time. Casey was the first to arrive at the top, where he stopped dead in his tracks.

Monson crested the final step to see…to see…his worst nightmare…had come true.

Black-clad commandos holding wicked science fiction weapons littered Baroty’s new monument to the Roman gods. The commandos were distracted by something amid the silver light streaming over the top of the plateau. Monson tried to see what held them so captivated. One look into the source of the light was all
he needed
.

Cyann and Kylie sat in the middle of a silver bubble of energy with no fewer than ten commandos pointing and poking weapons at them. They shouted angry commands at one another as they attempted to get to the girls, using
long
-bladed weapons to test the shield of silver light. Fortunately, every time the men touched the transparent silver barrier they were tossed back forcefully. Monson focused on the girls, attempting to assess the situation. Kylie looked scared, not by the men surrounding them, but by the prone figure at her feet. Monson felt his heart leap to his throat.

Cyann, the invincible Cyann, lay sprawled on the cool marble, her beautiful blue dress ripped to shreds and her arms covered in some sort of dark oozing substance.

“Blood,” said Monson aloud. “She’s covered in blood.”

A roar, like one never before heard, exploded from Monson Grey. He felt an abrupt, jagged, cutting loss,
one
that resonated deeply within him. His rational mind began to shut down and anger began to overtake him. Echoing laughter inside his head clouded any sense of right and wrong, any sense of morality.

As the familiar anger-infused fire crept over him, Monson glanced at his limbs. A faint light flickered from them.

Shuffling footsteps coupled with the clicks and clacks of locked and loaded weapons made it clear: The commandos were now aware of their presence. As thoughts of planning their attack departed along with their sense of humanity, the boys jumped into action.

Casey shot forward, making use of his blazing speed. The two closest commandos were not fast enough. The first held one of the fairytale-like blades. Casey, not even taking heed of the weapon, raced towards him. A low, heavy kick to the legs threw the commando off-balance, making his predictable counter-thrust sloppy and ineffectual. Casey sidestepped the blow, deflecting the arm of his attacker. There was a loud crack from the commando’s elbow as his weapon popped into the air. Casey finished off the man with a blow to the back of the neck, effectively disabling him. A half-second later the airborne blade landed in Casey’s outstretched hand. It could not have arrived too soon; the second black-clad commando was now just stepping forward, leveling a shining gun. Monson and Casey simultaneously realized that Casey was not going to be able to react in time and that the man with the shiny hand cannon was going to blast Casey to kingdom come.