The House of Grey- Volume 2

by Collin Earl

  Monson, not wanting to give Indigo any encouragement, followed suit, watching ruefully. Monson had initially suspected that Artorius was at a disadvantage; his team was smaller, slower and noticeably less talented. The longer the game went on, however, the more obvious the difference in abilities. Artorius and his team were receiving a good old-fashioned beating.

  Did Able do this on purpose? Monson wondered.

  A whistle blew and the two sides retreated to their respective sidelines. Artorius was visibly upset. He gestured angrily as he talked to the older guys on his team. They all seemed reluctant to speak to him.

  “There’s something wrong with this picture,” noted Monson, as he continued to watch the interactions between Artorius and his team.

  “You noticed, too,” said Casey contemplatively. “Artorius’ team isn’t as good; that much is obvious….”

  Casey’s voice trailed off.

  Monson waited for the rest of Casey’s thought, which did not come. Casey stared across the field as a very curious look crept across his face. Suddenly he turned to Monson and then turned back, his expression noticeably more confused.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” said Monson, leaning forward and looking back towards his friend.

  “How cheesy are you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Thought you wanted to know what I was thinking.”

  “Changed my mind.”

  Casey chuckled, but his gaze did not shift from the field. The game resumed and the pounding recommenced, with many of Artorius’ teammates recipients of some exceptionally hard hits. Monson was right; the other team seemed too good. Despite the performance of his teammates, Artorius was impressive. He was incredibly fast for someone so large and his hits appeared to have all the impact of a freight train. Yet Monson still had a feeling that something was out of place.

  “Casey, is there something that I’m —”

  A particularly loud outbreak of noise from the surrounding crowd interrupted Monson. It sounded like someone was calling his name. When he looked around, however, he saw no one.

  “What was that, Grey?” asked Casey, who seemed not to have noticed anything. “Weren’t you saying something?”

  “Yeah…,” Monson answered distractedly as he searched for the source of his uneasiness. “I was just asking about the match. I don’t know much about football, yet something about this just seems...off. You know what I mean?”

  Casey looked at Monson, sarcasm all over his face. “Something about the ‘match’ is ‘off’?.”

  Monson sighed. “I guess I was hoping you would be able to put into words what I was feeling.”

  Casey raised his eyebrow.

  “Oh shut it, you know what mean.”

  Their laughter came in a burst. Casey’s gaze switched back to the game and just then, Monson noticed something.

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re so attentive.”

  A cute blonde with her hair up in a half-ponytail chatted with friends on the far side of the field. Now, Monson could not be sure, but it appeared that Casey had been watching the striking albeit frustrating blonde.

  “You were totally spying on Kylie,” whispered Monson so Indigo and Cyann could not hear him, not that they were paying any attention.

  “No, I wasn’t,” muttered Casey, sounding annoyed. “I can’t help that she just happens to be in my line of sight.”

  “You’re totally in love.”

  “You’re senile.”

  “Just admit it.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “You should just go make out with her; you’ll feel better.”

  “Did you really just say that?”

  Monson laughed again.

  “Monson?” Indigo interrupted them.

  “Yeah,” replied Monson, shifting from the scowling Casey and focusing on Indigo, who also appeared to be scowling now.

  “I think someone is trying to get your attention.” She pointed up the sideline towards one of the end zones.

  Confused, Monson again leaned out around Casey and saw a girl with strawberry blonde hair sitting among a huge group of upperclassmen. They were engaged in a variety of activities, some typing on laptops, some just lounging, while others talked privately, wrapped together under blankets they really didn’t need in this weather. There were two or three boys doing their best to seize the attention of the female football groupies, with little success. Most weren’t even watching the game. Monson’s eyes searched Taris Green’s face. She looked slightly frustrated, but smiled as their eyes met.

  “Taris?” murmured Monson, not loud enough for anyone to hear. “Now what are you up to...?”

  He smiled back at her and mouthed the word “Hi.”

  Taris appeared to giggle and then held up something.

  “What are you trying to show me? Oh, I see.”

  It was a phone. Monson pulled out his own school-issued phone and saw he had a new message. Monson pushed the Message button feeling a touch of apprehension.

  FROM: My Princess

  hey snobby boy ;) why dont u

  talk to me anymore?

  ur gonna hurt a

  princess’s feelings…

  thats not very nice :(

  4:33 pm

  Snobby boy? What was that all about? Monson re-read the message, and made a mental note to change her name in his phone. He hit Reply.

  To: My Princess

  what r u talking about?

  i talk to u every time

  i c u…ur just too

  popular to notice...

  i understand…

  i guess a little duck

  like me gets lost

  in a pond this size :/

  4:34 pm

  FROM: My Princess

  well u know what

  that means right?

  4:35 pm

  He looked over at her, his eyebrow raised.

  To: My Princess

  no i dont have a clue

  4:36 pm

  FROM: My Princess

  it means that either

  u dont c me enough

  or maybe we need

  to find a smaller pond ;) haha

  4:37 pm

  Monson gasped quite dramatically. What on earth was wrong with this girl? Why was she flirting with him?

  Monson stared at her in disbelief. Taris was talking to a boy just behind her. She wore an overtly flirtatious smile. Monson’s eyes narrowed. You devil woman. How many men have you deceived?

  Monson caught his reflection in the screen of his phone. He sighed. What was this girl thinking? He glanced up again and chuckled as he saw who was trying to get Taris’ attention. Monson’s fingers hit the keypad of his phone.

  To: My Princess

  looks like u have

  company…watch out!

  4:40 pm

  He snickered again as Taris finally looked up. Wrapped up in her texting and conversation, Taris had failed to notice Derek Dayton standing in front of her and attempting to get her attention.

  She glanced at him as he sat down next to her, a look of polite interest on her face. Meanwhile, without even glancing down, her fingers were moving at top speed. Monson reached for his phone.

  FROM: My Princess

  bleh! :/

  4:41 pm

  Monson laughed again, but made a mental note as he realized that something about Taris bothered him. A real smile? Does this girl have a real smile?

  “You look like you’re having fun.”

  Monson gave a little start and scolded himself silently. He knew, just knew, that he was sitting there grinning like an idiot. He reluctantly turned to see Cyann staring at him.

  “Weren’t you just sitting over there a minute ago?” asked Monson, confused and slightly unsettled. Cyann’s eyes felt like they were penetrating his skull; it was a bit disconcerting. She cocked her head, nodding towards the direction from which she came. Monson twisted to see a group of boys whose names he did not know sitting next to I
ndigo and chatting her up. And while Indigo didn’t seem to mind at all, Casey looked like he was going to punch someone.

  “Trying to avoid the rush, huh?” commented Monson, now understanding the reason that Cyann moved. “Being popular must be tough.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Cyann continued to watch her sister. “Indigo is much more of a people person than I am. Most people are scared of me.”

  “How’s that relevant?” asked Monson. “I’d be willing to bet those guys wanted to talk to you just as much as they wanted to talk to her. You are the mysterious one, after all.”

  To his surprise, Cyann actually laughed. It was not a pleasant sound, but hard, with an almost cruel twinge to it. The sound set Monson’s nerves on edge.

  “Oh, you don’t believe me?”

  She shook her head and finally took her eyes off her sister. She met his gaze with defiance and sadness. The sadness caught him off-guard.

  “Well, if you don’t believe me,” chided Monson in a soft voice. Honestly, he was not sure what he should say to get his point across. “I suggest you look behind you.”

  It was a gamble, but if it paid off it would prove his point nicely. He was confident for some reason; he just knew what she would see.

  Cyann peered over her shoulder for a moment and appeared genuinely speechless when she turned back around.

  “You’re more popular than you think,” he remarked.

  Cyann stared determinedly forward.

  Monson did a quick take over his shoulder to see what had caught Cyann’s attention. He saw a couple of upperclassmen with bright red faces talking in hushed voices.

  Oddly enough, after this little exchange and despite it being quite warm, Cyann put on her rather heavy jacket. She wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl, then righted herself and turned back towards the game.

  “I told you,” said Monson. “It must be hard to be so universally admired; you know I should get your autograph.”

  “You’re one to talk,” said Cyann, still staring straight ahead. “I saw who you were texting, you know. Taris Green...aren't you the lucky guy.”

  It was Monson’s turn to go red…deep red. He managed to compose himself and was pleased to find his voice did not reflect any of his embarrassment.

  “It's not even the same,” he said, trying his best at a nonchalant response. “Taris is the go-between for the Horum Vir and the Student Senate. It’s her job.”

  Cyann’s look became a mix of skepticism and triumphant victory. “My Princess?”

  “Oh, that’s just unfair. I didn’t put her name in there like that.”

  “Sure, Romeo. Who would’ve thought you were so poetic?”

  Monson brought his hand up swiftly. “Here.”

  Cyann actually flinched; though it was nothing more than a blink of the eyes, Monson could tell she was angry with herself for it. Her anger quickly turned to confusion when Monson handed her a bottle of water.

  “What’s this?”

  Monson smiled at her. “Drink it. You’re thirsty.”

  Cyann took the bottle, apparently too surprised for further argument. Monson tried not smile, but the expression on her face was absolutely priceless.

  They settled into a huffy silence, focusing their attention on the game. Monson chastised himself for almost forgetting about it and Artorius. At that moment, a stream of swear words came pouring out of Casey.

  “Casey….”

  “I get it now, Grey,” he said, not explaining his outburst. “You were right.”

  The crowd let out a collective moan, cutting off Casey. Something was happening; something horrible enough to force many of the spectators to hide their eyes.

  “Oh no,” said Monson, looking at the middle of the muddy field. “Is that Artorius?” He peered at a muddy lump emerging from the bottom of a rather enthusiastic dog pile. From the disconnected conversations around him, Monson put together what had happened. Apparently, Artorius was blindsided by one of the larger members of the opposite squad, who had hit him so hard that Artorius’ helmet popped off.

  Now paying close attention, Monson, Casey, Indigo and Cyann watched the football players line up on the ball.

  “Hut, Hut,” yelled the quarterback, as a receiver started jogging parallel to the line. “Hike!”

  BOOM!

  It happened again. Monson thought he heard the wind come out of Artorius as a huge player crushed him into the ground. Artorius’ own player completely missed the block. It was then that Monson caught an exchange of small, malicious grins and an almost unnoticeable high-five between the two team captains. Monson suddenly realized—

  “They’re doing this on purpose!” he exclaimed, looking over at Coach Able, who had the same small grin on his face.

  “Doing what?” Casey spoke sharply. His gaze shifted to match Monson’s, both now watching Coach Able.

  “They are trying to hurt Artorius.” Monson looked on in horror. “Able is probably trying to get back at me for giving him so much flak.”

  “We have to stop this,” Casey replied, catching on. “Next time Artorius gets to the sideline we have to try to talk to him.”

  They both stood up. Indigo and her suitors followed, apparently thinking that Monson and Casey were trying to give Artorius some sort of emotional support.Monson started to move towards Able, fully intending to punch the man. He would probably be expelled, but it would be worth it. He had gone too long without friends to allow them to take a beating like this. Especially when it was his fault.

  It was then, in that moment of heated emotion, that it hit him. It was the same feeling…the harsh and dangerous feeling. Fear rapidly gripped him as the dangerous sensation began overpowering his better judgment. Monson tried vainly to pull away from it, to fight, but he was scared of the feeling. Scared to find out what it meant. His fear told him not to retreat, but Monson hit the tipping point, plummeting into the chasm of foreign emotion. He no longer had control of his thoughts and emotions.

  He emerged and felt nothing. There was no guilt, fear or pity. There was nothing—just cold, hard, dangerous…power.

  Monson once more started towards Coach Able, who was now on the opposite side of the field, having run across it during a small break in the action. Monson closed the distance. He didn’t care if everyone was watching or how much power this Able had. The man was going to pay; he was going to pay dearly.

  Without warning, Monson felt a weird burning. It was as if a thin layer of fire was circling and moving down his body. He felt it in his arms, legs and neck. Pain wrapped him in a cocoon of fiery agony and drove the danger, the anger, the power, the hatred from him. The rage left, but the pain brought other things to his mind.

  Screams of women and children pierced his veiled mind as mangled bodies burned and smoldered, marinating in pools of deep crimson liquid. The sounds and images felt distant but distinct—but there was no time to process them. Never enough time. A new collection of voices yelling his name and consciousnesses pressing down on his emerged. The voices were familiar, but drifted in and out, high to low, like males and females were taking turns. The chorus of voices became deafening, egging on a final surge of pain that ripped the thoughts and images from him. Everything went silent.

  Monson slumped towards the ground. In his haze he let himself wonder. Is everything dual-natured like pain? Pain was his savior from the rage, but he was weak…so weak.

  Two pairs of powerful hands caught him before he hit the hard ground. He opened his eyes as emotion—his emotion—returned. All of the unfamiliar feelings were gone now, sucked out of him. No, not sucked out, but cast aside—almost as if they had never existed. He felt born again. Refreshed; renewed. On one side of him stood Casey looking concerned, while Artorius, still covered in mud, held up his other side.

  A sweet voice breathed words of comfort in his ear, giving him strength. The voice suddenly left, and all was quiet.

  Sound sharply returned; someone was speaking his name.

&n
bsp; “Grey? Are you all right?” asked Artorius in a voice barely higher than a whisper. “Do we need to take you to the medical wing?”

  “Arthur?” said Monson weakly. “Arthur…they…they’re trying to…hurt you. I’m so sorry....”

  “I know,” said Artorius. “But don’t worry.”

  Monson was hearing the words and processing them. He felt. He could feel.

  “What? How am I not supposed to worry?”

  Artorius smiled. “Don’t worry, because I won’t lose.”

  Monson stared at him. Artorius, you big dumb oaf, you’re going to get yourself killed.

  Killed…killed…echoed over and over again in his mind.

  His arm felt a reassuring pressure. Monson turned his head to see Casey, who gave him a warm smile. Monson did his best to return it.

  They settled him back on the bleachers, where Indigo and even Cyann looked concerned. A number of others seemed to be interested in what was going on as well. Artorius made sure that Monson was stable before returning to the sideline.

  “Hey Grey!” he shouted as he started to walk back towards the huddle.

  “Yeah?”

  Artorius looked back over his shoulder and smiled.

  “Don’t call me Arthur!”

  That particular huddle seemed to last a lifetime. There was a lot of gesturing and frantic waving. It was apparent Artorius’ teammates were angry, but why they were angry was the question. Finally, the players lined up on the ball. More angry muttering echoed from all around, this time from some of the spectators. People seemed to be complaining about the tenacity of this freshman and how ridiculous it was that the tryout was even taking place. Glaring looks came in spades as a receiver went into motion. Artorius came out from his position behind the defensive line and lined up.

  “Hut, Hut, HIKE!”

  Artorius burst off the line like a thundering bull, bending slightly as his hands collided with his opponent’s chest. The two players stood motionless, locked for the briefest of seconds. Then, with a surge of strength so palpable it was as if the very ground was shaking, Artorius sent the much larger opponent flying back several yards. He hit the mud, slid and did not get up. A collective gasp arose from the crowd. Shocked by this turn of events, a wide receiver coming in for a block was less than a yard from Artorius, and could not adjust his pace. Artorius caught him with a beefy arm. Smack! Artorius laid him out flat with a clothesline, the wide receiver doing a theatrical back flip like in a martial arts movie. He grunted, the air rushing out of his lungs as he hit the ground. Unfazed, Artorius went after the quarterback, knocking down two linemen in his way. When he reached the quarterback, Artorius absolutely crushed him.