The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter Eight

The class is silent as we file out of Theory, every head bowed in deep concentration, going over and over the new facts Will has provided.

For me, it's almost impossible to accept the facts. I've always been a sceptic, shying away from the supernatural, labelling the entire category with a thick, black marker reading; '
Scientifically Impossible
.' But now I have to face the fact that my strong, seemingly unshakeable scientific convictions have been wrong all along.

How can I deny the evidence when the evidence is me?

My body is an impossibility within the realms of physics – it should cease to live and yet it continues. And in order to keep myself 'alive', in the truest sense of the word, I must feed on human blood.

Will had mentioned that no substitute for real blood has yet been found; Immortal scientists from around the globe have dedicated their efforts to creating synthetic forms but none of them – not a single one – has worked.

Only pure human blood provides us with the nutrients and specific oxygen we need. 

A fifteen minute break between classes finds me in Tia's favourite common room, smoking a cigarette on 'Tia's sofa' as she waits impatiently for a third year friend. Finally, she arrives; a tall red-haired girl with big eyes hurrying towards us, holding a plastic folder. She skirts around the other students, clutching the ring-binder to her chest as if it holds the key to eternal happiness.

She squats down beside Tia, her dark blue eyes glinting with excitement. Tia leans in, eyeing the plastic folder hungrily. I sit up a little straighter, my curiosity sparked.

'Did you get it?' Tia's voice is low and secretive.

'Yes,' The red-head hisses, nodding animately. Her sparkling eyes dart to mine and she hesitates, a worried expression flitting across her face. Tia turns to me, suddenly remembering my presence, and splutters with embarrassment.

'Oh, sorry!' She grins sheepishly, placing a hand on my shoulder. 'Meredith, this is Eve, my new room mate. Well, I'm Mentoring her, as you know,' She adds proudly.

'Eve, this is Meredith Draper. She's on the Social Activities Committee; she helps organise all the social functions and events.' Tia explains, as if I'm so socially backward I can't work out what a Social Activities Committee is.

'Pleased to meet you.' I smile politely, trying not to stare at the ring binder. 

'We could show Eve, couldn't we?' Tia asks Meredith carefully. 'She's not going to tell anyone.' Meredith shrugs, reaching into the folder and pulling out a sheet of standard A4 paper. She hands it to Tia whose eyes widen in wonder.

'Oh, it's perfect!' She gushes, her face flooding with pleasure. I crane my neck over Tia's shoulder, desperate to see the miracle for myself.

In large, fuchsia letters; a single sentence heads the page and I read aloud in a hushed, anxious voice.

'The Gray Institute presents the bi-annual First Year Ball...'

I stop reading.

'Is this what all the fuss is about?!' I snort, rolling my eyes. I immediately regret my off-hand comment when I catch sight of Meredith's hurt expression. Tia's huffs with indignation as she clutches the poster proto-type protectively.

'For your information, Eve Ryder, this is a very significant event!' Tia protests, poised to defend. She glares steadily at me, her eyes squinted in attack. 'Especially for you! You're a first year, this is for your benefit! And I'll have you know that this is my first time attending it as a Mentor, I'm very excited, and you should be too!' She looks set to burst into tears and I feel a surge of guilt. Just because I think the First Year Ball is stupid, doesn't mean Tia feels the same way.

'You're right. I'm sorry, Tia,' I nod sincerely, brushing my hand gently against hers. 'It is important to me. I'm sure it will be... wonderful.' I force a smile, knowing how false it looks, but Tia seems satisfied.

'I knew you'd come around.' She nods. I draw myself slowly out of the conversation as Tia and Meredith talk ball gowns and decorations, and I take the opportunity to study the other students. They hover self-consciously in their various groups; most are made up by years, the only exceptions being the first and third years on account of the Mentors.

I don't recognise many faces; Tomos O'Brien and Coleen Musgrave stand intimately by the door, the dark-haired boy with the green flash in his eyes drags on a cigarette by the window and – to my surprise – Islwyn Griffith stands in the corner, clutching a mug of something and laughing with a pretty third year.

The common room door swings open, narrowly missing O'Brien's shoulder, and another familiar – albeit unwelcome – figure steps into the room.

Malachy Beighley surveys the crowd with his cold blue eyes; studying each student thoughtfully, like a serpent hunting its prey. His body is poised with an aura of confidence, his ego projected into every corner of the room. I feel a ripple of annoyance, a prickling of irritation beneath my skin.

I watch in disbelief as a first year boy – his innocent face twitching with anxiety – approaches Malachy hesitantly and greets him, inviting him to join he and his first year friends. The boy is nervous and insecure as his friends look on, muttering amongst themselves, watching with baited breath as their brave friend attempts to secure a connection with Malachy Beighley.

Malachy barely glances at the first year and swats the boy aside like a bad smell, stepping around him and continuing on his path. It's heartbreaking to watch the boy's hurt, embarrassed face as he skulks back to his friends – all of whom laugh and make fun of him. I feel a surge of anger in my stomach and project it towards Malachy, shooting daggers with my eyes at his lean frame.

'Unbelievable!' I mutter, a little too loudly. The flow of conversation between Tia and Meredith stems as both turn to stare at me with perplexed expressions. They follow my line of sight, trying to single out the perpetrator of my anger.

'What?' Tia frowns.

'Him!' I nod in Malachy's direction. The moment Meredith's eyes land on Malachy, she jerks her head violently away, glaring strangely at me, her body stiff. Tia's response is less dramatic, but similarly odd as she smiles knowingly at Meredith.

'Who is he?' I frown, exasperated. I would like, more than anything, a simple explanation as to why everybody – including tutors – act so bizarrely when faced with Malachy Beighley. For the most part, they act fearful; bowing their heads, avoiding eye contact and crossing the hall when they see him coming. Others stare in wonder as he pretends not to notice them, remaining safely in his bubble of self-adoration. Or – like Meredith – they become flustered, both attempting to blend in with the wallpaper
and
grab his attention.

'Malachy Beighley.' Tia replies non-committally, her attention focussed once again on the First Year Ball poster.

'I know his name,' I reply impatiently, eyeing Malachy as he makes quiet small talk with a third year boy. 'I mean who is he within the Institute? What's his position?'

'Oh,' Tia nods, returning her interest to my topic of conversation. She leans towards me conspiratorially. 'He doesn't have one, not officially. Technically he's just a third year, like me. He should be a Mentor but Sir Alec and...' Tia hesitates, glancing towards Islwyn Griffith.

'Sir Alec decided it would be unnecessary added pressure.' She finishes lamely, withdrawing into herself and avoiding my stare.

She's hiding something, too scared to speak in front of prying ears. Meredith shrinks until her back hits the wooden panels of the chair.    

'Added pressure to what?' I press, tugging on Tia's tight fitted jeans. What added responsibilities did Malachy have that would make Mentoring an unnecessary pressure? Why did someone who seemingly provided the Institute with no knowledge or skill have such power over its residents?  

'Well – ' Tia squirms, glancing to Meredith for support who outright ignores her. 'He comes from a very important family – '

'Tia!' Meredith hisses, looking outraged. She widens her eyes, glancing at Islwyn and a group of third years congregated close to us.   

'Eve, I'm really not supposed to tell you any of this,' Tia shakes her head, her tone final, closing the conversation. 'It interferes with your education and as your Mentor, it's my responsibility to ensure that is top priority.'

'Tia, are you serious?' I frown, trying not to laugh. Tia blinks at me innocently.

'Yes, Eve. You're supposed to be taught this by a qualified and knowledgeable Professor. Since I am neither it would be inappropriate for me to discuss it with you – '

'Tia, stop using that stupid voice – '

' – You'll be taught about it in your next Theory lesson anyway.' She snaps, cutting off any attempts I make to question her. 

'Theory?' I frown, glancing once more at Malachy Beighley, who nods reservedly at Islwyn across the room. How can Malachy – a third year student – be important enough to warrant being taught about him in Theory? It doesn't make any sense and I churn Tia's sentences over in my mind, trying to make sense of them.

Malachy comes from an important family. Perhaps he's related to Sir Alec? It would explain his privileges, skipping mentoring and the students' and Professors' fearful attitude towards him. It would also explain his status as higher than even Ms Fall.

Perhaps Malachy is Sir Alec's son?

The bizarre thought crosses my mind and I shake my head to clear it

'Malachy wouldn't care.' Tia hisses at Meredith, trying to look nonchalant but instead looking scared.

'Lucrezia would report you.' Meredith mutters darkly, moving subtly away from Tia.

'Lucrezia?' I frown, jumping back a little as they hush me loudly.

'Malachy's twin sister!' Tia hisses through clenched teeth. I suddenly remember the Female-Malachy who sat on Ms Fall's other side during the meeting.

Tia's face is panic stricken and – as she casts nervous glances about the common room – I feel sorry for her and pat her knee reassuringly.

'You didn't say anything,' I whisper gently. 'You haven't told me anything. You won't get into trouble.' I assure her, hoping my words are true.

I study both Tia and Meredith as sheer panic and regret floods their faces and I can't help but wonder why fear seems to be such a common trait amongst Institute students. What are they so afraid of? What punishments await rule breakers? What sort of world had I entered where students are controlled by bizarre and obscure rules?

Or perhaps Tia and Meredith are simply being over-dramatic, lacking in gossip and desperate for some drama. Neither would surprise me.

*

I'm discouraged to find that my third class of the day is One-To-One, to be held in the lower chambers of the Institute. Unlike Theory class, I won't be able to sit amongst the relative safety of my peers and hide behind their bold but stupid questions.

One-To-One would be all about me; a notion – since leaving my parents' house – I'm unfamiliar with. 

The chambers are the easiest part of the Institute – so far – to find. The key – I discover – is to keep heading down, continuing on even as the population of students begins to wan and I find myself entirely alone in the eerie, candlelit corridors.

The luxurious and expensive decorum found on every floor above ground is non-existent below the earth. Firelight dances across bare stone walls as my footsteps echo through empty rooms. Old wooden torches blaze in wrought iron brackets above my head, doing nothing to fight off the sudden temperature drop.

A stone maze in no particular pattern leads me to a chipped wooden door. I sense no presence beyond it and I hesitate, wondering whether to let myself in. 

After waiting what feels like long enough; I relent, twisting the iron doorknob, reeling back as the old hinges creak and screech. Firelight flickers beyond the threshold – a reassuring sign that I'm in the right place – and I step into a small box room. 

A single wooden table, cracked with age, and two rickety chairs stand in the centre of the room, and just beyond them is another closed door. 

My timetable reads: