The House of Grey- Volume 1 (5 page)

The three boys and Molly followed the other new students, who collectively seemed to know where they were going, until they came to the doors of a massive building. The slab outside it said ‘Coliseum’. It resembled a mix between modern architecture and the old Roman Coliseum. The transition between styles was smooth but deliberate, the characteristics of both at times coming together to create something distinct from the individual contributions. It was quite the sight.

"Didn't hold anything back, did they?" came Casey's voice from behind him.

"Kind of intimidating, isn't it?" Monson heard Artorius remark.

Molly was the one who answered. "I think that's the point."

All three boys looked at her, puzzled.

"It all fits, if you think about it," she said, her eyes still on the building.  "This school is the very definition of haughty. Some of the most renowned and talented minds of the last century have either studied or taught here. Very special people, my boys, more special than any of you could know. When you have special people, what better way advertise, than . . . well, this?"

She looked at the boys as she gestured at Coren’s coliseum. "You take the good with the bad. There are some great things that are going to happen here for you, but keep your guard up."

Monson, Casey, and Artorius all looked at her with confusion etched on their faces. Molly noticed their expressions and said, "All I'm saying is that I'm glad the three of you met, Cassius, Artorius, and Monson. The three amigos. It has a sort of ring to it."

"Duh," Casey said, "they totally made a movie about it, but never mind that, how did you know—"

The massive doors of the modern coliseum opened, effectively silencing everyone in the crowd. A man walked toward them, a slight bounce in his step. He was approaching middle age, probably no more than forty, with a little gray in his short, dark hair, and an experienced look about him. He wore a crisp, dark suit and walked with confidence and energy and wore a contagious smile across his face. The man covered the distance to the new students quickly, though probably not quickly enough for the anxious crowd.  He stopped in front of the nervous students.

"Welcome," the man said, giving some of the closer students a little wink. "I am Markin Gatt, a teacher here at Coren and your guide." He bowed slightly to all of them.

"I am here to take you the rest of the way, as the path ahead is somewhat treacherous," he said with a knowing smile.

The man scanned the crowd, still smiling, and lingered for a fraction of a second on Molly, but when Monson looked inquiringly at her he saw no signs of recognition. Maybe he imagined it.

"Parents," the man was now calling out, "you will take the first right upon entering the Coliseum. Proceed up to the second balcony and take your seats there. You will be allowed to meet up with your children after the orientation."

At this announcement, Monson looked around at the parents, who were obviously annoyed, while most of the students looked disheartened at the thought of an assembly. The murmuring that had been rolling through the crowd subsided.

Mr. Gatt, apparently recognizing the looks of incredulity, smiled even wider. "It's tradition; the dean likes to talk to the students alone. He feels that this is a good time to begin the separation process."

"’Separation process?’" Casey said, raising an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"     

Both Artorius and Monson shook their heads, and then all three of the boys looked at Molly. She half-heartedly smiled.

"Speaking of separation," Monson said, as something just then occurred to him, "where are your parents?"

This question received two very different reactions.

"My mom had to jet," Artorius said, unconcerned. "She wanted to be here, but she's a designer and has a show in Paris the day after tomorrow."

"My
guardians
couldn't make it today," Casey said, though he sounded a bit bitter. "Work, you know."

"Now, if there aren't any questions," Monson heard Mr. Gatt saying, "all the new students will follow me."

Monson, Artorius, and Casey picked up their belongings and followed the vast wave of students in front of them.

The students entered the building and followed Mr. Gatt down a series of hallways until they came to another set of double doors labeled "The Inner Chambers." Somehow the doors opened from the inside as the group approached. Everyone filed in, and instantly, excited muttering broke out.

The Inner Chambers were magnificent. The room was circular, with a large raised stage at the front. Boxed seating sat on raised platforms, which descended at even intervals
to the middle of the oversized space, where a huge stage stood. Large silk banners bathed in crimson with the Coren University symbol traced in gold filigree hung from the ceiling, giving the space an earthy yet refined feel. The banisters, seats, and railways were built with a beautifully carved wood that was deeply stained and polished with elaborate engravings of different scenes of nature. Inlaid lights offered direction for those finding their seats. The only thing that seemed out of place was the low ceiling directly above them.

On the center stage, a middle-aged man stood behind a large podium. He was handsome, with perfectly styled brown hair, steady brown eyes, high cheekbones, and white teeth. He looked like a newsperson—just a little too crisp to be real.  He held himself with confidence and surveyed the students imperiously.  Monson recognized the man but couldn't remember from where; it was another of those impressions that Monson was still getting used to.  There were a few other people sitting rigidly behind the man.   Still at a distance, the group behind the podium was difficult to see. Monson moved on, choosing to continue his observation of his immediate surroundings. He was sure he would have plenty of time to get to know the faculty. Now that they were actually in the room, Monson could see that the low bulging ceiling that felt so out of place upon their entrance was due to a series of elevated box seats and balconies. It made Monson wonder why they needed so much seating. There couldn't be enough students to fill this place. Where were all the people coming from?

The students moved slowly toward the front, taking seats close to the stage. Monson, Casey, and Artorius made their way down the third aisle from the front and parked themselves next to a large, frumpy-looking boy who smelled of cabbage. The boy turned from the friend with whom he had been talking as they approached. His eyes fell upon Artorius, Casey, and then Monson.

He stared openly at the scars on Monson's face. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Monson didn't like the look in the boy’s eyes—as if he recognized him. Quite suddenly, the boy turned back to his friend and spoke rapidly in an excited voice.

"Something really weird is going on," Monson said, leaning toward Casey. He looked at Casey inquisitively.  "Do you have any idea what the
Horum Vir
is?"

"Well, of course I know what it is," Casey said indignantly, "but what does that have to do with . . . oh . . . I see . . . ," he trailed off. Monson just stared at him. Casey obviously understood something he didn't, so he waited. All at once, Casey spoke fast and excitedly. "But how could that have happened?!? The whole thing is fixed—everyone knows that."

"
What
are you talking about?" Monson's bewildered voice broke in.

"The
Horum Vir
," Casey's voice rose slightly. "That's the only way you could have made the Legion without trying out,
and
as a freshman. Oh man, can I pick friends! This is going to be sweet."

Monson interrupted. "Casey, hold up, what is a
Horum Vir
?" 

"Not
what
, " Casey said.

"OK," Monson said, a resigned note in his voice,
"who
is the
Horum Vir
?"

Monson already knew the answer. Casey placed his hand on Monson's shoulder and said, "You are, Monson."

Chapter 2 – The Dean

The dean of Coren University was standing placidly in front of the new students. He looked unruffled and regal as he started to speak. His hands were in just the right place, folded neatly in front of him, and he was neither fidgety nor nervous.  It was obvious that he wanted to project a certain image right off the bat. The hall grew quiet as all eyes turned toward the Dean.

"Welcome to Coren University." There was clapping and cheering from the upper decks.  "I am Marcus Dayton, dean and headmaster of Coren University. This University follows in the proud tradition . . . ."

Monson could feel his eyes starting to droop. He pinched his own arm. Not a good idea to fall asleep during orientation.

"Now that we are all acquainted, I have a few announcements for you." The Dean held up a small piece of paper. "I am very excited to tell you about some of the changes we've instituted this year."

Casey turned toward Monson. "He doesn't look very excited, does he?"  

Monson focused on the Dean's demeanor—haughty yet strained, handsome and the projection of perfect control, yet for some reason Monson thought that he seemed ruffled just below the surface.  His eyes shifted back and forth uneasily, like he was searching for something. He seemed overly tense with no apparent reason.

The sound of his own name refocused his attention on the Dean's long-forgotten speech.  

"Is Mr. Grey here?" The Dean's question sounded hopeful.

Casey prodded him to get up. "That's you, dude." 

Monson rose, slowly, and felt dozens of eyes turn toward him. It was a disconcerting feeling, and caused a strange strain on his disjointed memory.

Bright lights, cameras, people, so many people. Cheers, but what were they cheering for? A stage. Disappointment followed by anger. Soft voices and a warming sensation that blocked everything else. The warmth enveloped him.    

The images rolled over Monson but abruptly changed.

Screams. Blood. Pain. Anger. Hatred. So much hatred. Hatred turned to bloodlust, just to be replaced by darkness.

Monson glared inwardly as he forced himself to catch hold of the thoughts streaming through him. One memory jumped to the front, and he remembered! He remembered the night he won the scholarship to this blasted school. He felt happy at the breakthrough, yet troubled by the change in the memory. The screaming. The blood. The pain and anger. That  — that was new.

That whole period, actually
every
period before the incident on Baroty Bridge, was still hazy. The competition had happened right before it. Details still evaded him, but he did not need details, as many thoughts began clicking into place in Monson's mind.

The Knowledge Bowl, the
Horum Vir
scholarship . . . they were connected. No, not just connected . . . the
Horum Vir
thing and that competition . . . they were the same thing! It all made sense. He was the winner of the Coren University
Horum Vir
competition—the most highly coveted academic scholarship in the world of secondary education. He was the new
Horum Vir
. Monson thought back to the long conversations with Molly concerning his big opportunity to go to a good school. Molly had obviously known about all of it the entire time. No wonder she didn't tell him.

Monson grumbled inwardly. Molly, you are so dead! What else have you been hiding from me?

Brimming with irritation, Monson scanned the less-than-inconspicuous glances of his soon-to-be classmates, when a face jumped out at him. 

Waves of golden blonde hair tied in a half ponytail partially hid the face of a girl with a pair of cool green eyes that were steady and unflinching as they connected with his. Monson and the girl looked at each other for a moment, and then her gaze flickered to either side of him like she was searching for something. 

That's the girl Molly pointed out in the parking lot earlier
, Monson thought, recognizing the girl. She was sitting a couple of rows in front of him and to the right, surrounded by a crowd of both female and male students, all jockeying for her attention. She responded to the girls, but seemed to take little interest in what they had to say.  She took even less interest in the boys that were trying to catch her eye.

Casey again leaned toward Monson. "Kylie Coremack."

"What?" Monson said absent-mindedly.

"Her name is Kylie Coremack." Casey gestured toward the girl. "She attended St. Brown with Artorius and me, though she's a year older. She went to some school in Spain last year. I don't know why she decided to come here now. Can't say I'm surprised, though.  It's just like her to change her mind and inconvenience her whole—" He stopped suddenly, looking distracted. He righted himself, continuing in a more controlled voice, "Her family is old money and is very much a part of the upper crust. And if you couldn't tell, her personality leaves you wanting."

"Leaves you wanting?" Monson did not understand. "What does that mean?"

"I mean her personality leaves you wanting . . . to get away from her."    

"She's cute, though." Artorius craned his neck to get a look at her. "Always been cute."