The House of Grey Prologue - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

The House of Grey Chapter 3 - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

CHAPTER THREE

A Gift

"You certainly have a way with the ladies, Mr. Grey," Mr. Gatt said ten minutes later. Artorius and Casey laughed. It helped to ease the potent tension still pooling from their encounter with Kylie. Mr. Gatt had handed off the large body of students to other members of the faculty and was now accompanying the Horum Vir and his companions. Monson really didn't need the personal escort, but was reluctant to say anything.

Monson just scowled at Mr. Gatt's remark. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me, you would have thought I just murdered her cat or something."

"That's just how she is," Artorius said, still chuckling. "You should have seen when Casey and she got into it last-"

"Ar-thur!" Casey shot out angrily. "We really don't need to talk about that."

"Oh, come on," Artorius replied, a malicious grin on his face. "It's in the past. You need to let it go, my man."

"Yeah, Casey," Monson said. "What's with the two of you? And don't try to deny it. You guys have a past. Spill it."

"Now is not the time or the place," Casey said, giving Mr. Gatt a sideways glance.

Mr. Gatt chuckled. "Please, do not let me stop you. As a matter of fact, I'm fairly curious myself. I like to know what motivates my students."

This was obviously not what Casey wanted to hear. "It's such a long, boring story." Casey looked flushed and uncomfortable.

Monson opened his mouth to encourage him, but before he could say anything, Mr. Gatt cut him off.

"Do not worry, lad. This is not something that has to be shared now. Perhaps another time."

Casey looked at him, relief starting to dull the red color that had overtaken his face. The group pressed on, picking up their pace a bit.

Mr. Gatt did not talk much as he led the three boys to their dormitory. This was perfectly fine with Monson; the quiet was not something that bothered him. Casey chatted up a storm, telling Artorius about his summer, the places he had visited, the girls he had met, and a bundle of other things, all of which sounded exaggerated. Artorius seemed content to listen as Casey dived headlong into a story about a trip to Rome. Monson stopped listening and turned his attention to Mr. Gatt.

"So, how long have you worked here, Mr. Gatt?" Monson asked politely.

To Monson's surprise, Mr. Gatt let out an ironic laugh. Monson observed, but did not comment, that it was probably a good thing Mr. Gatt had not been drinking at that moment, as something would have come flying out of his nose. Mr. Gatt certainly was a strange man.

He continued laughing for a minute or so, then, wiping a tear from his eye, said, "Well, young man, that is quite the question, and I suppose it depends on what you mean."

This was not the answer Monson had expected

.

"I am not sure what you mean, Mr. Gatt. I-"

Mr. Gatt interrupted him.

"My apologies. My own little joke." He cleared his throat. "I guess I was inquiring if you wanted to know how long I've actually been here, or how long it feels like I've been here."

Monson looked perplexed. "Well, I guess I mean how long you've actually been here."

"About twenty-five years, off and on," he said simply.

Now Monson was thoroughly confused. He did not understand what was so funny about working at Coren for twenty-five years. He also could not help but feel amazed. Mr. Gatt did not look that old. His hair threw you off, but up close his face boasted late thirties at the most.