W
alking through the Asher Manor garden, Crystal Wordsworth became very self-conscious. The woman guiding her through the grounds was tall, blonde, and above all else, perfectly composed, in a grey blazer and matching pencil skirt, with a navy blouse, and navy heels that made the already statuesque shifter woman even taller. Of course, it was because the woman’s cat shifter side gave her a natural grace, but compared to the shifter woman, Delaina, Crystal seemed far more, well...plain, from a fashion standpoint. She was wearing what she always wore to work: plain black jeans, a loose black t-shirt style knit tunic top, and comfortable walking shoes, as well as a black messenger bag. Absolutely nothing was designer, although the items were meant to last her far longer than a single season. Inside the bag were all her essentials: her phone, her digital camera, chargers, a tape recorder, all the tools a journalist needed, except her trusty notepad and pen, which were in her hands as she took copious notes as Delaina gave the same tour she’d given hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“And to your right, you’ll see the famous Asher Labyrinth,” said Delaina. “To the left, the Asher Manor’s historic well, imported from Salem, Massachusetts, from the original House of Seven Gables. Usually, the tour includes the interior of the mansion, which is where guests enter, at the front steps of the Manor, but the whole Manor is undergoing renovations for the ball.”

“Interesting, very interesting,” said Crystal. “And this is where the Golden Ball is held?”

Delaina stifled a laugh. “Oh, you’re serious. No. The ball’s held inside,” said Delaina. “Up those two curved stairways, there’s a large ballroom, and that’s where the ball is held. Of course, I don’t have to tell you what a big deal the ball is...”

“But, for the record, how would the Asher family describe the ball? I need a quote for the article,” said Crystal, pulling out her miniature tape recorder.

“Of course,” said Delaina, taking the recorder to speak directly into the mic. “The Golden Ball is one of the oldest, most esteemed traditions in Seattle’s shifter society. The ball has been held for over a hundred years, always in the Asher Manor, always by the Asher Clan, and of course, it’s always been invitation only. It’s where not only Seattle’s society elite, but the most elite shifters from around the globe, come to start their social season, because the event has always been exceedingly private and closed to the press...at least, until this year.” Delaina winked at Crystal.

“Thanks, that’s perfect,” said Crystal, testing the recording before pocketing the recorder. “So...what areas will I be allowed to access?”

“Well, follow me, and I’ll show you,” said Delaina, leading the way up the two staircases into the empty ballroom. Even though the ballroom was empty, it seemed more luxurious than Crystal expected, because empty, every last architectural detail, every last inch that had been designed to death, was visible. This wasn’t some large empty room with white walls. No; there were tall pillars that were as wide as three of her and as tall as at least ten of her, reaching up to the ceiling, where the pillars were topped with ornate Doric caps, the ceiling decorated with a simple dark blue that seemed almost black, save for a few spots where stars seemed to glisten.

“Those are real diamonds up there, you know,” said Delaina. “When you see this place at night, well, it’ll really be something.” Crystal looked to Delaina, who had a small smile on her face, and all of a sudden, felt herself blushing. She was here for work, not to ogle as if she was at a museum, but every part of the manor really was like a work of art.

“Over here is where you might be interviewing people, for instance,” said Delaina, motioning to a space between two pillars. “We’ll set up a table for you, and if people want to be interviewed, they’ll come to you. The rest of the press, well...the photographers, really, will be at the front, by the red carpet, taking pictures. Of course, you are free to wander the ball, but we request that you don’t enter the labyrinth, or the private areas of the house. May I speak off the record?”

“Of course,” said Crystal.

“The labyrinth and the rest of the house...well, they’re used for certain...activities that are intended to be private, and that need to stay private,” said Delaina. “If you catch my drift. The ballroom, and any public areas, are yours to explore as you like, but the rest of the house and the grounds are off limits, and of course, don’t eavesdrop, don’t publish what you may accidentally hear or spread it past these walls, and only write what people explicitly tell you for the purposes of your article. This is all covered in the NDA you signed this morning.”

This morning...the activities of the morning seemed a lifetime away. She’d gone to the office, same as usual, and been called into her editor’s office. She was shaking, nervous she was about to get sacked for an expose she’d written on chemical dumping into the Puget Sound by a funeral home, but she ended up getting told she’d been personally selected for a special job by a certain member of the social elite that her editor was not at liberty to disclose. That special job? Covering the Golden Ball, a ball that had never been accessible to reporters before, even though paparazzi seemed to come up with crazier and crazier ways to try and break into the Asher Manor each year. She’d been sent to the Asher Manor to meet with Delaina, who gave her the tour of the grounds and mansion, and now, the tour was coming to its end.

“What marks the end of the party and the start of the labyrinth?” asked Crystal. “Just, you know, so I don’t make a mistake.”

“If you’re in the hedges, you’re in the labyrinth,” said Delaina. “But you know, we can check it out right now while there’s nobody inside it.” Crystal followed Delaina outside. She’d been surprised they got along so well: Delaina was a cat shifter, after all, and cat shifters (male or female) had a reputation of being, well, catty, and Delaina had seemed super mellow. Even in high heels, she was able to out walk Crystal, who practically had to run to keep up with her.

“Oh, and before I forget, here,” said Delaina, slipping a golden ball out of her bag and tossing it to Crystal, who almost missed catching it. “That’s your invitation.”

“I don’t get a press pass?” asked Crystal.

“No, you get a full invitation, just like everyone else,” said Delaina. “The ball opens with a click, and inside, you’ll find all the details about the Ball. Don’t lose the invitation: you only get one, for security reasons. It doesn’t matter who you are, exceptions aren’t made...and trust me, that’s pissed off more than a few important people.”

Crystal slipped the ball into her bag and followed Delaina down the stairs into the labyrinth, which was full of tall, dark hedges, some with flowers, some without, including some hedges that had roses growing out of them. Delaina got a call on her phone. “Just a moment,” said Delaina. “It seems I’m needed elsewhere. Can I trust you out here on your own? You can leave whenever you get enough notes, sorry sugar.”

“Of course,” said Crystal. “I’ll take some snaps for you to go over later.”

Delaina walked off with her phone, and Crystal set her bag down so she could get her camera out to take pictures, which would then be sent to Delaina to approve of, before they were published in the final article. Although at first, the party seemed like a bit of a joke to Crystal, she was actually becoming a bit excited to attend. Even though large formal parties weren’t really her scene, it was still going to be a big moment for her career, and the fact she’d been specially selected by someone associated with the Manor to visit the party as a member of the press was a great honor.

Crystal snapped pics of the staircases leading to the ballroom, of the historic well, and of course, of the garden and the labyrinth and the large hunk of man meat that was pruning the hedges. One of the items on that list wasn’t exactly supposed to be captured on film. Crystal went through the pics: the tall, shirtless man with shears wasn’t going to be easy to edit out.

As she looked at the picture to try and figure out how to edit it, Crystal’s camera was covered by a shadow, and she looked up: the man from the picture was in front of her, and up close and personal, was taller, handsomer, and downright grizzlier than she expected. He was now wearing a shirt, which had been on the grass beside him, and his eyes were deep green but seemed to be filled with fire.

“What in the Hell do you think you’re doing?” asked the man, looking over the woman who was wearing all black. Maybe it was intended to make her blend into the shadows at events, but in the garden, the void of color filled by her clothes attracted his eye, and her bountiful curves kept it. The bear in him roared: they hadn’t met a woman this attractive before, and there was something about her that made her seem different than every other woman they’d ever met, and it wasn’t just her absolutely delectable jasmine scent.

“I’m here as a member of the press,” said Crystal, looking over the man. He was handsome, even though all he was wearing was a plain black shirt and some khaki shorts with pockets, but something about him seemed different. Maybe it was just that he was a shifter, but Crystal had a feeling there was more to him than met the eye.

“Of course you are,” said the man.

“Huh?” asked Crystal, confused. “I’m here to cover the Golden Ball. I’m Crystal Wordsworth, Delaina was giving me the tour, and she said I could take some pictures out here.”

That name:
Crystal
. There was no frikkin’ way that after all this time, a girl named
Crystal
would just find him, but fate worked in mysterious ways. The man looked for any sign that Crystal knew who he was. She was talking to him like someone that had no clue who he was, but of course, he couldn’t be sure of that. “Take enough pictures?” asked the man, pointing at the picture on the viewfinder.

“No, actually,” said Crystal. Two things happened. First, Crystal saw dark marks on his hands, marks that certain species of shifters had, and realized that this man was most definitely a shifter. Then, she did something the man didn’t expect. She deleted the picture without prompting, lifted the camera, and took another shot of where he’d been. “But now I have.”

There was no way she was for real: why would a journalist delete a picture that could net her thousands, if not millions, of dollars from any tabloid? “What are the pictures for?” asked the man.

“I’m writing an article about the Golden Ball,” said Crystal. “I like to take pictures of places because I don’t have a photographic memory, so if I don’t have time to write down or dictate every thought about a place, I take a picture. They’re not museum quality or anything, but, they help me write really rich articles.”

“The Golden Ball...that’s impossible, press never gets invited,” said the man.

“What would you know about the Golden Ball?” asked Crystal, looking over the man. He didn’t look like he’d ever worn shiny shoes or a tuxedo, which was a welcome change from the men that seemed to cover the Asher Manor grounds. “Somebody here sent my editor a message, said that I was personally invited as a member of the press, so it’s not like I can avoid going...And your name is?”

“Damien,” said the man. The bear inside him roared: what were they doing talking about names when there was mating to be done? The man shut the bear up and hoped with all his heart Crystal didn’t look down and see the evidence of his arousal.

“Do you have a last name?” asked Crystal.

There was no frikkin’ way this chick was serious, right? Damien looked into Crystal’s eyes: she didn’t seem to be lying, she wasn’t nervous at all. “Damien...Michaels,” said Damien. “Damien Michaels.”

“Well, Damien, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to pack up and head out,” said Crystal. “I think Delaina isn’t coming back to walk me out.” Crystal placed her bag on the edge of the well and opened her bag to put her camera away, but as she pushed her camera in, the golden ball, which was already precariously perched and barely inside of her bag, fell out and into the well.

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