Shifter Wars Complete Series

by Sarah J. Stone

  "Holy shit," Emily said, craning her neck to take a look at something up ahead. "That must be it."

  I followed her gaze and spotted one of the many staggeringly tall skyscrapers of Midtown Manhattan up ahead. This one, like the others, was an enormous building of steel and glass. But unlike the others, it had almost a jagged shape to it, giving it the appearance of a broken shard jutting upwards and stabbing into the swirling, gray clouds of the evening sky. There was a strange, ominous look to it, and part of me wanted to just get out of the car right then and there, get back home and into my pajamas and forget about this whole stupid plan.

  Right as I considered this, however, the Uber driver pulled into the curved driveway in front of the building and came to a halt.

  "Here we are," he said.

  "Thanks, Suresh!" Emily said, flashing him a wink as she stepped out of the car.

  I hurried after her, struggling to keep up in my heels. We entered the spacious, ultramodern lobby and came to a stop.

  "Okay," Emily said, pulling out her phone and checking something. "So, this party's on the top floor."

  "Like, the top-top?" I asked, feeling nervous.

  "Yup," she said. "So, we've just got to tell the guy at the elevator that we're here for the, um, Abruzzi party, charm our way through the front door, and we're in!"

  It sounded too easy, but I didn't have it in me to tell Emily no. After asking at the front desk, we were directed to an elevator at the end of a long hallway. There was a tall, burly man in a coal-black suit and with a head like a thumb posted in front of the door, and Emily rushed up to him.

  "Hi!" she said, her voice chipper. "My friend and I are here for the Abruzzi party."

  He looked the two of us over with beady eyes. "I bet you are," he said, a smirk forming on his face. "They just tell you to come in alone like this?"

  "That's what they said," Emily asked. "Just wear something nice and tell the handsome man at the elevator that we're here for the party."

  I didn't know how Emily was so comfortable weaving such bullshit on the spot. There were a few words I'd use to describe the guard, and "handsome" was most certainly not one of them.

  "Head on in," he said, pressing a button to open the doors and moving aside.

  We stepped into the space, which was all stainless steel, mirrors, and blood-red digital displays. The single button other than for the ground floor was marked "PH." Emily jabbed it with her red-nail-tipped finger and did a little excited dance in place as the doors slid shut.

  "That was easy," I said, glancing at my reflection in the mirrored walls. "A little too easy, if you ask me."

  "Oh, please," Emily said. "Look at us—we're the type of girls people kill to have come to their parties."

  Then, Emily reached up and grabbed one of my boobs, causing me to nearly jump out of my dress.

  "Those things are your ticket into anywhere you want in this city, girl," Emily said. "You'd better use ‘em while they're still above your belly button."

  I glanced at my body in the mirror as the elevator rose, feeling self-conscious about the cleavage that Emily insisted that I put on display. I usually hated the attention that showing off my body brought, and preferred simple jeans and T-shirts. Not tonight, however. Emily wouldn't have any of that.

  The doors slid open silently, revealing a warmly-lit hallway of dark brown wood, rich red carpeting, and ceilings that seemed to stretch into infinity. We stepped into the space, glancing around as we did.

  "Damn," Emily said, looking up and down the hallway. "The rich really know how to live, huh?"

  "No kidding," I said, feeling a little overwhelmed.

  Down at the far end of the hall was a massive set of double doors, a pair of suited guards standing in front.

  "I guess that's the way in," I said quietly.

  "Then let's hurry up and do it," Emily said, walking toward guards with excited steps.

  "Oh, God," I said, following behind her.

  "Hey!" Emily said. "We're here for the Abruzzi party."

  "Name?"

  "Um, I'm Kendra, and this is my friend, Ashlynn."

  The guard on the right pored over a list on an iPad.

  "Go on in," said the guard after a moment.

  With that, he opened the door on his side. I gasped at what he revealed.

  The penthouse suite of the building was like a ballroom out of another time. The space was huge, with the same tall ceilings and elegant décor as the hallway we'd just left. Columns were here and there, and a large stage, big enough for a small string band, to the right. Hundreds of men and women in elegant clothing danced, drank, and chatted, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of the glittering Manhattan skyline. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

  "Come on!" Emily said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the bar. "Let's get some drinks!"

  Moments later, the two of us each had a tall glass of champagne in our hands as we leaned against the bar and took in the scene.

  "Cheers!" Emily said, raising her glass.

  "Cheers," I said, tapping the rim of her flute with mine.

  I watched the goings-on in awe—it reminded me of some elegant, eighteen-century ball. I almost couldn't believe that I was in New York City in 2018.

  "I still don't get how we got past the guards," I said, taking a sip of my drink, which was probably about the most delicious champagne that I'd ever had.

  "Please," Emily said. "One—when you look like us, guards don't ask too many questions. Two—it's a party for rich people; the odds of there not being some floozies names Kendra and Ashlynn on the list are slim to none."

  I couldn't help but chuckle.

  "And was I right, or was I right?" Emily asked. "Look at this fucking place! Beats the hell out of lying in your bed watching Netflix on your laptop, huh?"

  I couldn't disagree with her on that point.

  "Okay, so I've already got my eye on a few guys," Emily said. "What about you?"

  "What?" I said. "We've been here for less than five minutes! How the hell do you already have men picked out?"

  "What can I say? I work fast."

  "Um, I don't see anyone," I said. "I still need to get adjusted to all of this. I feel like my head is swimming."

  "That's what the booze is for," Emily said. "Down a couple more of thos,e and you'll be good to go."

  She killed the rest of her glass, set it down on the bar, and grabbed another from the tray of a passing waiter.

  "Now, I'm gonna get in there and separate the winners from the losers. Don't be a damn wallflower!"

  "Wai—" I stammered.

  But before I could get the word out, Emily was already gone and blended into the crowd. I was all alone.

  I sipped my drink and looked around. I couldn't tell if it was just my nerves talking or what, but something about the whole party struck me as odd. We'd gotten in too easily, and despite Emily's explanation for why two girls walking in off of the streets were allowed access into a place like this, I couldn't help but feel like something was amiss.

  And looking over the crowd, I shouldn't shake the idea that there was something…strange about the party-goers. They all had a weird, out-of-time elegance to them, and many of them were wearing tuxedos and gowns that I'd only seen in period pieces. Peppered here and there were young girls in modern outfits, and they all looked just as out of place as Emily and me.

  It was strange, and I knew that there was more going on than just my nerves.

  I decided to take Emily's advice and get a little booze in my system. I finished my drink and took another. Before I could return to my thoughts, however, a slim figure approached me on the right.

  "This is, like, the best party that I've ever been to."

  I turned and saw that the voice came from a petite brunette with fair skin and boobs as big as her head. She leaned up against the bar next to me and waved down the bartender for another drink, nearly dumping her cleavage out all over the bar a
s she leaned over it. Moments later, she had a blood-red drink in her hand and turned her enormous brown eyes to me.

  "Have you ever seen anything like it?" she asked. "It's like, Downton Abbey or something."

  "It's…interesting," I said, still not sure what to make of everything I was seeing.

  "I guess that's one word for it," the girl said. "I'm Melanie."

  "Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Alice."

  I didn't really feel like talking at the moment, but I realized that I had the opportunity to potentially find out a little more about this party that I'd found myself in the middle of.

  "Say, how did you find out about this party?" I asked. "Do you, um, know anyone here?"

  "No," Melanie said. "Not a single person. Well, I take that back. I know that guy over there."

  She pointed with a skinny finger toward a well-dressed, elegant older man with silver hair and a beard to match. He was in the middle of a conversation with a few other men, all as classy as him. Around the perimeter of the conversation was a handful of other young, pretty girls.

  "That's, um, Mr. Salt. At least, that's what he told me his name was."

  "And you're friends with him?"

  "Well, not really friends. I was at some charity thing—I'm an intern at an event-planning company—and he came up to me and we started to talk. I wouldn't normally be into guys like that, you know, older guys, but he was, like, so charming. He told me that a girl like me ought to—"

  She affected an upper-class, deeper tone to her voice.

  "—‘rub elbows with the finest this city has to offer'. And I was like, um, okay. So, he told me about this party, and here I am."

  It all struck me as very odd.

  "And what do you think so far? I mean, you and I aren't the only girls here who look like they don't exactly fit in."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes wide.

  "I mean, look at how many girls who don't look like they're more than two years out of college there are here. And everyone else looks like they've got enough money to buy half of the city. Don't you think that's a little strange?"

  "I guess," she said. "But, I mean, that's what guys like this do. I've been to enough parties like this to know that guys are the same everywhere. Drunk frat guys get good jobs and then they turn into old guys in tuxes with money. But they all want the same thing."

  The answer seemed a little pat. I couldn't put my finger on why, exactly, but I knew there was more to it than that.

  "Anyway," she said, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm gonna do some more mingling. Nice to meet you!"

  With that, Melanie gave me a flash of a very, very white set of teeth before taking off.

  I knew that I needed to clear my head. After all, what if I was just being paranoid? Maybe my being certain that there was something odd going on was just my social anxiety trying to rationalize a reason to feel out of place. The balcony looked fairly quiet and inviting so, drink in hand, that's where I headed.

  On the way out, I caught a glimpse of Emily, who was in the middle of entertaining three well-dressed men who seemed to be hanging on her every word. I couldn't tell if I was being paranoid, but I could've sworn that as she spoke, they exchanged looks that I could only describe as "knowing," as if they were all thinking the same thing to which Emily was oblivious.

  Calm the hell down, I thought to myself as I stepped out onto the balcony. You're just finding reasons to not want to be here.

  The view from the balcony was easily one of the most incredible that I'd seen in my life. The view faced the northern half of Manhattan, and the height of the building afforded a sweeping panorama of the city. I could see the green rectangle of Central park ahead, and all the way into New Jersey on my left and down Long Island on my right. And the Bronx was all the way off in the distance. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever find myself in a situation where I'd live a life with like this. Thinking about how my life in the city was going so far, I guessed not.

  "Enchanting view, is it not?" spoke a rich, warm man's voice from behind me as I leaned on the cool railing of the balcony.

  I turned abruptly, nearly dropping my drink. Behind me was the man who Melanie had pointed out, the man she called Mr. Salt. He raised his eyebrows as he saw just how frazzled I was to be surprised like that.

  "A little jumpy, are we?"

  I took in a deep breath, deciding that it likely wasn't the best idea to appear as shaken up as a Chihuahua in front of the man throwing the party that I was in the process of crashing.

  "Oh," I said. "Just lost myself in the view."

  He approached me and took a place at my side, only a few inches from me. Up close, he was surprisingly handsome for an older man, and his bearing was that of someone with perfect confidence. His movements were slow and controlled, and he had the appearance of someone who wasn't bothered by a thing. I felt calmer right away in his presence.

  "Eliade Salt," he said, extending his hand.

  "Alice Thorne," I said, taking it.

  "A lovely name," he said.

  He turned and leaned forward on the balcony, a drink in his hands.

  "Nothing compares to New York," he said, his eyes on the city. "I've been all over the word and still I find myself drawn to this city. It has a magic like nothing else. And I'm sure that's what brought you here."

  As he spoke, I noticed that he had a strange accent. It was very, very slight, but it struck me as something that I could only describe as old-world European. It, like everything else at the party, seemed from another time.

  "And how do you know that I'm not from here?" I asked, feeling comfortable enough to be playfully challenging.

  "When you've lived in this city for as long as I have, you can spot someone new from a mile away."

  He then turned and looked at me with his crafty, green eyes.

  "I would guess…Omaha, Nebraska."

  I was shocked. He was dead-on.

  "How did you know?" I asked.

  "I have something of an ear for accents. And even if I didn't, you have the Midwest written all over you."

  I was intrigued. "And what does that mean?" I asked, a playful smile forming on my lips in spite of myself.

  "Ah, just a charming combination of wide-eyed innocence and eager enthusiasm. Though I can tell that you feel more than a little out of place at this humble little gathering of mine."

  "More than a little," I said. "I feel like everyone here can tell that I don't belong."

  A sliver of fear slipped into my gut as I realized that I'd said too much.

  "Trust me," he said. "You most certainly belong."

  I felt more at ease instantly.

  "Now, the evening is just beginning. Enjoy yourself, and I'm sure that you can I will be speaking again very, very soon."

  With that, he left and I was back alone.

  Oh, fuck. I told him my real name. Shit, shit, shit.

  I nervously finished the rest of my drink as I scolded myself for being so stupid. It was strange—something about Mr. Salt's presence stripped away all of my defenses, making me feel as though I wanted to tell him everything about myself, to share all of my darkest secrets. Not that I had any other than the lies that got me through the front door. It was all so overwhelming.

  Grabbing another drink, I made my way back inside and scanned the room for Emily. Once I'd found her, I rushed to her side and followed her as she made her way to the bar.

  "Oh. My. God," she said, her eyes fixed forward as she gestured enthusiastically. "I can't believe the people I'm meeting here. There's, like, more money in this room than in the rest of the city combined."

  "You sound like you're right at home," I said, still not sure what to make of everything.

  "I'm telling you, if you want to marry up, this is the place to do it. But…"

  "But…?"

  "The guys here are all a little, I don't know, weird. Like-"

  "Like they just stepped out of a time machine from nineteenth-centu
ry Austria or something?"

  "Yeah! Exactly! I'm just chalking it up to them being so rich they've forgotten how normal people act. Like, one of these guys that I met told me that his family made his fortune from the tulip craze like four hundred years ago. Old, old, old money. And when the rich people you and I meet are, like, thirty-year-old hedge fund bros it's no wonder these guys are strange to us. But I love it; they're so classy."

  Before either of us could say another word, Mr. Salt took the stage. The room fell silent—he didn't have to say or do anything other than stand there.

  "Good evening, one and all. And thank you for attending my annual autumn gala. I won't bore you with any long-winded speeches—I'm sure I've already had the opportunity to talk all of your ears off in person—but I'd like to announce that the dance is to begin in five minutes. So, please find your partner and prepare for the dance, and the rest of the evening that lies ahead."

  With that, he stepped off the stage.

  "Whoa, what?" I asked, shocked. "A dance?"

  Emily shrugged. "You think a place like this wouldn't have a formal dance or something?" she asked. "It'll be fun! Give you an excuse to not stand around on the sidelines."

  She scanned the crowd, her eyes settling on an elegant-looking man with slicked-back gray hair.

  "I think I'm all about that silver fox tonight," she said. "Good luck!"

  And with that, she was off, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  I watched as couples paired off, having flashbacks of middle-school dances in which I was always the awkward girl picked last.

  "You look like you need a partner," came a low voice to my right.

  I turned and was face-to-face with about the most gorgeous man that I'd ever seen in my life.

  He was tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and a body that was perfectly fit by his tuxedo. His hair was jet-black and slicked behind his ears. His eyes were a stunning blue, his lips were full and sensual, and his cheekbones seemed to go all the way up to the ceiling. And there was something about his outfit too. It wasn't old-fashioned like most of the men here. He was dressed in a stylish, modern manner.