Let me begin by saying the ball was an absolute disaster.

It was just a ball, you might say. It couldn't possibly have been that bad. Any ball basically consisted of milling around, eating hors d'œuvres, and making inane chatter with people you don't like. How, you may ask, could it have gotten any worse than that?

Well, let me introduce you to Kevin. 

Kevin was nice enough. That didn't mean he was nice. He was loud and definitely attention-grabbing, and when provoked he could become a real bitch. 

I only just managed to get on his good side, but many at the ball were not so lucky. Kevin knew how to rile people up. He knew how to push people's buttons. He was crazy, insane, unhinged.

Kevin was also a rooster.

A rooster who was set loose at said ball.

Are you starting to see what I mean? Unfortunately, Kevin wasn't even the worst part. Sure, he was the catalyst for events that ultimately plunged the night into well-dressed lunacy, but things had already started to take a turn well before he showed up.

Exhibit 1:

I was standing near the refreshments table, chatting with an old geezer whose name I couldn't remember, but whom Prof had drilled into me was important to please.

Maybe you should have remembered his name, then.

That annoying internal voice of mine came to life during the worst times. Which I supposed made sense, considering I was currently pretending to be interested in how the culinary industry was being overrun by millennials. 

"Oh, is that so?" I said, trying to sound engaged but no doubt failing miserably. "Yes, I'm sure your restaurant went under because of their lack of effort, not your clearly incompetent financing. What, sarcasm? Me? Never!" 

Amazingly, Mr. Something-Or-Other seemed to be buying it.

I scanned the room for Rian, who I'd left to charm a few older women (and men, actually—I wasn't gonna lie, the boy dragged eyes to him wherever he went). Ignoring the idiotic drone of the grey-haired dud in front of me, I spotted the ladies he'd been chatting with.

He wasn't there.

I resisted the urge to scowl. Mr. Soo—that's what I was calling him now, for short—would probably think it was aimed at him. I mean, I'd undoubtedly end up scowling at him at some point during the night, but I figured it'd at least be behind his back.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" I asked cordially, setting down my glass of champagne. "I'll be right back."

I wouldn't be, but who cared? Mr. Soo could continue his complaining to the next unlucky person to bump into him. 

I glided over to an obscure corner of the room, where I could examine everyone discreetly. 

It took me a little while, but I eventually found Rian talking to a slight blond figure near the exit. I squinted, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't make out who it was. 

After a couple moments of watching Rian run his hand through his hair agitatedly, I felt uncomfortable. I didn't like the idea of spying on him, so I decided to continue my circuit throughout the room.

A few minutes into another conversation, I caught Rian downing several champagnes in the corner. The mystery guest was gone, but he looked sullen and unwilling to reenter the fray. I understood that, but perhaps he shouldn't have been drinking so much. In our youth, alcohol always had . . . adverse effects on him.

But maybe that had changed, too. I was starting to realize that perhaps it wasn't just his exterior that was different—maybe all of him had disappeared, swallowed up by the trauma of the last three years.

Anyways, back to the ball. I couldn't keep my mind off the mystery person—even judging from a vague, shadowed outline, they seemed so damn familiar—and that negatively affected my chats with the evaluators. Rian, as far as I knew, was still distracted, so there was no ground covered there. The night wasn't off to a great start, and it would only get worse.

Remember, Kevin was coming.

On to Exhibit 2:

Later, I saw Rian return to his rounds and continue smooth-talking several evaluators at once. I myself had moved on to a crowd of them, and was spinning an entertaining tale on a certain—now fictional—she-demon.

"Believe me, I had never run that quickly in my life!" I exclaimed, pasting an exaggerated smile on my face. Laughter roared up around me, and I felt a twinge of satisfaction at how easy they were to manipulate.

I whisked a canapé off a passing tray, still surrounded by merriment. "Thank you, Rikki," I murmured under my breath, popping it into my mouth.

Hm. That's a sentence I never thought I'd say.

My self-congratulation was disturbed by a sudden shriek behind me. I turned in surprise, as did several of my counterparts, to see what the commotion was.

Several glasses of champagne were smashed on the floor. A haughty-looking woman, who I guessed was the source of that infernal screech, had a hand on her chest and was glaring at a nearby server.

I stifled a groan as I spotted Rian in the middle of the mess. This wasn't going to turn out well.

A few older men began yelling at the poor server, who hunched his shoulders and started to pick up the shards of glass on the floor. 

I scowled as he piled them up on his tray, spotting him wince when one of them cut his finger. Those stupid evaluators just kept hurling insults, and I felt my fists clench.

Why did Prof even deal with these horrible people?

Because without them, that program you're enrolled in would have zero funding.

Right. I had to keep my head, no matter how much I wanted to put those idiots in their place. I was one of Prof's students. Anything I did would reflect badly on him. 

I gritted my teeth, resigned to the fact that I could do nothing.

"Ugh," one of the vultures nearby muttered. "It's so difficult to find good help nowadays." 

My gaze darkened as I heard the unsavoury comment. That was it.

Screw this.

I whirled on them, opening my mouth with full intent on bringing them down a few pegs. Or maybe driving them into the floor entirely.

But before I could, a deep voice rang out across the room.

"Excuse me?" Rian boomed, turning to one of the men standing over the server. I caught my breath when I saw his face—that menacing, ice-cold glare was back in full force. 

My own righteous anger drained away, caught in the wave of dark anger emanating from Rian.

"This man has done nothing wrong," he announced, taking a menacing step towards the older evaluators, who'd been struck dumb by the sudden threat Rian posed. They reared back slightly as he advanced, which sent a surge of satisfaction coursing through me.

They were right to be afraid.

Rian gave a sharp nod in the direction of the woman from before. She flinched, looking stunned at his sudden intrusion into the matter. "That woman," he said, his voice dripping with cold disgust, "knocked into him, not the other way around." 

One of the others made to step forward and interrupt, but one scathing look from Rian froze him where he stood. 

He returned his attention to the woman before him, and his tone became cruel and mocking. "She was too busy tottering around in those ridiculous heels to even realize there was someone nearby," he continued icily.

The woman sputtered indignantly in response, but her protests died as he drew closer. The black fire blazing in his eyes was clear even to me, across the room. The other men, who'd been so prepared to launch abuse at a helpless worker, didn't have a thing to say against Rian's commanding presence.

"Next time, perhaps you'd consider wearing a pair of shoes you can actually handle. If not, then don't pin your own incompetence on someone who was just doing his job." He paused, surveying her with glacial disdain. "Ma'am."

The room was silent. Even the musicians, who'd been playing a classical tune I couldn't quite place, had faltered in the commotion. 

Rian didn't say anything else. He simply kneeled and took the tray from the openmouthed server, gathering the remaining shards within a few moments and setting the tray on a nearby table. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into the server's bleeding hand, who promptly blushed at the attention.

"Go clean yourself up," he murmured, the kind act a sharp contrast to the tirade he'd displayed only moments earlier.

The server quickly nodded and hurried away. I hoped he wasn't affected too badly by the encounter, both professionally and—judging by the pink that still tinted the young man's cheeks—personally. But that was beside the point.

Finally regaining some of their composure, one of the more important evaluators stepped forward. 

"How dare you," he hissed at Rian. "You expect to achieve success as a chef with an attitude like that?"

Rian drew himself up, towering over him wordlessly. The other man bristled, obviously trying not to betray any signs of intimidation. After considering his threat, Rian simply smiled. 

In that one expression, all the cruel, demon-like traits he'd shown so far seemed to come together in a blinding wave of malice. I momentarily forgot how to draw breath.

"I'm not a chef," he said softly, that demonic grin still on his lips. "I don't expect to be one, either. Besides, if that meant I'd end up like you," he continued, his voice growing ever softer, crueler, "then I suppose I should be grateful."

A series of quiet gasps resounded throughout the room. I cursed internally, finally breaking out of that spell The Demon always seemed to put me under. I remembered all the drinks he'd had earlier. Remember those adverse effects I was talking about?

Yeah. Alcohol tended to make Rian much more aggressive than usual. Hence the open mouths and scandalised expressions of everyone we were supposed to be impressing.

Oh, Prof is gonna be livid.

I whisked over to him, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before me. As I reached his black-cloaked figure, he turned his gaze in my direction. His dark eyes were a little unfocused, but upon seeing me the anger drained away and a crooked smile donned his face. 

"Hanna," he murmured. "I'm glad you're back."

I tensed. Something about that statement made me suspect it held far more meaning than it did at first glance, but right then I had bigger fish to fry. 

The evaluator who Rian had humiliated turned to me, red in the face. 

"Ah, Ms. Jordan," he said, attempting to reign in his anger. "I assume he belongs to you?"

I sighed in irritation. Not how I would have phrased things, considering the circumstances. "Yes, you could say that."

He straightened, glaring down at me. "Then would you like to apologize in his place?"

The words hung in the air. I paused—apologizing here, and in turn undermining Rian, may have been the only way to repair the damage done tonight. Without the evaluators' funding, the program could be shut down. It was a no brainer—apologizing was the sensible thing to do. 

Sighing again in defeat, I wrapped my arm through Rian's. He looked down at me tensely, apparently anticipating what I was about to do. Probably thinking the same thing, a smug smile spread over the old evaluator's face. 

I opened my mouth to speak.

"Sorry, buddy, but you can take your self-importance and shove it where the sun don't shine," I said bluntly.

A wicked, exhilarating laugh came from the pillar of obsidian to my left. The evaluator's mouth hung open for the third time that day, and I allowed a smug smile of my own to stretch across my lips.

"Now if you'll excuse us," I said cordially, mirroring the mock-courtesy Rian had displayed at the end of his speech.

I pulled Rian away, and he strode alongside me, past a hundred shocked faces—some appalled, others appraising—out of the ballroom. We only barely reached one of the smaller, out-of-the-way service rooms before collapsing into laughter.

And that's the end of Exhibit 2. 

Here's where we're at: Rian and I had singlehandedly managed to antagonize pretty much everyone of importance in one fell blow. Prof was undoubtedly going to kill us. The damage was seemingly irreparable. It was hard to believe things could get much worse. 

Again, I'd like to remind you of Kevin. He was on his way.

Anywho, from here on things spiralled out of control pretty quickly, so I'll just pick up where we left off with Exhibit 3—The Final Stage. 

We were still in that small room, slowly but surely dissolving into levels of mirth bordering on the insane.

"Oh, god!" I exclaimed, tears in my eyes. "His face!"

Rian dug his hands into his hair, laughing madly. It was a dark, ominous, lovely sound. "Did you really tell him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine?" he said, his onyx eyes sparkling with delighted disbelief.

"I did!" I breathed, and the confirmation launched us into another bout of laughter.

Finally, we calmed down to grip our bearings a little more clearly. I was tucked against Rian's side, having collapsed against him during our descent into hilarity. Rian's hand was brushing my thigh, and my arm was still intertwined with his. His body was startlingly warm, feverishly so, and that only reminded me of that tattoo I'd seen when he'd been sick.

We both shifted as we realized the compromising position we were in, but I found myself strangely unwilling to move. 

To make matters worse, the room we were in was connected to the kitchen. And the door was ajar.

Standing in the other entrance, staring at us in shock, was the server Rian had defended so bravely.

"Uh . . ." I trailed off awkwardly. This was unexpected. "Is your hand alright?"

The question seemed to break him out of his stupor. He nodded emphatically, his blue eyes shining brightly. There was a small bandage wrapped around the cut finger. 

I realized he was much younger than I originally thought, probably a senior in high school. Maybe a first-year uni student.

"Um," he said, scratching the back of his head. I found myself charmed by his obvious innocence. "I saw from in here," he said, gesturing to the open door. "Th-thank you. Both of you." He raised his head, his eyes averted shyly. "For back there, I mean." 

Rian and I glanced at each other, clearly confused. "It was no problem," I said slowly. "Most of them are a bunch of rude, old-fashioned snobs. But, um, why were you working here to begin with?" I asked gently. The Evaluators' Ball wasn't exactly your typical part-time place of work.

"Oh!" he said, blushing a little. He's so adorable! I thought amazedly. "I work for a catering team, and they were booked by this place. But I'm not that experienced, so I had to be a server." He cringed a little. "Which maybe wasn't the best idea, considering."

I disentangled myself from Rian's side, instead leaning forward. "Wait, you're a caterer?" I said excitedly, feeling the beginnings of an idea forming.

He shifted his weight, his curly brown hair bobbing over his brow. "Uh, yeah," he said, biting his lip nervously. "Actually, I'd like to be a chef one day, which is why I thought working this event would be a good idea. Because of all the chefs here, and everything."

I beamed at him, nudging Rian excitedly. Rian arched an eyebrow, but seemed to get the general idea. He rolled his eyes. "Go for it," he muttered amusedly.

I turned back to our guest eagerly. "Well, your foresight's about to pay off, uh . . ." I paused, realizing I hadn't asked his name. I hoped I was right about this.

He rushed to fill in the gap. "Oh, um. My name's Isaac," he said, stumbling adorably. "Isaac Mellody."

I grinned at him, feeling satisfaction course through me. "Well, Isaac Mellody, I think I may have an opportunity for you. Have you ever heard of Damien Profeta?"

Isaac's crisp blue eyes widened. "The Damien Profeta? Are you . . ." he seemed to go hoarse with shocked excitement. His voice lowered almost to a whisper, murmuring the words like they were sacred. "Are you one of his students?"

I nodded, watching awe practically explode out of him. "Oh my god," he gushed, looking this way and that. "Oh my goodness. I'm dreaming right now. I know I am."

I watched, enchanted and a little bewildered by his clear naiveté, as he pinched his arm. Actually pinched himself. His boyish face scrunched up in pain and he muttered a quiet 'ouch.'

This boy is literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. He's like a walking, talking, funny cat video.

"Isaac," I said, trying to calm him down. "You're not dreaming. Right now, there's a position open for his class' Assistant Chef. A permanent position."

He took in a little startled gasp, his hands fluttering to his mouth. My smile broadened—I remembered the exact same sensation from when Prof had first scouted me. He really was legendary.

Rian glanced over at him. I guessed he was still heavily intoxicated, because the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. "I'm sure if you want to try it out, Prof would be more than happy to let you."

Isaac looked like he was about to faint. I hopped to my feet, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm Hanna Jordan," I said cheerfully. "And that block of stone over there," I pointed cheekily to Rian, who only smirked rather than send me his typical glare, "is our temporary AC, Rian Aronhalt."

Isaac glanced between the two of us rapidly, looking like the world was being swept out from under his feet. "Uh, yes, hello," he said breathlessly. "I—My name is Isaac Mellody."

"We know, Isaac. You told us already."

"Oh. Um. Sorry."

I shook my head, unable to believe his utter adorability. "Don't apologize," I said warmly. "First, we need to give you a quick test to make sure you're up for the job, okay?"

He nodded quickly, his eyes shining with disbelieving happiness. "Of course!"

"Good," I replied. I led him over to the kitchen, gesturing for Rian to follow. We entered, and a few people looked at us strangely, but the place was huge. It wasn't hard to find an unused corner with the supplies we needed.

"Okay," I said, pointing to the stove in front of us. I made my voice a little more grave than necessary. "This is what I want you to do. It's of the utmost importance that you put all your effort into this, alright?"

Isaac licked his lips anxiously, but nodded anyways. Rian only rolled his eyes. 

"What do you want me to make?" he asked, his voice firmer now. I smiled; even if he wasn't a social casanova, he was clearly confident about his cooking.

"Make me pancakes."

Isaac blinked in surprise. Rian coughed into his hand, masking a chuckle. I kept looking at him, trying my best to maintain a straight face. 

I tipped my head to the stove. "Make me pancakes," I repeated. "I'll try them and see if they're up to standard."

Isaac hesitated a moment longer, but soon launched into motion. I watched, impressed, as he smoothly collected all the necessary ingredients and started preparing his materials.

I moved a little farther back to stand next to Rian. He shook his head at me. "Messing with him?" he asked quietly, a surprisingly teasing note to his voice.

I shook my head back. "No. I'm serious about the job." 

My stomach took that moment to rumble loudly enough so Rian could hear. He gave me a look, and I grinned sheepishly. "What? I'm hungry and I want pancakes."

The truth was I'd tried all the hors d'œuvres at the party in an effort to fill myself up. I'd noticed a few that were absolutely delicious and had asked several servers who'd made them. They all told me that one of the caterers, named Isaac Mellody, was who I was looking for.

So I knew he could cook. The job was already his—I just really wanted pancakes.

A few minutes later, Isaac handed me a plate with a stack of buttered deliciousness. I thanked him, and the tips of his ears turned pink. "Aww!" I exclaimed, nudging Rian. "He's just like you!"

"Shut up," Rian said, his own ears tinting slightly.

Isaac gave me a fork and knife. "I hope you like blueberries."

I winked at him, causing yet another blush to flood his cheeks. "I love blueberries."

Twirling the knife between my fingers, I cut a piece and took a bite. I stifled a gasp, for fear of choking on my food.

The boy was magical.

I quickly scarfed down the rest, amazed and full and yet hungry for more. Isaac had nervously been watching me eat, and he tensed as I placed the plate on the counter. I reached forward, clapping my hands on his shoulders, dead serious.

"Those," I said, pausing for effect, "were the greatest pancakes I've ever had the pleasure to eat."

Isaac blinked. He trembled a little, and I removed my hands to grin at him. "You've got the job. Congratulations."

Isaac looked up at me, wide-eyed, and I beamed. He trembled again, and even Rian shot him a grin. "Welcome to the family," he drawled.

And then Isaac fainted.

♛

A few minutes later, Isaac came to and exhibited a considerably calmer response to the job offer. He jumped up and down, grinned so hard I thought his muscles would get stuck, even hugged the two of us. I smiled and returned the hug, and even Rian gave him a few pats on the back. The boy was over the moon.

"Thank you so much!" he gushed happily, after we'd traded phone numbers for easier contact. "I can't believe I'm actually gonna be working with the best chefs in the city!"

"I'm not a chef," Rian corrected, but I just waved him away.

"I suppose we still have to introduce you to Prof, so you can come with us when we leave. You know, so you can meet him," I offered, to which he responded by hugging me again.

One of the other caterers finally noticed us. "Isaac, if your hand's alright, then get back to work!"

I frowned at the intrusion, but Isaac just waved me down. "It's fine," he assured me. "I should probably get back to serving." 

He sent us one more smile before heading out. "Thanks again!" he called over his shoulder.

"Prof is gonna love him," I said, watching him go. A couple of the other men opened a back door, heaving out bags of waste. My head dropped into my hands and I groaned. "And he's gonna be so mad at us."

I felt Rian shrug next to me. "Yeah, but those morons deserved it."

I turned to him, feeling another question already bursting out of me. "How much have you had to drink, anyway?" 

He only chuckled darkly. "A lot. And I plan to have more." 

I sighed and shook my head. But before I could tell him off, a loud crash interrupted me. 

One of the kitchen workers yelled something incoherent. Growing alarmed now, I walked toward the source of the noise. 

There were several people crowded around the open back door. I frowned and tried to peek through them, but my height prevented me from seeing anything.

Rian, still aggressive from all the alcohol, materialized behind me and shoved a few people aside. I murmured my thanks, but my attention was drawn to a small object rapidly moving around the ring of people. I couldn't really see properly, but the thing was fast.

"What the hell . . ."

One of the men yelped and jumped away from where he'd been battling the object with a broom. He propped the broom against a wall, scrambling back in fear. The others also backed away as the thing unleashed a squawk unlike anything I'd ever heard. 

It lunged at one of the workers, nipping viciously at his leg. He swore loudly and fell back, which created an opening in the circle trapping it. 

Nobody moved as it hopped over the fallen man's body, stalking into the kitchen proudly. Everything was silent, and my eyes widened in horrified awe. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the broom propped against the wall slid and fell, clattering against the floor.

That was it. The thing, which I now incredulously identified as a rooster, launched itself across the kitchen landing. It scurried frantically to the door leading to the ballroom. This horrible night was about to get a whole lot worse.

Kevin was here.