Page 1 of Asher

CHAPTERONE

Garrett

The incessant ringof the phone drags me from deep sleep… and a rather nice sex dream involving an insatiable incubus and a desk. Whoever this is, I may just have to kill them.

“What?” I mumble, trying to make my mouth wake up.

“Hello, cuz!”

I blink into the dark room. What the actual bleeding fuck?

“Who is this, and why do you want me to get arrested for murder?”

“Aw, you don’t recognize me? Your favorite cousin? That’s not very nice.” The annoyingly chipper voice has taken on a fake hurt tone, and my brain comes online enough to match it with a name. “I’m hurt. My heart is bleeding. I might need actual medical attention to get me through the pain of—”

“What do you want, Alistair? It’s…” I pull the phone away from my face and squint at the display. “It’s one thirty in the morning. I was sleeping.”

“Oops,” my cousin announces cheerfully. “I forgot about the time difference.”

I’m not completely sure I believe him. For all his affable, fun-loving ways, Alistair is also a highly trained investigator and deadly military operative. His current job is on the crack team that works directly for the lucifer, the leader of all community species. The energetic, annoying, lovable kid I used to babysit might very well have forgotten that time zones exist, but the adult? He probably remembered but decided he wanted to speak with me anyway.

“What do you want?” I repeat. With Alistair, it’s best to keep the conversation on track. The track you choose, that is. If he picks the track, fuck knows where you’ll end up.

“No chance of a chat, then?” he asks in an injured tone. “It’s been a while since we caught up. All sorts of things have happened in my life, and I’m sure yours too.”

I sigh. “If I promise to call you in about eight hours for a long chat, will you let me go back to sleep?”

He gasps. “Eight hours? Do you have any idea what time it will be then? You’ll wake me up before my alarm!”

I let silence convey my feelings.

“Oh, fine,” he grumbles. “No chat. I do have a reason for calling, and it’s important—and you’ll thank me for it.”

“I’m sure.” I roll onto my side, balance my phone on the side of my face and ear, and close my eyes.

“No, really. Sam asked if I knew anyone who could help, and I instantly thought of you.”

My eyes open. Sam? Does he mean the lucifer?

I wait.

“He’s been asked by the demon species leader to assist with finding some teachers for their settlement in the Swiss Alps,” he continues, and I relax, slightly disappointed. Hiring teachers? That’s nothing special. Any community of species agency in Europe can manage that. “The town is cut off by snow for at least four months of the year, so they’ve had difficulty retaining anyone.”

“I’ll send you the contact details of some reputable agencies,” I murmur. “Tomorrow.” I’ve trained as a teacher several times in the two hundred and twenty or so years since I reached adulthood and am actually qualified to train teachers myself. I’ve worked in education quite a lot over the same span of time. It’s a field that enables a great deal of observation for my true passion: social anthropology. It’s also steadier money than anthropology, and there’ve been plenty of times I was glad for the backup career.

“No, I don’t need agencies,” he huffs. “I needyou. Wake up and listen to me. This town hasonly demons. The smallest children don’t even know that other species exist. Sam’s been there the past few days, and one child thought he was broken because he didn’t have horns like demons do.”

My body and brain surge to full wakefulness, and I sit up, clutching the phone to my ear. “I’m sorry, what did you say? The children aren’t aware of the existence of other community species?” That’s huge. Immense. Mind-boggling.

“Not until they begin school and are taught about them. From books. Because there are no other species there for them to interact with.” Alistair sounds smug now. He knows he has my attention, damn him.

I toss back the covers and get up, walking through the dark house toward my study so I can turn on the computer. My mind is racing in a thousand directions.

“And they need teachers?”

“Yes. They havenoneright now, Garrett. None. Unwilling, untrained parents are being forced to homeschool with no real oversight or guidance.”

I shudder as I flip on the desk lamp beside my computer. There are some excellent homeschooling programs out there, and some parents that excel at it, but not when they’re unwilling, unguided, and lacking any kind of structured program.

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