Page 11 of Asher

I pull the phone away and stare at it. Is he really that lacking in self-awareness?

“Garrett?” his faraway voice says, and I put the phone back to my ear.

“So you don’t know anything else about her?” I decide to ignore his earlier comment.

“Nope. I could ask Sam?”

Aidan clears his throat.

“Oh! Aidan knows her. I forgot that.”

I swear, I don’t know how he gets through the day.

“Aidan, could I impose upon you to slap Alistair?” The sound that comes down the line, followed by Alistair’s howl of (fake) pain, is immensely satisfying. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Aidan says sincerely. “Let me tell you about Damaris Bailey so I can get back to sleep.”

I listen carefully as he runs through the highlights: immense family wealth, generations of influence, a history of looking after less fortunate demons. And that’s just the Bailey family. Damaris herself was a soldier for a time, then an intelligence operative. She worked for the Community of Species Government for nearly a century in various roles, then sidestepped to focus on her family and various demon causes. People are afraid to cross her, but if they genuinely need help, she’s the person they go to.

“‘Genuinely’ is the key word here,” Aidan adds. “If you screw with her, try to take advantage, she’ll end you. There have been people who mistook her generosity and kindness for softness, and those who lived through it still regret it.”

That’s… not reassuring.

“Great. Thanks, Aidan.”

“Anytime. Good luck.”

We end the call to the sound of Alistair whining about how he helped too and where was his thanks?

Now that I have more information, I can formulate a better plan. My objectives for the year are to (a) educate the children, (b) develop a working system to attract other species to the town, (c) make observations for my paper, and (d) avoid Damaris Bailey as much as possible.

I think I can manage that.

* * *

Sid and Anniehang back as I approach Damaris’s house, and I glance over my shoulder at them. “What?”

“We’re terrified of her,” Sid says bluntly. “She’s called six times in the past three days, and every time I hear her voice, my testicles try to climb back into my body.”

I turn fully to face him. How to deal with this? “Why?”

Annie scoffs, not falling for my fake ignorance, and Sid shakes his head. “Instinct.”

That surprises a laugh from me. “I’m not saying she’s not intimidating”—that’s as diplomatic a word as I can manage—“but she’s been… polite to us.”

“She hates our guts, Garrett,” Annie says bluntly. “She doesn’t want us here.”

“She doesn’t hate us,” I argue. “Come on, we study this kind of behavior in people. We know what it means. We’re outsiders, and she’s not sure what to make of us yet.” And she might also hate us. The vibe I’ve gotten from her over the past few days hasn’t been promising. But I’m not going to tell my team that. “She’s hosting this party to welcome us, right? So let’s not insult her by being late.”

They nod—reluctantly—and we close the distance to the front door and knock.

To all our relief, the demon who opens the door is not Damaris. He’s a lot younger, for one—younger than me even—and even though he’s not smiling the way a non-demon would, heissmiling. I don’t even have to look closely to see it.

“Hi! I’m Zac Bailey, Damaris’s grandson. And you’re our teaching team. Welcome. Come in.”

I smile at him as he stands back and holds the door wide. “Thank you. I’m Garrett Smythe.” I introduce the others as we enter, and then look around as Zac closes the door. The murmur of voices comes from down the hallway, but it’s the hallway itself that intrigues me. It’s lined with pictures, dozens—no, hundreds of them. The ones nearest us are drawings and paintings, some of them clearly dating back a long time, while farther down the hall I can see sepia-toned photographs. They’re all images of people whom I assume Damaris knows—or knew. “This is wonderful,” I comment, stepping closer to study a watercolor miniature. “Fascinating.”

Zac comes to stand at my shoulder. “Yeah, Grandmother’s gallery is pretty cool. This is her younger sister. And that’s my late grandfather’s cousin.” We move slowly down the hall with Zac identifying the subject of each framed image. The anthropologist in me is thrilled, wondering if Damaris would be willing to give me this same tour and maybe tell me a bit about the pictures. It would be grea—

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