Page 41 of Asher

I put a hand to my suddenly churning stomach. Maybe one of those canapés disagreed with me.

Suddenly, the music stops, and I spin around to see Alistair taking a microphone from the DJ. “Oh no,” I mutter.

“Hey, folks!” He beams at everyone, and half the room—the half related to me—calls back, “Hey, Alistair!”

“Don’t worry, the music will be back in a sec. There’s a lot of partying left to do tonight! But I wanted to take a moment to welcome Asher and his family to ours. Hellhounds and demons, united at last!”

Cheers break out—again, from my family. Most of Asher’s just look confused.

“Some of you know that Garrett is the most sensible hellhound alive. He’s the one we send when we want people to think we’re responsible.” Far too many people call out agreement, and I wonder if it’s too late to disown my family. “But every hellhound needs some flash and dazzle in his life, so allow me to share with you… my wedding present to the grooms!”

That seems to be a cue, because there’s a bang, and suddenly, big pieces of glitter are showering over the dance floor. Another bang, and another shower.

“What the fuck?” Asher swipes the metallic thumbnail-sized plastic away from his face. I sigh and point at the “gift” I’ve just spotted.

“Glitter cannon,” I explain. This is actually pretty low-key as far as Alistair goes. “Thanks, Al,” I call.

“It’s yours to keep! To add sparkle to your marriage.”

Before I can think of a reply, Sam lets out another of those uncharacteristic squeals. “It’s like a Slip ’n Slide!”

I watch with dropped jaw as the lucifer skids on his knees from one side of the dance floor to the other, made easy by the slippery pieces of plastic.

Slowly, I raise my gaze to Asher’s. I’m not sure what he sees there, but his face becomes guarded.

“What?” he asks warily.

“Come and measure how far I can get.”

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Asher

The first trueblizzard of the season blows through in early December, just a few weeks after the wedding, and Garrett’s not prepared for it. He’s never lived anywhere that experiences truly snowy winters, and after the initial fascination passes, he sees the storm for what it is: a pain in the ass.

It’s even more of a pain for him than for the rest of us. We’re so used to teleporting from indoor space to indoor space that no real infrastructure exists in the village to clear snow from the roads. Some families clear parts of their yards, especially if they have pets that need to go out or children who play outside, and if it gets too high around buildings and becomes a hazard, we deal with that, but otherwise we mostly just wait for it all to melt come spring. That’s not an option for our new non-demon residents, who, we discover, are basically trapped in the house. No one in the village considered that because we’re not used to having non-demons here, and Garrett and his team didn’t consider it because they’re not used to this volume of snow.

Which is why I’m sitting on my couch beside my cousins, and we’re all being chastised like children by my ranting husband.

He’s adorable when he gets all worked up.

“…cannot expect people to rely on someone else every single time they need to leave their home,” he’s repeating for the third—maybe fourth—time. He’s really riled up about this. “When storms end, the streets need to be cleared. You’ll never keep other species here otherwise.”

Micah side-eyes me, then clears his throat. “You’re right,” he says, “but, uh… you know we’re not in charge of the village, right? Do Zac and I have to be here for this?”

Garrett’s eyes blaze, and for just a moment, I pity Micah.

“Yes, you have to be here! I’ve asked Jesse to call an emergency meeting of the village council for this afternoon so this can be resolved as soon as possible.”

“But,” Zac ventures, drumming his fingers nervously against his knee, “we’re not on the village council.”

“Your grandmother is.”

It takes only a split second for his meaning to sink in, and then my cousins scramble to their feet. “Oh, no,” Zac says. “No. Isn’t it enough that we held her back at the wedding? She could have turned on us at any time. We risked life and limb, and she still hasn’t forgiven us for interfering.”

That’s true. Family dinners have been distinctly chilly lately.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Garrett dismisses. “If she’d wanted to turn on you, she would have, and none of us would have been able to save you.” He’s remarkably calm about it all, but then, it’s not him who would have been ripped apart. “Besides, I’m not concerned that they’ll disagree with the need for street crews. It’s the urgency that might be an issue.”

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