Page 1 of In the Monster’s Wake (Monsters Amongst Us #1)

J asper wasn’t one to usually run from trouble, but right then, he was tempted to throw himself out the window. It would be a problem since he was on the third floor, but it’d be worth it.

“Don’t do it,” Corey said from where he was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know for sure that it’s them.”

Jasper looked down at his phone. The message was still on the screen, staring back at him. “My mother just texted me that they’re at the door. Who else could be knocking?”

Corey grimaced. “Okay, maybe it is them. It still doesn’t mean you should throw yourself out the window.”

Jasper pressed a hand over his heart. “So you do care about me?”

Corey grinned. “No, I just don’t want to have to deal with them. They’re your parents, not mine.”

Jasper groaned. “Maybe we could stay quiet, and I could text my mom that I’m not home.”

“Oops,” a woman’s voice said.

Jasper turned toward the kitchen door to see Kerry walking in, followed by his parents. She grimaced and gestured toward them. “I heard the knock and thought I’d open.”

Jasper had known he’d regret having roommates, dammit. Now he’d have to talk to his parents.

That window had never looked so good.

“Sweetheart,” his mother said as she moved toward him.

He pushed away from the counter and put down his phone and cup of coffee. He was just in time before his mother stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly. He didn’t mind it too much, but it felt awkward because they’d never been a hugging kind of family.

“You’re not busy, are you?” she asked. “Because we could come back later.”

Jasper’s father snorted. “How can he be busy? He’s here drinking coffee. If he was a hunter, he wouldn’t have time to drink coffee.”

Jasper took a deep breath and told himself not to snap, no matter how ridiculous what his father was saying was. “Hunters can’t drink coffee now?” he asked as he nodded at his father.

Leroy glared at him. “You know what I meant.”

Jasper knew exactly what his father meant. He was still pissed that Jasper had left the family business . He always made it sound like they were in a bad TV show or something.

Unfortunately, sometimes, it did feel like Jasper lived in a TV show.

Why else would his father expect him to fight monsters?

Jasper couldn’t care less about the hunters and their business, and he’d made it clear when he’d left.

He wished his father would stop bringing it up every time they saw each other.

Jasper turned to his mother. “You didn’t say why you were here. Has something happened?”

She grimaced, and Jasper understood why when his father started talking again. He should’ve known better than to ask, really.

“Are you not one bit interested in the people who were your family?” Leroy asked. He pushed past Kerry on his way to the coffee pot.

Jasper almost snapped at him for being so rude, but Leroy wouldn’t think anything of it. He didn’t see it as being rude. He saw it as being assertive and knowing what he wanted, like every hunter should.

Those words had been hammered into Jasper’s mind since he was a child.

The family business was everything to his father, and Leroy didn’t understand how Jasper didn’t feel the same.

He didn’t understand why Jasper didn’t want to kill people.

Jasper had stopped trying to explain himself because he didn’t think his father ever would.

“What about the hunters?” he asked, already knowing he’d regret it. “I watch the news sometimes, and I haven’t heard anything.”

Jasper’s father grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured himself coffee. “If you watch the news, you should know about the recent attacks and the hunters who got hurt and killed.”

Unfortunately, Jasper did. It was on the news constantly. That was why he was doing his best not to look into it. He didn’t want anything to do with it, and the less he knew, the better he felt. His father wouldn’t let it go, though. He was here to talk about this. Jasper was sure of that.

“We barely have any new recruits,” Leroy lamented. “And those we do have can’t do their job even when someone explains it to them. We’ve been trying to convince some of the hunters who retired to come by, but most of them have a good reason why they can’t.”

Which was one of the reasons Jasper had stopped hunting. He’d like to reach old age with all four limbs attached to his body—thank you very much. Hunters tended to either die on the job or lose bits and pieces over the years, and he didn’t want that to happen to him.

He knew what his father wasn’t saying. Leroy was here to try to convince Jasper to come back to work. He probably wouldn’t come out and say it explicitly, so as long as Jasper acted as if he had no idea what his father was talking about, he should be fine.

For now.

Leroy stared at Jasper for a moment before scoffing. “Being a hunter is a lost art. We need more people.”

“Then maybe you should try to recruit more people.” Jasper didn’t like that thought, but he hadn’t been a hunter in a long time, and he had no intention of ever going back for any reason.

“Young people don’t want to sacrifice anything these days. They’re selfish. They want their cushy jobs at grocery stores and restaurants, and they don’t care that monsters are lurking in the city. They’re happy to be protected, but they won’t do any protecting. They’re too soft.”

Jasper briefly wondered if his father was going to start ranting and shaking his fist at the sky.

He had the general aura of someone who would do that, even though he wasn’t that old.

He was just a ranting kind of person, especially when he didn’t get what he wanted—which was never when it came to Jasper.

He hadn’t allowed his father to dictate his life in years, and he wasn’t about to start now, no matter what Leroy had to say about it.

Jasper exchanged a glance with Kerry, who still hovered at the kitchen door.

Corey was creeping toward her, clearly wanting out of the kitchen.

Jasper would’ve called them out on it because he didn’t want to be left alone with his parents, but they weren’t their burden to deal with.

They’d seen enough of them growing up. They didn’t need to continue doing so now that they were adults and living their own lives.

Jasper sighed when Corey slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed his sister’s wrist to pull her along. He was alone.

He prayed that his parents had something planned for the rest of the day because he didn’t know what he’d do if they stayed for much longer. Scream, maybe.

He eyed the window again. He supposed that was another possibility.

* * * *

“I AM so done with all this paperwork,” Braith complained.

Considering he was sitting at his desk with his feet up as he played on his phone, Archibald felt like he’d be within his right to hit his friend.

“What paperwork?” he asked, pointedly looking at Braith.

Braith didn’t even glance up. “You know. The paperwork we do at the end of the cases. Do we really have to do it? I mean, we’re our own bosses. We can do what we want.”

“We can,” Archibald agreed. “But then don’t come crying to me when you can’t find the files you were looking for. Remember that case with the will and the vase?”

“How was I supposed to know they were going to hire us again two months later?” Braith complained.

“You weren’t supposed to know. You were supposed to be ready in case it happened, and you will be if you compile the paperwork.”

Braith wasn’t wrong. Filing case reports was one of the worst parts of being a PI, but Archibald felt it was necessary. It made things easier, even though it didn’t feel like it while they were working on it. It definitely didn’t feel like it when Braith still refused to glance up from his phone.

Archibald grabbed the stress ball he kept on his desk for this purpose and threw it at his friend’s face. He groaned when Braith snatched it from the air without looking up. He should know better, but he was annoyed.

“That was weak,” Braith said as he finally lowered his phone and threw the ball back at Archibald. “You could do better.”

“I would if I wasn’t forced to work on these reports on my own. I warned you when we decided to open this office. I told you I wouldn’t be doing all the paperwork by myself.”

Braith groaned dramatically. “Fine. What do I need to write?”

Archibald stared at him. Braith was behaving as if he’d never filed a case report when he did so every week.

Braith rolled his eyes and grabbed a pen. “You know, this would be much easier if we had a secretary.”

“We don’t need a secretary.”

“They could answer the phone.”

That gave Archibald pause. “That means that I wouldn’t have to answer the phone ever again.

” He hated answering the phone. He didn’t understand why people couldn’t just email.

It was easier and, most of the time, faster.

People could write whatever they needed and wanted in that email and give Archibald all of the details of their cases.

He wouldn’t have to listen to people sob and complain on the phone if they did that.

“It’s a pity you don’t want to hire anyone,” Braith continued.

“I don’t know. I might be convinced we do need a secretary. What else would they do for me?”

“Not sleep with you if that’s what you’re thinking about.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Braith knew that Archibald wouldn’t do anything that might result in their office closing. He didn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t a PI. He didn’t even want to think about it. He’d found his place in the world, and he would cling to it with both hands, no matter how messy it became.

And it might become messy. He eyed the TV, which was on but without sound. He didn’t need the sound to know what they were talking about, though. “What do you think of that?” he asked Braith as he tilted his chin toward the screen.

Braith grimaced. “I don’t like it.”