Author: Jo Denning
Publisher: Leabhar & Fola Publishing House
Pages: 330
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Cruel Prince meets Law & Order in Hush Hush City, the thrilling sequel to Dead Blood City and second installment in the Saoirse Reilly series! Saoirse Reilly, police detective and wayward psychic, is still reeling from the events of Dead Blood City. Her lies are piling up but there’s no time to deal. She and her loved ones are in danger once again. While investigating the murder of a Boston blueblood, Reilly is drawn into a supernatural power struggle centuries in the making.
Ancient monsters are prowling the streets and Domenico Alderisi, newly installed vrykolakas master, needs Reilly’s help securing his territory – which just so happens to be her hometown. Alderisi, once her enemy, may be the only one who can save the city. But he has his own agenda and a taste for Reilly’s blood. The only way for Reilly to protect all she holds dear may be to rely on her two-faced teacher, Dr. Emrys Somerled. The criminal psychologist and occult expert is something more than human. If anyone can take on monsters, it’s him. And he’d like to get closer to Reilly than ever before. There’s just one problem. Somerled is keeping secrets, too, and there’s nothing more dangerous. After all…
Stepping out of the silence is scary but secrets can kill.
Will Reilly escape the web of death and deception?
Find out in this urban fantasy meets gritty noir detective novel featuring imperfect heroes and slow burn dark romance with beautiful monsters who can’t be trusted.
Amazon: https://amzn.to/41Z1UUq
Chapter One
How Silence Consumes
I was still getting used to the survival instinct thrumming through my veins. My heart pounded against my ribs like it might fly free of its cage. The flush that always betrayed my lies prickled up my neck.
Great-Grandma Fitzpatrick used to say secrets were binding. A secret kept by one binds you. A secret kept by two binds you two. I didn’t know what she meant when I was a girl, but I did now.
Locked. Of course.
I tried the drawer again out of pure wishful thinking.
It didn’t budge.
There are two kinds of secrets. Secrets you keep and secrets that are kept from you. And Dr. Emrys Somerled, forensic psychologist and apparent mentor to wayward psychics, was keeping a few from me.
Probably more than a few.
And that was my problem. Somerled knew my secret and I knew absolutely none of his. I had to find a way to tip the scales in my favor or, at the very least, balance them. Almost two months had passed since his offer of a quiet mind. Somerled had grand plans of teaching me to control my visions, allowing me to experience human touch without the risk of seeing whatever fucked up shit had happened in their past. I held no illusions that he did it out of the goodness of his heart but I still hadn’t figured out his angle.
Somerled talked my ear off about endless forms of divination that all had some fancy name ending in -mancy. It was impossible to keep them straight. First, he had me try divining with fire and water, then he decided my so-called gift required physical contact with the divining item. So we practiced tarot, rune-casting, and something that had to do with wandering around in the woods with a forked stick. Things always happened but Somerled would click his tongue and shake his head and tell me to try something else.
He was on a kick now of methods using gross, dead shit. I flat out refused his suggestion to sacrifice a small animal and dig through its intestines. We’d compromised with bones.
At least it would be less messy.
In an unexpected stroke of humanity, he had to take a phone call and paused our lesson on the history of osteomancy. I was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to search the ostentatious office at the back of his equally ostentatious Beacon Hill brownstone.
The single locked drawer in his delicate, Carrara marble-topped desk was the most obvious place to start. Floral vines curled up its mahogany legs. At the sound of his voice, my heart contracted like those vines had wrapped around it tight.
I froze, measuring the distance back to the cream armchair on the opposite side of the desk.
The floorboards creaked as Somerled walked back down the hall so I continued my search.
The key had to be around here somewhere.
Maybe it was hidden in plain sight among his little trinkets?
Somerled’s shelves, as fussy as his desk, boasted an eccentric collection of poetry, occult, and psychology texts. Littered between the thick, jewel-toned volumes were statuettes, coins, and bits of bone. My hunt reminded me of flipping through I Spy books with Finn and Maureen at the BPL branch in Southie.
I spy a coin, a card, a crown,
A crystal, and a flower from the ground;
A statue of Zeus, a stone, a skull,
Bird bones, and books that look real fucking dull.
And there it was. A tiny brass key placed on a doily just so.
My hands trembled with nerves as I fit the key in the drawer’s lock.
It opened with a satisfying click.
I glanced through the doorway again, but Somerled was still chattering away. The desk drawer coasted open without a hitch or a sound.
Impressive, for an antique.
Gold shimmered in the sunlight spilling through the bay window. Inside the drawer lay a cup, or maybe a small bowl, engraved vines circling the rim. Two lions decorated the surface and they were chasing something. I reached for the cup, hoping to turn it and discover their prey. And, with any luck, I’d see more than that.
That was when I heard him.
Somerled must have ended his call. His smart loafers clicked down his hardwood hallway straight for me.
I closed the drawer as quietly as possible, ignoring the nip of panic. After returning the key to its rightful spot, I rounded the desk and took my seat.
Taking a deep breath, I arranged my face into an expression of disinterest. “Did you find anything of note, Saoirse?”
Childlike panic thrilled down my spine as I met Somerled’s hazel eyes. “What do you mean?” I tried to keep the tinge of guilt out of my voice. Shaking his head, he pushed off the door jamb. His long stride devoured the space
between us. Once he was within striking distance, he reached for me. I flinched further into my chair as a pale gold finger brushed my hair from my brow.
Somerled had been more handsy since he’d saved my life. It was subtle, a brush of his fingertips here and there, but worlds apart from the complete lack of physicality prior. Even when I saw it coming, I felt totally unprepared which was probably why he kept doing it. He seemed to relish throwing me off-balance. Though ‘off-balance’ was an understatement for the nauseating heat that his delicate touches inspired. If Somerled’s gaze felt like standing on a cliff then his touch pushed me over the edge and sent me freefalling through empty air.
Bypassing the plush Chesterfield across from mine, he went for the tufted chair behind his desk, rusty leather pierced with brass nails. He lounged there like an idle king on his throne.
It was a power play.
While our interactions were more cordial than in the past, even friendly, Somerled never hesitated to remind me which of us was in control. Stumbling through the darkness of my newfound abilities with a penlight, I relied on him to keep dragging me along behind. I watched him watching me.
The more time we spent together the more appreciation I had for his looks. It was purely objective like acknowledging the beauty in a timber wolf or a hurricane at sea. He was handsome with golden skin, high cheekbones, and changeable hazel eyes. I preferred his pale hair loose around his face instead of slicked back and I hated myself for giving a shit about how he wore his hair.
At times, I found myself examining him as though that pretty picture might crack and reveal some dark, ancient thing beneath. Then his lips would curve, he’d open his mouth, and I was back to wanting to break his aquiline nose.
Damask wallpaper suffocated me in the colors of bruised flesh despite the sunny summer day on the other side of the window. But it was Somerled who crushed me under the weight of his presence.
“I hoped you would have more faith in me by now.” He reclined in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “If there is anything you wish to know, all you need do is ask.” “Really?”
Fond amusement warmed his eyes at my incredulous tone, and he put up his hands in surrender. “Of course, I am an open book.”
“Fine. If that’s true tell me where you learned all this stuff.”
“Here and there along my journey.”
“See, that’s why. That’s not an answer. Why can’t you be straight with me for once?” He clicked his tongue. “Of what consequence are the whys and hows? You are fortunate I am able and willing to offer the knowledge you seek.”
“I’d feel a lot more fortunate if you would just be honest with me.”
“Fascinating.”
I waited for him to continue.
He didn’t.
“What is?” I asked, against my better judgment.
“You ask me for honesty when you yourself are a liar.”
Direct hit.
“Tell me, Saoirse, have you told anyone else about your gift?” he asked. “About your discovery of a supernatural race of monsters? About what truly occurred last month in the abandoned building on the riverfront? About anything at all?”
No, of course I hadn’t and, of course, he already knew that.
In the past, I might’ve fallen for his cheap deflection tactics.
“We’re not talking about me.”
Somerled bared his perfect, white teeth. “No, I suppose we are not.”
I raised my eyebrows, encouraging him to get on with it.
“My parents ensured I was educated in all manner of disciplines.”
“Including myth and magic? Were they big into D and D?”
“Your flippant attitude does not entice me to share of myself, Saoirse,” he scolded. I struggled not to roll my eyes but stayed silent.
“Proficiency in various methods of combat is expected for one of my bloodline. I began my training at age eight, as is our custom.”
Eight? What the fuck?
“That’s crazy. Were you raised in medieval Europe?”
“No, and if you continue interrupting you will hear no more.”
I pantomimed zipping my mouth shut.
“As I told you before, what you call ‘magic’ is common among my people. Awen is a skill trained like any other.”
“But who are your people?” I asked.
“That is a conversation for another time.”
I huffed in frustration. “Seriously? Give me something.”
His head tilted to the side and a predatory gleam lit his amber eyes. “Perhaps you would care to barter for the remainder?”
“Barter? What do you want?”
“Your tongue.”
My mouth fell open, revealing the tongue in question. “What?”
“You heard me, Saoirse.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d made some morbid suggestion. I could never tell if he was joking or not. Somerled had a fucked up sense of humor.
“I’ll pass.”
“Very well,” he said. “Let us—”
“What about your home? Can you tell me about that?”
His gaze shifted to the side as he considered my question. “I come from a place as beautiful and unforgiving as its people. A land free of falsehood and decay. It treats outsiders harshly but never fails to provide for its chosen ones. It has been some time since I left.”
“If it’s so great why did you leave?”
He didn’t answer.
Typical.
“Let me guess. You need my tongue for that, too?”
“Is it on offer?” At his sly look, my skin burned and tightened over muscle. “No, let’s get back to… this.” Blushing, inexplicably and frustratingly, I waved my hand at the jumble of random shit on his desk.
It rested atop a monogrammed cloth napkin because this was Somerled we were talking about.
“As you wish,” he said, mirth still coloring his voice. “We have already discussed the history of osteomancy. Now we will discuss the mechanics of this form of divination.” Rubbing at my warm cheeks, I reverted to my default mode of impatient asshole. “I don’t get how any of this helps me. You said you’d show me how to stop the visions.” Somerled leaned forward in his chair, eyes fixed on mine. His lips curled on a strange sort of grin that gave him the look of a prowling hyena. The heat bled from my face, twisting my stomach into knots.
A breath puffed out of me as I broke eye contact. I wrapped my arms around my belly as if to protect myself from his canines.
When I glanced back I thought he might say something—words that would hook into my entrails and yank me toward him.
Instead, he settled back in his chair and said, “I most certainly did not. I promised control. Divination items are a common method of channeling such a gift. We simply need to determine which form resonates with you most strongly. Yes?”
“Whatever.”
Somerled donned his professionalism in a millisecond while I was still stuck on that predatory glint in his eye.
“In osteomancy, the practitioner collects and prepares their own set of bones—” “If it’s bone, why are there shells and bark?”
“This is a modern practice,” he said. “The inclusion of the ‘bones’ of the earth and the ‘bones’ of the sea, respectively.
“After preparing and resonating with a set, which may take several years, the practitioner divines in a method called throwing the bones. The pieces themselves are less significant than their positioning. The nuanced meanings of such positions are communicated to the practitioner by the bones.”
“How?” I was ever full of questions that only he seemed capable of answering. “Through the practitioner’s gift.”
“The awen?”
“Perhaps.”
As always, his answers were sharp, little pebbles in my shoe. I was aware of them but I could never wrap my fingers around them.
“How do these ones talk to you?” I asked. “They’re yours, right?”
“They are mine now though they fight me. Unfortunately, I was forced to destroy three of them.”
Despite his words, he didn’t look too torn up about it.
“I don’t understand.”
Did I ever?
Somerled tilted his head. “They do not recognize me as their master. I received them by barter some time ago.”
“From who? For what?”
“The temperament of these bones is similar to yours,” he said. “I thought—” “So you’re gonna straight up ignore my question?”
“That information is not relevant to our lessons.”
I was going to strangle him by the end of this.
“Whatever. Now what?”
He waved a hand over the bones. “Ask your question and throw.”
As usual, he gave no explanation as to how to go about my task. Maybe it was part of the test. Or maybe he just liked watching me struggle.
I examined the so-called bones—a jawbone, a clamshell, a small tusk, a bird’s talon, a chunk of pale bark, a vertebra, and a glass eye.
“Will it work without the whole set?” I asked.
“Seven is sufficient. One for the questioner. Then love, health, clan, money, home, and spirit.”
I gathered the set of seven in my hands, flinching in advance in case they triggered a vision.
They didn’t.
I looked up to see Somerled staring at me unblinkingly like a crocodile. Creepy but I did sign up for this.
Returning my attention to the bones, I heaved out a deep breath and closed my eyes. Nothing happened.
Stupid. Like a handful of junk was going to talk to me.
What crackpot did he get these from?
Of course, that was the moment my dubious gift ripped me from the present and dumped me into a vision of the past. The answer to my derisive question consumed my consciousness.
***
I looked up, trying to make sense of the foggy image before me. Something tinted the color of river rocks and inlaid with lines of a similar shape swiped over my eyes. Grease cleared from my field of vision, I realized I was looking up at a woman backlit by the sun.
Her thumb. Her thumb had cleaned the glass separating us like a window between times.
The woman leaning over us was pale-skinned and pale-eyed with tight, cinnamon coils floating around her elfin face. She wore a plaid shawl around her shoulders like a much older woman shielding herself from the cold. Silver dangled from her ears and wrists. She was the mistress of the bones.
I lay on a table with my fellows. Our mistress consulted we ten bones on behalf of the shimmering monster who sat across the casting table from her. His question was as ominous as it was vague.
“Where is she?” His colorless eyes caught on my painted pupil for a moment. Could he see me? And, if so, why did he consult my mistress?
Surely he had his own bones to serve him.
“I will think on this question,” said our mistress.
But, when she touched us, her heart told us she did not want the answer. She did not want him to have the answer.
I rattled in her hands with my fellows.
Should we answer? I was not the only one plagued by uncertainty.
‘Give any answer,’ she told us. ‘Give any answer, save that one.’
“Stop.”
Our mistress’s startled eyes returned to the stranger. The Traveler, she called him. Odd, for that was the name of her people. Who was this stranger to hoard the appellation of an entire clan for himself?
We fell to the table.
“I paid for this answer, have I not? Yet you would keep it from me.” His words were angry but his eyes shone with glee. “Eileen Teresa Collins, you violated the terms of our contract and I seek recompense.”
Our mistress was sick with fear.
“No,” she said. “I will try again.”
“It is too late for that. I will have your boon.”
“What boon?”
He clicked his tongue. “That will be determined at a later time.”
Her fear spiked. To owe an unnamed debt to any daoine sidhe was dangerous. But, to this one? It was a fate worse than death.
‘Why did I agree to throw for The Traveler, of all creatures?’ she asked us, though she knew the answer.
Coin.
Everyone needed it and few had it in sufficient supply.
“No, it must be settled today.” Our mistress pulled her hands from the table, away from us, and clenched them in her lap.
For this creature had another name that floated to the front of our mistress’s mind. His head tilted to the side as he lazily studied her face. “The bones then.” A name that alluded to the very reason she was so hesitant to deal with him. “My bones?” She gazed down at us, grief at the loss already evident on her face.
A name few dare use in his presence.
“Yes, this is more than fair as you denied my first offer after wronging me. Or perhaps you will offer a child in place of the one I seek?”
Misery followed for those foolish souls.
Our mistress abandoned us to save herself. Neither I nor my fellows faulted her for it.
I was not so loyal as some but, even those of us who survived by bowing to his power, never answered that question. Our rebellion was for naught. It seems he found his quarry all the same.
***
I opened my eyes to the sight of the bones slipping through my parted fingers. They clattered to the desk. All save the glass eye that bounced once and rolled off the marble surface.
Somerled’s hands were wrapped around my thin wrists like shackles. He’d pulled apart my hands, I realized, so I would drop the bones. The pad of his thumb stroked the delicate skin over my pulse point.
“Dreambreaker,” I murmured.
He released me.
“The questioner,” he said, plucking the eye from the floor. “You knocked yourself from the casting cloth.”
Struggling to process my vision, I stayed silent. The Traveler—The Dreambreaker—I’d seen him before, not in visions but in my dreams.
Did Somerled know him? More importantly, would he tell me if he did? I didn’t need to pose that question to the bones to know the answer.
Somerled rolled the bit of glass between his fingers. “Well done, Saoirse. For a first effort.”
His half-assed compliment sent a wave of warmth through my chest. Biting the inside of my cheek, I told myself to grow the fuck up. The barest bit of praise from him inspired the most unnecessary and embarrassing emotional responses.
“However,” he continued, “these are not for you, I think. Pity but I am a patient hunter. We will keep searching.”
“I like them,” I said. “Maybe if I keep—”
“No, we will end here for today.”
He swept the bones into their plaid sack and shepherded me to his front hall in record time. Midday sun cut through the glass panels flanking his blood-red door. The rays illuminated the paintings on his wall. Figures clothed only in silk shifted in the light, dancing through the painted forest of their frames.
Somerled’s hand grazed the base of my spine, drawing me from my observations. “I will see you tomorrow.”
I flinched. “Uh, no. I’ve got that thing.”
“Yes, of course.” His palm pressed against the small of my back. “Dinner with your associates from the precinct?”
I frowned, moving out of his reach. “Aren’t you coming?”
He stepped closer. “No, though you need not look quite so appalled at the prospect.”
“Just doesn’t really seem like your scene.” My back hit the door, head tipping back to maintain eye contact.
That predatory light sparked again in his eyes. “It is not. Moreover, I have other plans.”
“Hot date?” I found the doorknob.
“Simply meeting with some old friends. Do not concern yourself.” He rested his arm next to where my skull met wood.
“I won’t.”
Somerled’s other hand closed over mine on the knob and he leaned in. “No?” I stayed still and, for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Then he lifted his head with a soft chuckle.
Mortification flushed my face as I shoved him, not that he budged an inch. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”
“As always, Saoirse, I enjoyed the pleasure of your company.” He opened the door, sending me tripping onto his front step. “I will you see for dinner on Tuesday.” I straightened out, an irritated sigh my only response. Even without looking back, I could picture the maddening expression on his face.
We were working toward a common end.
Theoretically.
But he never missed a chance to fuck with me. He held all the cards in this strange new facet of our relationship and he knew it.
I’d let Somerled keep his secrets for now—like I really had a choice. Someday soon, I’d tear into his cocoon of silence and find the secrets molting within. Until then I had to keep playing his game.
What would he do when I stopped?
About Jo Denning
When she’s not writing, Jo enjoys baking, drawing, and watching trashy reality TV. She makes her home somewhere in the contiguous United States with her husband, one fluffy cat, and one barely domesticated cat.
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