Cruel Prince meets Law & Order in Hush Hush City, the thrilling sequel to Dead Blood City and second installment in the Saoirse Reilly series!
Title: Hush Hush City
Author: Jo Denning
Publisher: Leabhar & Fola Publishing House
Pages: 330
Genre: Dark Urban 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.
Author Interview
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Who is your favorite character to write, and why is that person your favorite? If picking a favorite character would be like picking a favorite child, which character seems to be the most demanding or your attention and detail as a writer?
My answer to both these questions is the same—Emrys Somerled. That guy is always causing trouble. He is a challenging character to write because his motivations are well-hidden, even from me! Somerled has a very formal way of speaking with big, fancy words, unnecessary info-dumping, and no contractions of any kind. But he is also the most fun to write! Writing from his point of view is the most challenging thing for me but I enjoy trying.
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Describe your writing process. Do you outline, plot and plan, or is your writing more organic?
I always create a detailed outline before I start writing. Then I create scene cards, a strategy discussed in ‘Story Genius,’ to make sure every scene actively contributes to character development. I jump around to different chapters and scenes when I write so a good outline helps me stay on track.
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What are some books or authors that you would recommend to our readers?
This may come as a surprise, but I’ve always been a big urban fantasy fan! I love the Mercy Thompson series by Patricia Briggs, the Cassandra Palmer series by Karen Chance, and the Parasol Protectorate series by Gail Carriger.
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Have you been able to incorporate your previous experience in clinical social work in your writing?
Yes, I have been a mental health therapist for many years. The Saoirse Reilly series and all of its colorful characters are inspired almost exclusively by my work. Talking with literally hundreds of people from all different backgrounds has made it easier to really get into my characters’ heads.
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Do you identify with your main character or did you create a character that is your opposite?
I see Reilly as the person I could have been in a much darker timeline. There was a time in my life when I was suicidal and came close to having a serious problem with substances. In some ways we are the same, in others we are opposites.
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Describe the book/series in 10 words or less for people who are just learning about it.
Psychic detective decides if vulnerability is more terrifying than death.
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What is your favorite line from your book?
“Margaret, call me Maggie, Brinley was warmer than her brother in both coloring and reception of an unfamiliar woman with a gun.” For some reason, it reminds me a bit of fairy tales I read as a child.
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To date, what is your favorite (or most difficult) chapter you have ever written?
It’s actually from Dead Blood City, the first book in the Saoirse Reilly series. In Chapter 15, When the Trumpet Sounds, I got to explore two very different characters and their very different approaches to addressing past trauma. Aiden Ward discusses the strengths he gained because of, not in spite of, his struggles. Domenico Alderisi is revealed as the scared lost boy he really is.
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What is your take on book boyfriends? Do they actually exist? Or do they set the bar for “real life men” impossibly high?
I’ve always had book crushes. I don’t know about the term book boyfriend because I think it implies some kind of reciprocity. I definitely think male leads set the bar high, but the bar BETTER BE HIGH. A romantic partner should add something to your already fulfilled and happy life. Otherwise, what’s the point?
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What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
I love traveling with my husband, having long-winded discussions with loved ones about social constructionism, watching wedding shows, and reading!
Book Excerpt
I felt a shift in the air as the winding road through Boston’s jumbled brick became a straight shot cutting through the tidy squares of Cambridge. Full trees obscured my view of the pastel mansions along Brattle Street aka The King’s Highway, a moniker worth a thousand words. While a sense of belonging was a rarity in my life, the disconnect was inescapable in the well-to-do neighborhood Somerled beckoned me to.
West Cambridge once housed revolutionaries and artists. Now the historic homes priced the average resident right out the door.
The good doctor must feel at ease here.
Me? I wanted to go back to bed in my barely-within-the-realm-of-reasonably-priced, cramped South End apartment.
What the fuck was I doing?
Not three months ago, I would’ve told Somerled to jump in the Harbor if he told me to meet him anywhere at three thirty-two a.m.
Or anywhere at any time of day, for that matter.
Now I was parking my dusty Jeep on the street in front of some Boston Brahmin’s inviting eight-foot-high steel fence. The vehicle took the brunt of my frustration as I slammed the door. Manicured hedges might have softened the fence but their lines were even harsher than the metal tines piercing the night sky.
There was an intercom by the entrance. Before I could lift my hand to it, the gate creaked open.
Because that wasn’t creepy at all.
A fountain percolated in the center of the verdant grounds. Some people milled around near the entryway. On closer inspection, I realized they were statues. Bronze approximations of regular humans, unlike the residents of the butter-yellow mansion at the other end of the cobblestone path.
If the front yard was fancy, the house itself was fucking excessive.
It was at least four stories. Towering columns banked the grand entrance and fussy white trim wrapped the windows. Multiple brick chimneys stacked along the exterior walls for the multiple fireplaces inside. The whole display was topped off with a balcony fit for Juliet to hang from.
Jamming my hands in my pockets, I trotted down the stupidly long front walk. I took the many, many front steps two at a time and stopped at the front door. Now what?
The pure white door opened, depositing Somerled’s unfairly dapper form onto the piazza. He wore a three-piece suit in burgundy plaid despite the late summer heat because, well, you already know why.
“Ah, Saoirse,” he said, “I see you have arrived without issue. I wondered if you would be too inebriated for travel at this time of day.”
“Fuck you,” the curse dropped from my lips without conscious thought. “What do you want? And you’re welcome, by the way.”
I could be polite.
He smiled. “Of course. It is gratifying to find you here.”
“You told me to come here. And I stopped drinking! Fuck knows why. You’re the one—”
“So I did. Shall we go inside?”
I planted my feet on the piazza, arms crossing over my chest. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“It appears one of my patients has been the victim of a homicide,” Somerled said as though commenting on the muggy weather.
“What?”
“I believe—”
“No, I heard you just… what?” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “What happened? Why are you here?”
He clicked his tongue. “His family requested my support with this delicate matter.” “Okay,” I said, “you need to do whatever the cops tell you.”
“Yes, and what is that?”
No. This is not happening.
“You did call the cops, right?”
“Obviously, I am currently engaged in that process,” he scoffed.
An inadvertent sound encompassing all of the frustration of interacting with Somerled escaped me.
“Saoirse?”
“No, not me,” I shouted. “Like the actual— Like dispatch!”
He laughed. He actually fucking laughed at me. “The actual police? To whom am I speaking?”
“What if the guy’s not dead?” My voice pitched higher with disbelief and a touch of panic.
“I assure you he is.”
My hands went from cradling my forehead to ripping out my hair. “Is the scene secure? Do you even know if it’s safe? What if—”
“Calm yourself,” he said. “It is your job to attend to such eventualities, is it not?” “For fuck’s sake. You stay out here.”
“It is a bit late for that, I am afraid.”
“Stay. Here.” I pointed to a patch of wood planking. “And call nine-one-one!” I threw open the door and stepped inside.
Jo Denning is the author of the Saoirse Reilly series. She has spent her career as a behavioral health therapist supporting kids and teens who struggle with addiction. Jo began writing supernatural crime thrillers as a way of processing the traumatic things she has seen and heard. Her characters may be supernatural but their stories, their fear, and their pain are real. So, too, are the triumphs over impossible odds.
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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