The Lady Under the Lake by EJ Russell (Spotlight, excerpt, and review)

 

 

 

 

 

The Lady Under the Lake

Quest Investigations, Book 3

by

E.J. Russell

Blurb:

 

This client is all wet...

After receiving a hot tip on the whereabouts of my almost-boyfriend’s nearly-ex-husband (hey, I told you—it’s complicated!), I thought my love life was finally coming up for air. But when we stake out the remote lake, it’s not the ex who surfaces.

It’s the Faerie King’s long-missing mother (and I mean really long, as in double-digit centuries), and she wants to hire Quest Investigations. Since one of my bosses is the king’s brother, he has a tsunami of…feelings about her as a potential client, and refuses to take the case. Instead, he passes it to me.

Yes! However…

Should I be thrilled at the vote of confidence or suspicious that he’s tossing me in the deep end without a life preserver, the better to punish the woman who abandoned her kid all those years ago?

You know what? It doesn’t matter. I may be Quest’s token human, but I’ve proven I can get the job done, so I dive right in. Then the lady explains what she wants me to do: find her missing child.

Seriously? I expected more of a challenge. All I have to do is introduce her to the king and bingo, case closed. But when she says, "Not that one," this little family drama threatens to send ripples throughout the supernatural community—especially with my boss in over his head as the prime suspect in a fae kidnapping.

As if things weren’t complicated enough… Remember that nearly-ex? When he shows up and muddies the waters, I’m faced with a choice: I can solve this case or I can finally hook my almost-boyfriend.

Dammit.

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Excerpt:

 

I gazed out the window, not that the fields in Lane County were particularly interesting this time of year. As I did, I caught sight of the truck bed in the side-view mirror. The empty truck bed. “Where’s the canoe?”

Lachlan chuckled. “The beaver clan doesn’t want us on the water. It seems that their kits’ first ever lodges aren’t as sturdy as they might be, and they don’t want to risk any damage.”

“Then how—”

“Rusty Johnson and Casimir Moreau are letting us use their dock. The rest of the clan can’t fuss about it because Rusty built the house on the opposite side of the lake from where most of them live—after Casimir bought all the other lots on that end of the lake.” Lachlan chuckled. “Seems the two of them like their privacy.” He winked. “Fond of naked midnight swims as they are.”

I swallowed, my throat gone thick. “G-good to know.” To distract myself from the image of Lachlan and me on a naked midnight swim, I looked everywhere but at him. That’s when I noticed something else missing. “Where’s your pack?”

Lachlan flicked on his turn signal and headed for the highway exit. “Back on my boat.”

I turned in my seat, the better to frown at him. “But Wyn’s at the bottom of that lake. How are you going to find him without your skin?” Before you ask, that’s not as creepy a question as it sounds. Selkies are seal shifters, and they control their shifts by putting on or removing their seal skin, which resembles a very closely furred wetsuit more than a creepy eyeless seal that’s been boned by a Ginsu knife.

“I couldn’t swim in the lake anyway, lad, not in my skin.” His smile glinted as the sun slanted in through his window. “Not my seal skin, anyway. Selkies are salt water folk. The lake’s fresh water.”

“So what would happen?” My eyes got round. “You can swim, can’t you? I mean, without shifting? You wouldn’t drown?”

“I can swim, and I wouldn’t drown, but I couldn’t shift either. It takes the touch of the sea to keep me in seal form.”

I folded my arms. “Why does none of the selkie lore mention that?”

“Think back on all the selkie tales you’ve read or pestered me for. Have any of them taken place anywhere but by the sea?”

“Well. No.”

He turned onto a road marked Private. “There you go then. Maybe we like to keep a few secrets to ourselves.” He winked at me. “We’re not like you humans, who want to share every little thing about our lives with the world, whether the world cares about it or not.”

You humans. Yep, there’s still a divide, but with Lachlan, it’s always seemed like my humanity was more of a turn on than a drawback. Eleri had once told me, “Selkies and humans. It’s a thing.” Yeah, I was counting on that traditional thing. A lot.

“So if you can’t dive into the lake and invite him topside for a little chat, how will we get his attention?”

Lachlan patted his anorak pocket. “Your friend Dr. MacLeod gave me a wee calling card.”

I blinked. “Bryce?” My other boss, Mal Kendrick, was married to a druid. I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not a potion, is it? Mal always says druid potions are nasty.” Since Bryce was an environmental science professor as well as a druid, I knew better than to think whatever magical doodad he passed along would hurt the lake or its denizens. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt Lachlan, or at least cause him significant discomfort.

“Nay. Just a little message I’ll float along on the water, to let Wyn know he’s safe and we’d be grateful for a chat.”

On the one hand, good that the calling card wasn’t too invasive. On the other hand, I’d prefer to deliver a more forceful message to Wyn. Something along the lines of Get your ass up here and divorce Lachlan already.

Lachlan pulled the truck onto a gravel drive that snaked through the woods and ended at a beautiful, sprawling Craftsman-style house right on the lakeshore. While the shrubs along the flagstone walk leading to its wide front porch were neat and healthy—I suspected a dryad gardening service—they weren’t particularly well-established. “This is new?”

He nodded. “Finished last spring. A wedding present from Rusty to Cas.”

I frowned at him. “How do you know so much about them?” I’d met both men—Casimir was the youngest vampire in the country, and would remain so since one of the conditions for that mass vampire rescue/exodus was a moratorium on turning anybody else. Rusty was a beaver shifter, but Inactive—unable to shift—so he was effectively human, although it didn’t seem to bother either him or Cas.

“The water-based supe community isn’t that big. I’ve known Rusty for years. We’re both…at odds with our clans, although for Rusty, it’s them rejecting him. With me, it’s the reverse. We’ve tipped a few pints in our day.”

We got out of the truck and I looked around. The house’s windows were all covered with blackout shades—which made sense, given that a vampire lived there. “They’re not at home, are they?”

Lachlan shook his head. “Nay. They’re at Cas’s place in Portland this week. Some kind of benefit for the hospital.” He gestured to a gravel path on one side of the house that led toward the lakeshore. “The dock’s down that way.”

We crunched down the slight slope toward the dock that extended fifteen feet or more into the lake. There was a small structure next to the dock, but it was completely on land, clearly not like the boathouses that dotted the far shore. “If they don’t have any boats, what’s that building for?”

Lachlan grinned at me. “Best not to ask, lad. But when they’re done with their naked swims, maybe they’d prefer not walking all the way back to the house.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. It’s a wank shack?”

He studied the building, head tilted. “More than a shack, I’m thinking. I’d reckon more than wanking too, but also not our business.”

Lachlan took my hand and led me onto the dock, our footsteps echoing hollowly. When we got to the end, he sat down and patted the boards next to him. “Have a seat. We may need to wait for a bit before we get Wyn’s attention.” I complied, and when he pulled me tighter against his side, I didn’t resist.

 

 

Buy links:

Amazon US

Amazon Universal

 

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Bio:

 

Multi Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell–grace, mother of three, recovering actor–writes romance in a rainbow of flavors. Count on high snark, low angst and happy endings.

 

Reality? Eh, not so much.

 

E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.

 

Social media:

 

Newsletter 

Facebook group (Reality Optional) 

Website

Instagram

 

 

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My review:

 

“The Lady Under the Lake” by E.J. Russell is part of the ‘Quest Investigations’ series and continues the adventures of Matt Steinitz, better known to the paranormal beings as Hugh Mann, as he tries to free his love interest, the selkie Lachlan Brodie, from his handfasting to Wyn, a water fae. Unfortunately, he gets sidetracked by a new client, also a water fae, who not only disrupts the smooth running of Quest, but may cause a rift that will affect even the rulers of the fragile Seelie/Unseelie Convergence.

 

 

This delightful gay paranormal story is an excellent addition to a fun and exciting series. I’m afraid that the show is always stolen any time Jordan, the young werewolf with a Frisbee obsession, is present, but adding the hellhound puppy Doop just seals the deal.

 

I love watching Hugh/Matt navigate the tricky and perilous path of being one of the few humans who is actually aware of the myriad of paranormal beings and who is truly interested in all of the permutations of the fae. He started out as a little too pushy, I thought, but his arc has shown that he truly cares…both for Lachlan, but also for those he’s come into contact with while working with Quest Investigations.

 

These stories are such a breath of fresh air, and I always am anxious to find out what is going to develop in these beings’ lives. I’ve always been enamored with various mythologies, and I find these new perspectives to be both fun and thought-provoking. I adore Jordan and Doop, and I can’t wait to find out how they destroy, I mean, help with more cases.

 

 

 

 

A copy of this title was provided for review

Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell (Spotlight, excerpt, and review)

 

Five Dead Herrings

Quest Investigations, Book One

by 

E.J. Russell

 

Something’s definitely fishy about this case…

On my last stakeout for Quest Investigations, I nearly got clotheslined by a grove of angry dryads. I expected my bosses to reprimand me, but instead they handed me my first solo assignment. Me! Matt Steinitz, the only human on the Quest roster!

Okay, so the mission isn’t exactly demanding. Obviously, the bosses wanted to give me something they think I can’t screw up. I’m determined to show them what I can do, however, so I dive right in with no complaints.

At first glance, it looks as simple as baiting a hook: A selkie’s almost-ex-husband is vandalizing his boat with unwanted deliveries of deceased sea life. All I have to do is document the scene, tell the ex to cease and desist, and present the bill for property damages. Boom. Mission accomplished, another Quest success, and as a bonus, I get to keep my job.

But then things get…complicated. Suspicious undercurrents muddy up my oh-so-easy case. Nothing is as clear as it should be. And the biggest complication? My inappropriate attraction to the client, who may not be as blameless as he claims.

Turns out those dead herrings aren’t the only things that stink about this situation.

Dammit.

Five Dead Herrings is the first in the Quest Investigations M/M paranormal mystery series, a spinoff of E.J. Russell’s Mythmatched paranormal rom-com story world. It contains no on-page sex or violence, and although there is a romantic subplot, it is not a romance.

 

 

 

Excerpt:

 

Jordan handed me the bag. “I stopped by your office to pick up the pastry trays from that big meeting yesterday. Zeke was busy, so I offered to do the delivery.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Your job must be so exciting. Who are we spying on?” He bounced a little on his haunches. “Oooh! Oooh! Is it Sasquatch?”

“Not this time.” I smiled wryly. Ted used to imitate Sasquatch by partially shifting and lurking in the woods near his place. He was lonely back then and trying to attract someone to talk to. It certainly worked on me. He hooked me like a lovesick trout. “A tree.”

Jordan’s face fell. “A tree?”

“Yup.” I pointed to the tree of my-own-personal-purgatory. “That one right there.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Those are so stinky.”

“You can smell it?”

“Can’t you?”

Ah. Right. Werewolves had a heightened sense of smell. “No.” I shifted uncomfortably, my bladder reminding me of my earlier coffee intake. I eyed Jordan, who was frowning at the tree. Since he was here, I might as well take advantage of it. “Say, Jordan, can you do me a favor?”

Immediately, he brightened. “Sure! Just name it.”

I handed him the camera. “Keep this focused on the tree and if the dryad emerges”—I pointed to the shutter release button—”press this and hold it.”

“Wow.” His expression was almost reverent as he took the camera. “I’ve never been an assistant spy before.”

I buried a snort. Jordan was even less unobtrusive than trows and duergar. “I won’t be a minute. Just gotta duck behind a bush for a bit, if you know what I mean.”

He nodded sagely, but I’m not sure he really got it. “Sure thing, Hugh.”

Nevertheless, I checked to make sure his fingers weren’t blocking the lens before I crept away, keeping low and moving as silently as possible in the underbrush.

I took care of business, which lasted a little longer than I anticipated—hey, I drank a lot of coffee, okay?—and slunk back toward my stakeout blind, keeping my head down. But when I got to the thimbleberry, Jordan wasn’t there. I would have thought that I’d mistaken the spot, except the falafel bag was there, as was my lens cap.

But not Jordan. And not my camera.

I peered through the screen of leaves. The tree of heaven looked just as boring and just as dryad-free as it had all day.

“Jordan,” I muttered, “where the heck are you and where’s my camera?”

I spotted a flash of white about thirty yards to my right, completely out of sight of the target, and controlled my urge to roll my eyes. “Seriously, Jordan?” I murmured. The white wasn’t his Wonderful Mug T-shirt. No, that would be his bare chest. I couldn’t see below his waist, thank goodness, but I expected his pants were gone too.

“Get back here!” I hissed, but he was either too far away to hear or he was deliberately ignoring me. He brandished the camera and then beckoned and pointed in some kind of weird and totally unintelligible sign language.

I held up my hands, palms up, in a helpless shrug. He scrunched up his face and then made an exaggerated point of setting my camera down carefully.

“Don’t do it. Don’t do it!” I muttered.

But we were talking about Jordan so of course he did it. He shifted, and suddenly there was a lean gray wolf with a white blaze on his flank slinking through the underbrush.

“Goddamnit.” I took off in a low crouch toward my camera and reached it just as Jordan paused by the tree of heaven. And lifted his leg.

“Are you kidding me?”

But after a morning of no action whatsoever, I couldn’t risk missing an opportunity. If I were a dryad and a werewolf peed on my shoes…roots…whatever, it would probably provoke a reaction. I raised my camera to catch the fallout.

But nothing happened.

Jordan cast a glance over his shoulder, and even though he was a wolf, that expression was nothing short of cheeky. He continued past the now-watered tree of heaven toward a massive Pacific madrone about a dozen yards further on. He sniffed around the base, then raised his head and caught my gaze, holding it long enough that I got the message.

I pointed the camera at the same time he lifted his leg and—

“Holy crap!”

A dryad burst out of the madrone, knocking Jordan head over tail. Jordan’s yip and sharp whine almost made me miss the shot. But then another dryad charged out, and another, and another.

“It’s like some freaking woodland clown car,” I muttered as I rushed toward where Jordan had landed against the base of a maple.

By this time, there were about a dozen dryads dressed in Robin Hood grunge, milling around, shouting, and waving their arms like trees in a windstorm. Then they all spotted me and froze.

“Human,” one of them choked out.

Uh oh.

“Jordan,” I called, “run!”

 

 

Buy links:

Amazon US

Amazom Universal

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bio:

 

E.J. Russell (she/her) ), author of the award-winning Mythmatched LGBTQ+ paranormal romance series, holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she spent three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s now abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words across a rainbow of genres. Count on high snark, low angst, and happy endings.

 

Reality? Eh, not so much.

 

She’s married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).

 

E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.

 

 

 

Social media:

 

Newsletter

Facebook group (Reality Optional)

Website

Instagram

 

 

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My review:

 

4.5 out of 5 stars

Oh, I was so excited to realize this story is connected to the other 'Fae Out of Water' and 'Mythmatched' and 'Supernatural Selection' and all of those other lovely stories set in that universe, and I wasn't disappointed. There are multiple cameos of some of my favorite characters, some new folks to pique one's curiosity, and a mystery to follow. I adore Jordan the werewolf, and he is evidently going to be a contributing factor to this fun new 'Quest Investigations' series. This story is a perfect blend of humor, urban fantasy, and relationships, and I'm already tapping my foot waiting for the next exciting story in this fantastic new series.

A copy of this title was provided for review

Purgatory Playhouse by E.J. Russell (Spotlight, excerpt, and review)

 

Purgatory Playhouse

by

E.J. Russell

 

 

Staging a musical in Purgatory can be absolute hell.

Lonnie Coleridge last saw the sun in 1968. Since then, he’s been consigned to Limbo, still wearing the same tie-dyed T-shirt and bell-bottomed jeans he had on when he left his life behind. He and others like him have one chance each year at redemption: produce a show for the Greek pantheon. Whoever pleases this very specific—and temperamental—fan group could earn the right to move on.

But after a literal act of god (*cough* Hermes *cough*) destroys their sets, lights, and costumes, the company needs emergency help to rebuild. Without it, all of them could poof out of existence forever. 

Out-of-work theater technician TD Baylor has precisely three things on his cosmic wish list: a job, a place to stay, and a boyfriend who isn’t a total tool. He thinks he’s got the first two nailed when he gets a line on a two-week gig that includes room and board. So what if the job tip came from a guy who was leaning way too hard into the LOTR cosplay at a sketchy Halloween pop-up? At this point, TD doesn’t have anything more to lose, so he figures…what the hell.

He didn’t realize hell was the operative word.

When Lonnie greets him at the theater door, though...whoa. TD fantasizes that item number three could be within his reach. But then Lonnie gives him the bad news: This is Purgatory Playhouse, aka Theater of the Darned. In two weeks—if they’re lucky and can successfully mount a musical version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream—the company will return to Limbo after the curtain falls. If they’re not lucky?

Remember that part about hell?

Purgatory Playhouse is part of the multi-author Magic Emporium Series. Each book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This book contains a theater techie who’s one couch surf away from homeless, a production assistant who’s sort of, um, not alive, Greek gods behaving very badly indeed, and a guaranteed HEA.

 

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 Excerpt:

 

TD tracked the drift of steam from the cauldrons up to the ceiling where purple-tinged smoke roiled and twisted.

He frowned at the thick clouds. He’d wrangled enough fog machines in his career to know that prolonged exposure to this kind of shit wasn’t good for performers’—or technicians’—lungs. Didn’t the owner of this shop care about his employees’ health?

Come to think of it, where were the employees? The glittery arrows on the floor seemed to pulse, pointing the way around the mermaid. Oookay then. He’d find somebody and warn them that they really needed to ventilate this place better or they’d be cruising for a worker’s comp bruising.

The rear of the shop, however, was as empty as the front. A half-open door stood behind a bulky counter. TD had to hand it to the place—that counter looked like actual stone. He’d worked with some talented scenic artists in his day, folks who could make plywood look like marble and masonite look like cracked linoleum. Hell, he’d done it himself, and his skills lay more in set construction than decoration. He rapped one knuckle against the counter, directly below a shelf holding an extremely ratty burlap sack.

“Shit!” He rubbed his hand, the skin abraded enough to show a little blood. The damn counter was as rough and unforgiving as actual granite.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize anybody was here.”

TD glanced up from his skinned knuckles. A tall, willowy man, pointed ears protruding from his long platinum blond hair, suddenly popped up from behind the counter. Clearly the guy was leaning way in to the LOTR motif, down to the jerkin that looked like real suede as opposed to a cheap Halloween knock-off. “No worries. I was just, uh, looking around.” TD eyed the sack. “Although there’s not a lot to look at. Where’s all your stock?”

“Oh. Um.” The guy glanced at the door in the rear wall as it swung open to reveal the Gandalf-equivalent to the clerk’s Legolas. Except instead of Ian McKellen’s somewhat ruddy complexion, this guy’s skin had a cooler tone, almost as if he were standing under a baby spotlight with an ice-blue gel. He nodded at not-Legolas and disappeared behind the door without uttering a word.

“Was that your boss?” TD asked. “Because I need to talk to him.”

The guy’s eyes—tip-tilted and green as new leaves—widened. “Nobody talks to Marden.” His diagonal brows bunched. “Well, I guess it’s more accurate to say Marden talks to nobody.” He smiled brightly. “I’m Joril, and it will be my honor to assist you.”

“Hmmm.” TD narrowed his eyes. “You have any trouble breathing?”

Joril blinked, then sniffed experimentally. “Should I?”

“Your lungs don’t bother you? No urge to cough? No pain in your chest?”

“No. Why?”

TD pointed to the smoke swirling above them. “Because this fog effect, as atmospheric as it is, could be affecting your health. Do you know what chemical your boss is using?”

Joril’s expression cleared. “Oh! That’s easy. Magic.”

TD didn’t roll his eyes. Much. “Magic. Right.” The Emporium’s staff was probably paid to perpetuate the illusion. Hell, if they paid him, TD could swear it was actual fumes from the Cracks of Doom. “I, uh, don’t suppose you need any help?”

Joril glanced at the door where the Gandalf clone—excuse me, Marden—had disappeared. “Does it show that much?”

TD gestured to the empty shop. “Granted, there’s not a lot of traffic at the moment—”

“I know. I think that’s the only reason Marden picked me.” He smiled diffidently. “It’s my first day. I really need the job since my clan lost that wager with the Underlake dwarves.”

With a Herculean effort, TD controlled his irritation. It was one thing to not to break character—any performer worth their union card managed that as soon as the curtain rose—but it was another to bury yourself in the part when you were in actual physical danger. “Right.”

 

Amazon link

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Author info:

E.J. Russell (she/her) ), author of the award-winning Mythmatched LGBTQ+ paranormal romance series, holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she spent three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s now abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words across a rainbow of genres. Count on high snark, low angst, and happy endings.

 

Reality? Eh, not so much.

 

She’s married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).

 

E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.

 

 

Social media

Newsletter

Facebook group (Reality Optional)

Website

Instagram



 

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My review:

 

4.5 stars

 

 

Purgatory Playhouse by E.J. Russell follows the adventures of theater technician TD Baylor, who is dealing with a perfect storm of problems. When he stumbles into Marden’s Magic Emporium, a fortuitous ad seems like the answer to his prayers…even though it’s wrapped around three giant dog biscuits that he doesn’t really have a use for…or does he? Thus begins an adventure that leads him to meet his idol, Alonzo Coleridge, but that’s impossible, just as impossible as their mutual attraction that can only last until the production goes on, right? Anything can happen when the Greek pantheon is involved, and they’re definitely involved!

 

This fantasy gay romance takes one on a wonderful and wacky adventure that features a very special theater production. The gradual revelation of the various characters that figure prominently in popular Greek myths and the restitutions or revelations that change the direction of their “lives” are very creative. The story is a wonderful twist on the idea of Purgatory, and a very fun look at the Greek gods and their foibles, plus a sweet romance.

 

I’m always delighted to see a new story by this author, because there’s always a novel perspective on traditional tropes and myths. I adore the creativity that is mixed with realistic facts, and this visit to the Theater of the Darned grabbed my attention and provided humor and entertainment throughout the entire story. Those who need a refresher (or an introduction) to the myths alluded to, or details about theater production, or the characters in the production itself…can just take a peek at the very end. I was sad when the story ended, and I hope to see these guys again, but I confess that I’m a big fan of whatever this author writes and will enthusiastically join in on whatever adventure she tackles next!

 

 

A copy of this story was provided for review