Suzanne Johnson Quotes

Saturday, September 17, 2005: Today in New Orleans, a traffic light worked. Someone watered flowers. And anyone with the means to get online could have heard Dr. Joy's voice wafting in the dry wind, a sound of grace, comfort and familiarity here in the saddest and loneliest place in the world."
Chris Rose, The Times-Picayune

I always hated it when TV reporters stuck a microphone in the faces of people who'd just lost a home or a loved one, wanting to know how they felt. They felt like shit. They hurt, and they didn't know how they were going to get through the night. They wanted to scream and cry and hit the guy with the microphone.

There was a bounty on my head, it was four days before Christmas, and I was having turtle gumbo with a merman, an undead pirate king, two loups-garou, and my best friend - a human pregnant with the half-elven child who had unknowingly helped set this whole debacle in motion. Plus a newbie vampire who didn't like the smell of food anymore.

I'd pulled my unruly blond hair out of its usual ponytail for the occasion, loaded on some makeup to play up my teal eyes, and poured myself into a little black skirt, short enough to show off my legs while not offending Lafitte's nineteenth-century sensibilities.

It must have worked, because the pirate was giving me that head-to-toe appraisal guys do on instinct, like they're assessing a juicy slab of beef and deciding whether they want it rare, medium, or well-done. "You really are lovely, Drusilla." The timbre of Lafitte's voice shivered down my spine, and I fought the urge to check out the biceps underneath that linen shirt.

Holy crap. This was just wrong. I should not be absorbing his lust.

My own tears caught me by surprise, and I turned away before he could see them. Everyone leaves. If I've learned one thing in life that it was that. They might die. They might betray your trust. They might stay until I've got too hard or inconvenient. But in the end, the people you cared about always leave.

She shook her head. "I can't believe you got bit and you didn't even get an orgasm out of it. I guess True Blood isn't true after all.

You're asking for trouble, woman." At the gruff tone of his voice, I raised my head and met his dark, chocolate-brown eyes, rimmed by long lashes that didn't take an ounce away from his masculinity. I wanted to drown in those eyes.
"I like trouble, remember?

I talked to Zrakovi this afternoon," Alex said, giving me an undecipherable look. "He's putting me back on sentinel duty for the next few weeks while you handle a special assignment."
Special assignment had an ominous ring to it.
"What kind of special assignment? And why am I hearing it from you instead of Zrakovi?" Elder Z was my boss, not Alex, however Mr. Bossy liked to think otherwise.
"You're going to be babysitting Jean Lafitte and making sure he doesn't try to take revenge on anyone for what happened last month."
At my horrified, speechless gape, Alex gave me a grim smile and held his glass of port up in salute as my dessert congealed into a lump in my stomach. "Good luck with that, Jolie.

Jean shifted his commentary from his guard to me. "Drusilla, a grievance must be made against these ruffians and thieves. They have stolen my clothing and given me only this…this…." He ran out of words.
"Ugly-ass orange jumpsuit?" I offered, always ready to help Jean with his command of modern English.
"Oui, exactement. I demand that you obtain my release, tout de suite. And you must know, a woman who allows her husband to remain in such conditions for an entire evening must face reprimand."
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. "And you must know that, in this day and age, should a man reprimand his wife too much, said wife might leave her husband to enjoy a longer time in his prison cell wearing his ugly-ass orange jumpsuit.

So no, I did not rinse out the damned pickle jar." He flopped on the other bed. "And since I'll be going to hell for breaking into a church and stealing holy water, I'll be sure to mention your name when I get there." He paused. "You're probably on Satan's wish-list anyway.

This is beautiful." Eugenie ran her fingers along a massive mahogany sideboard, on the top of which rested a red velvet sash with fine embroidery on it and, on top of the sash, a silver dagger. That little vignette was Jean Lafitte in a nutshell. Refined gentleman and renegade. Velvet and violence.

He pulled out handcuffs and snapped them around my wrists. "Where's your bag? You didn't bring your staff?"
"I have it. It's hidden." Charlie was currently tucked inside the leg of my Harry Potter pajama bottoms, which were beneath my jeans, but that fell under the category of TMI.

One should never giggle in handcuffs unless one were naked. I was sure I'd read that rule somewhere.

Jean Laffite was a sexy bad boy with a gentleman's manners and an air of barely suppressed danger. Every girl's secret dreamboat in other words. We always say we want a nice, hardworking, decent guy but we're lying to ourselves. - DJ Jaco

Anytime my magic involved fire and didn't destroy something of cause an explosion, I considered it a victory.
My victories have been rare.

I hate it when life forces me to be mature.

Suspicion infused Alex's voice. "Okay? That's it?"
I looked back at him and smiled. "That's it. We disagree. It's done. We'll deal with whatever comes next."
He stood up, brows lowered over squinty eyes. "Did Lafitte ply you with brandy, or have the body snatchers been here?

An iron? Was he kidding? God

Junk food nurtures the spirit. I think there's scientific research to prove it.

I should like to understand more about the signs on the shirt you wore earlier. What was it: Eat the tail and suck the head?

Then I shall tell you the truthful answers to the questions you asked, about my own intentions and motivations. They are not so simple."...
He cocked an eyebrow and his cobalt eyes took on a playful sparkle.
"If I were to avow that you are my immortal life's great passion, that I would give up immortality itself to be at your side and in your bed, you would not believe me, n'est-ce pas?

The fight wasn't over," I said through gritted teeth. "I'd have won it."
Probably.
"Right," he said. "And something just flew past your window. It was oinking.

We'd all mourn for a while, but at the end of the day we were a tough lot, and we'd survive.

Sometimes we're born into situations, he'd said. We have to decide if we're gonna be a part of it or if we're gonna put an end to it.

I was unsure about many things in my life, but I was fairly certain God did not intend bacon to be made from a plant.

I would say Randolph's a horse's ass, but that would be unfair to the horse.

What I didn't expect to see was Alex, wearing nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs and a red velvet bow around his neck. I swear I almost swooned. I definitely drooled.
"Oh my God. I'm scarred for life. I'll never be able to unsee that." Jake slapped his hands over his eyes ...

I believe he's been asked to testify today," I told Lennox, who'd continued to track Truman's progress through the room. "He's a member of the historical undead, Truman Capote, the author. He wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood."...
"Hi, Truman, you're sitting next to me," I said, pulling out his chair. I figured after he'd asked me to suck on his cherry, we should be on a first-name basis.