Sentinels of New Orleans Series
Book Three
Suzanne Johnson
Genre:
Urban Fantasy
Publisher:
Tor Books
Date
of Publication: August 13, 2013
ISBN:
978-0765333193
ASIN:
B00CQY7TOI
Cover
Artist: Cliff Nielsen
Book
Trailer: http://youtu.be/2NskZi9B0gU
Book Description:
The
mer feud has been settled, but life in South Louisiana still has more twists
and turns than the muddy Mississippi. New Orleanians are under attack from a
copycat killer mimicking the crimes of a 1918 serial murderer known as the
Axeman of New Orleans.
Thanks
to a tip from the undead pirate Jean Lafitte, DJ Jaco knows the attacks aren't
random--an unknown necromancer has resurrected the original Axeman of New
Orleans, and his ultimate target is a certain blonde wizard.
Namely,
DJ. Fighting off an undead serial killer as troubles pile up around her isn't
easy. Jake Warin's loup-garou nature is spiraling downward, enigmatic neighbor
Quince Randolph is acting weirder than ever, the Elders are insisting on
lessons in elven magic from the world's most annoying wizard, and former
partner Alex Warin
just turned up on DJ's to-do list. Not to mention big maneuvers are afoot in
the halls of preternatural power.
Suddenly,
moving to the Beyond as Jean Lafitte's pirate wench? It could be DJ's best
option.
Excerpt:
My Review: 5 stars
Excerpt:
By
midafternoon, I was out of ideas and full of nervous energy that finally sent
me out of doors, catching up on yard work I’d neglected all season, raking the
small, crunchy leaves from the live oaks into piles a kid would love to play
in.
“Need help?”
I ignored the voice and counted to ten,
hoping it would go away. Instead, Quince Randolph knelt next to a tall pyramid
of leaves I’d erected and took the lid off the big green trash can he’d brought
with him. He began scooping up armfuls and piling them in the can. “You should
compost this down. It would make a good mulch for flowerbeds. Plus you need
more color in your landscaping.”
“Whatever.”
I didn’t know what mulch was, didn’t care enough to ask, and had such a brown
thumb that flowers never survived my gardening efforts.
Rand wore a chocolate-brown sweater
almost the same color as mine, with jeans in a similar wash. With our
comparable shades of long blond hair, we resembled grown-up Bobbsey Twins,
except he was prettier. Freddie and Flossie do New Orleans.
“Are you here for any particular
reason?”
He squinted up at me against the soft
afternoon sunlight. “I just want to get to know you better.”
Uh- huh. “Tell me what you are, and
then we’ll know each other better. I’m betting elf or faery.” I was kind of
betting elf— it might explain his interest in me although, thankfully, he’d
never shown any inclination to plunder my brain.
He grinned. “Go to dinner with me and I
might tell you.”
I noted the return of his peridot
earrings. Big liar. Super-big cheater. “Where’s Eugenie? You know, your
girlfriend?”
A flash of irritation spoiled his
perfect features a half second before he answered. “Working. Can we—”
What ever he planned to ask, my answer
would be no, but he didn’t get a chance because a clomping noise reached us
from the direction of Prytania Street. Rand and I both were stricken speechless
at the sight of Jean Lafitte sitting like royalty in the back of a gold and
white French Quarter tourist carriage. It was being pulled by a light- gray
mule wearing a hat festooned with
fake
flowers and driven by a smiling guy who had no idea how many daggers his undead
pirate passenger had hidden on him.
The ornate carriage rolled to a stop,
and the mule flicked an ear at the passing traffic. Those animals pulled tourists
around the French Quarter all day, and it would take more than an impatient Toyota
driver to rattle one of them. The carriages were also ridiculously expensive if
one commissioned a ride outside the Quarter.
Then again, Jean Lafitte was loaded. The
driver probably had a reason to smile.
Jean exited the carriage with
extraordinary grace for such a large man. He was tall, powerfully built,
black-haired, cobalt-eyed, a shameless flirt, and talked with a raspy French
accent that made me swoon even though he was technically dead. In other words,
I had a bit of a problem with Jean Lafitte and my own common sense being
present at the same time.
Jean said a few words to the carriage
driver, then turned to prop his hands on his hips in a broad pirate-like stance,
giving Rand a disapproving visual once-over. The mule backed up a
few
awkward steps before pulling the carriage into my driveway.
God help me, I hoped Alex didn’t get home in time to see this. I’d never
hear the end of it.
“Do you wish me to rid you of this
intruder, Jolie?”
My Review: 5 stars
I love
DJ. She's my new favorite heroine. Bless her heart, she couldn't get into more
trouble if she tried. This girl has some serious pretes after her, and not just
cause she’s cute. Her relationship with Jake is back to business, and DJ is
still wondering where or what her relationship with Alex is headed towards.
She’s also got Jean Lafitte, the notorious Pirate and Historical Undead,
lusting after her. Throw in her new neighbor, Quince Randolph, and DJ has a lot
of male on her hands. And then there’s her job. Being a Sentinel in New Orleans
after Hurricane Katrina is a whole new animal than before. There’s a serial
killer on the loose and it looks like he’s after DJ. She just can’t figure out
why. Things get hot and then even hotter as situations progress throughout the
book; and not always in a good way. Ms. Johnson’s writing is stellar, taking
the reader along for a ride that you never can guess where it’s going. I love
that! Highly recommended for any Urban Fantasy reader, this series is smokin’.
Sentinels of New Orleans
Book Two
Suzanne Johnson
Suzanne Johnson
Genre: Urban
Fantasy
Publisher: Tor
Books
ISBN: 978-0765327802
ASIN: B00842H5VI
Cover Artist: Cliff
Nielsen
Book Description:
Hurricane Katrina
is long gone, but the preternatural storm rages on in New Orleans. New species
from the Beyond moved into Louisiana after the hurricane destroyed the borders
between worlds, and it falls to wizard sentinel Drusilla Jaco and her partner,
Alex Warin, to keep the preternaturals peaceful and the humans unaware. But a war
is brewing between two clans of Cajun merpeople in Plaquemines Parish, and down
in the swamp, DJ learns, there’s more stirring than angry mermen and the threat
of a were-gator.
Wizards are dying,
and something—or someone—from the Beyond is poisoning the waters of the mighty
Mississippi, threatening the humans who live and work along the river. DJ and
Alex must figure out what unearthly source is contaminating the water and
who—or what—is killing the wizards. Is it a malcontented merman, the naughty nymph,
or some other critter altogether? After all, DJ’s undead suitor, the pirate
Jean Lafitte, knows his way around a body or two.
It’s anything but
smooth sailing on the bayou as the Sentinels of New Orleans series continues.
Excerpt:
My Review: 4 1/2 stars
Royal
Street
Excerpt:
The minute hand of the ornate grandfather clock crept like a gator
stuck in swamp mud. I’d been watching it for half an hour, nursing a fizzy
cocktail from my perch inside the Hotel Monteleone. The plaque on the enormous
clock claimed it had been hand- carved of mahogany in 1909, about 130 years after
the birth of the undead pirate waiting for me upstairs.
They were both
quite handsome, but the clock was a lot safer.
The infamous Jean
Lafitte had expected me at seven. He’d summoned me to his French Quarter hotel
suite by courier like I was one of his early nineteenth-century wenches, and I
hated to destroy his pirate-king delusions, but the historical undead don’t
summon wizards. We summon them.
I’d have blown
him off if my boss on the Congress of Elders hadn’t ordered me to comply and my
co-sentinel, Alex, hadn’t claimed a prior engagement.
At seven thirty,
I abandoned my drink, took a deep breath, and marched through the lobby toward
the bank of elevators.
On the long dead-man-walking stroll
down the carpeted hallway, I imagined all the horrible requests Jean might
make. He’d saved my life a few years ago, after Hurricane Katrina sent the city
into freefall, and I hadn’t seen him since. I’d been desperate at the time. I
might have promised him unfettered access to modern New Orleans in exchange for
his assistance. I might have promised him a place to live. I might have
promised him things I don’t even remember. In other words, I might be totally
screwed.
I reached the door of the Eudora
Welty Suite and knocked, reflecting that Jean Lafitte probably had no idea who
Eudora Welty was, and wouldn’t like her if he did. Ms. Welty had been a modern
sort of woman who wouldn’t hop to attention when summoned by a scoundrel.
He didn’t answer immediately. I’d
made him wait, after all, and Jean lived in a tit- for- tat world. I paused a
few breaths and knocked harder. Finally, he flung open the door, waving me
inside to a suite plush with tapestries of peach and royal blue, thick carpet
that swallowed the narrow heels of my pumps, and a plasma TV he couldn’t
possibly know how to operate. What a waste.
“You have many assets, Drusilla, but
apparently a respect for time is not among them.” Deep, disapproving voice,
French accent, broad shoulders encased in a red linen shirt, long dark hair
pulled back into a tail, eyes such a cobalt blue they bordered on navy. And
technically speaking, dead.
He was as sexy as ever.
“Sorry.” I slipped my hand in my
skirt pocket, fingering the small pouch of magic-infused herbs I carried at all
times. My mojo bag wouldn’t help with my own perverse attraction to the man,
but it would keep my empathic abilities in check. If he still had a perverse
attraction to me, I didn’t want to feel it.
He eased his six-foot-two frame into
a sturdy blue chair and slung one long leg over the arm as he gave me a
thorough eyeraking, a ghost of a smile on his face.
I perched on the edge of the
adjacent sofa, easing back against a pair of plump throw pillows, and looked at
him expectantly. I hoped what ever he wanted wouldn’t jeopardize my life, my
job, or my meager bank account.
“You are as lovely as ever, Jolie,”
Jean said, trotting out his pet name for me that sounded deceptively intimate
and brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad. “I will forgive your
tardiness— perhaps you were late because you were selecting clothing that I
would like.” His gaze lingered on my legs. “You chose beautifully.”
I’d picked a conservative black
skirt and simple white blouse with the aim of looking professional for a
business meeting, part of my ongoing attempt to prove to the Elders I was a
mature wizard worthy of a pay raise. But this was Jean Lafitte, so I should
have worn coveralls. I’d forgotten what a letch he could be.
“I have a date after our meeting,” I
lied. He didn’t need to know said date involved a round carton with the words
Blue Bell Ice Cream printed on front. “Why did you want to see me?”
There, that hadn’t been so
difficult—just a simple request. No drama. No threats. No double- entendre.
Straight to business.
“Does a man need a reason to see a
beautiful woman? Especially one who is indebted to him, and who has made him
many promises?” A slow smile spread across his face, drawing my eyes to his
full lips and the ragged scar that trailed his jawline.
I might be the empath in the room,
but he knew very well that, in some undead kind of way, I thought he was hot.
I felt my face warming to the shade
of a trailer- trash bridesmaid’s dress, one whose color had a name like raging
rouge. I’d had a similar reaction when I first met Jean in 2005, two days
before a mean hurricane with a sissy name turned her malevolent eye toward the
Gulf Coast. I blamed my whole predicament on Katrina, the bitch.
Her winds had driven the waters of
Lake Pontchartrain into the canals that crisscrossed the city, collapsing
levees and filling the low, concave metro area like a gigantic soup bowl.
But NBC Nightly News and Anderson Cooper had missed the
biggest story of all: how, after the storm, a mob of old gods, historical
undead, and other preternatural victims of the scientific age flooded New
Orleans. As a wizard, I’d had a ringside seat. Now, three years later, the
wizards had finally reached accords with the major preternatural ruling bodies,
and the borders were down, as of two days ago. Jean hadn’t wasted any time.My Review: 4 1/2 stars
Wow! I picked this book up thinking it would help me pass the time until
something better came along. I didn't realize I had just picked up something
better until I started reading. The characters are funny, intriguing, smart,
sexy, and real. Suzanne Johnson is my hero! She's come up with a cross between
two or three of my favorite authors, and it works splendidly. I also didn't
realise that this was the second book in the series. I'm definitely going to
have to get the first. I'm hoping that this series goes on for a good amount of
time. I enjoyed reading, and losing myself to the story lines and characters.
Sentinels of New
Orleans
Book One
Suzanne Johnson
Genre:
Urban Fantasy
Publisher:
Tor Books
ISBN:
978-0765327796
ASIN:
B006OM459U
Cover
Artist: Cliff Nielsen
Book Description:
As
the junior wizard sentinel for New Orleans, Drusilla Jaco's job involves a lot
more potion-mixing and pixie-retrieval than sniffing out supernatural bad guys
like rogue vampires and lethal were-creatures. DJ's boss and mentor, Gerald St.
Simon, is the wizard tasked with protecting the city from anyone or anything
that might slip over from the preternatural beyond.
Then
Hurricane Katrina hammers New Orleans' fragile levees, unleashing more than
just dangerous flood waters. While winds howled and Lake Pontchartrain surged,
the borders between the modern city and the Otherworld crumbled. Now the undead
and the restless are roaming the Big Easy, and a serial killer with ties to
voodoo is murdering soldiers sent to help the city recover.
To
make it worse, Gerald St. Simon has gone missing, the wizards' Elders have
assigned a grenade-toting assassin as DJ's new partner, and undead pirate Jean
Lafitte wants to make her walk his plank. The search for Gerry and the killer
turns personal when DJ learns the hard way that loyalty requires sacrifice,
allies come from the unlikeliest places, and duty mixed with love creates one
bitter roux.
Excerpt:
My Review: 5 stars
Excerpt:
Friday, August 26, 2005
“Once [Tropical Storm Katrina] moved over the
gulf today, it was expected to wheel north, pick up speed and hit the Florida
Panhandle on Sunday.”
A secluded Louisiana
bayou. A sexy pirate. Seduction and deceit. My Friday afternoon had the makings
of a great romantic adventure, at least in theory.
In practice, angry
mosquitoes were using me for target practice, humidity had ruined any prayer of
a good hair day, and the pirate in question―the infamous Jean Lafitte―was
two-hundred years old, armed, and carrying a six-pack of Paradise condoms in
assorted fruit flavors.
I wasn’t sure what
unnerved me more—the
fact that the historical undead had discovered erotic accessories, or that
Lafitte felt the need to practice safe sex.
Nothing about the pirate looked safe.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he had dark blue eyes and a smile twitching at the
corners of his mouth as he watched me set two glasses and a bottle of dark rum
on a rickety wooden table. A tanned, muscular chest peeked from his
open-collared shirt, and shaggy dark hair framed a clean-shaven face. A jagged
scar across his jaw reminded me the so-called gentleman pirate also had his
ruthless side.
He’d arrived by way of a stolen boat
at this isolated cabin near Delacroix, a half-hour outside New Orleans, to
pursue two of the world’s most timeless pleasures: sex and money. I’d met him
here to play the role of a gullible young wizard falling under the spell of the
legendary pirate, at least for a while. Then I’d do my duty as deputy sentinel
and send his swashbuckling hide back to the Beyond, where he could rub
shoulders with other undead legends and preternatural creatures unfit for
polite human company.
My hand shook as I poured the rum,
sloshing a few drops of amber liquid over the side of the glass. I’d finally
been given a serious assignment, and I needed it to go without a hitch.
Lafitte’s
fingers brushed mine as he took the drink, sending an unexpected rush of energy
up my arm. “Merci, Mademoiselle Jaco—or
may I call you Drusilla?”
Actually,
I’d prefer he didn’t call me anything. Despite his obvious hopes for the
evening, this wasn’t a date. “Most people call me DJ.”
“Bah,”
he said, taking a sip of rum. “Those are alphabet letters, not a name.”
From
beneath the red sash that accented his waist, Lafitte pulled a modern
semiautomatic handgun and set it on the table next to the rum bottle. I knew
how he’d gotten it—he’d rolled the Tulane student that summoned him, lifted the
kid’s wallet and iPod, rode the streetcar to Canal Street, and made a trade for
the gun. Enterprising guy, Lafitte.
I
pondered the odd spike of energy I’d gotten from his hand. Touching increases
the emotional crap I absorb from people as an empath, but Lafitte was
technically a dead guy. Still, I’d like to say if he touched me again, I’d
demand double pay from the wizards’ Congress of Elders. Triple if it involved
lips.
But
who was I kidding? My bargaining position was nonexistent. My boss Gerry only
sent me on this run because he had something else to do and knew Lafitte might
respond to my questionable seduction skills.
I’d
pulled my unruly blonde 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 Review: 5 stars
Wow!!
What to say about this book? It was amazing. So creative and wonderful. It
starts out pre-Katrina in New Orleans, and then moves to during and after. It
brings up a lot of emotion, I would say, even for someone like me who just
watched on TV. Ms. Johnson does a fabulous job of pulling you in and not
letting go. The story line is wonderful, and it goes from sweet to
heartbreaking along the way. I really enjoyed spending time with Ms. Johnson's
characters, they are fantastic. This book had everything - Pirates, Wizards,
Shifters, Historical Undead and it's just the beginning. I'm totally in love
with this series!!
About
the Author:
On Aug. 28, 2005,
Suzanne Johnson loaded two dogs, a cat, a friend, and her mom into a car and
fled New Orleans in the hours before Hurricane Katrina made landfall.
Four years
later, she began weaving her experiences and love for her city into the
Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series, beginning with Royal Street (2012), continuing with River Road (2012), and now with Elysian Fields (August 2013).
She grew up in
rural Alabama, halfway between the Bear Bryant Museum and Elvis’ birthplace,
and lived in New Orleans for fifteen years—which means she has a highly refined
sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC football and fried gator on a
stick.
As Susannah Sandlin, she writes the
best-selling Penton Vampire Legacy paranormal romance series and the recent
standalone, Storm Force.
Giveaway
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