Pirate's Alley by Suzanne Johnson
Series: Sentinels of New Orleans, #4
Pub Date: April 21, 2015
Publisher: Tor Books
Pages: 352
Format: eARC
Source: Author
My Rating:
Sultry Scale:
Caught in the middle of a rising struggle between the major powers in the supernatural world—the Wizards, Elves, Vampires and the Fae—DJ finds her loyalties torn and her mettle tested in matters both professional and personal.
Her relationship with enforcer Alex Warin is shaky, her non-husband, Quince Randolph, is growing more powerful, and her best friend, Eugenie, has a bombshell that could blow everything to Elfheim and back. And that's before the French pirate, Jean Lafitte, newly revived from his latest "death," returns to New Orleans with vengeance on his mind. DJ's assignment? Keep the sexy leader of the historical undead out of trouble. Good luck with that.
Duty clashes with love, loyalty with deception, and friendship with responsibility as DJ navigates passion and politics in the murky waters of a New Orleans caught in the grips of a brutal winter that might have nothing to do with Mother Nature.
War could be brewing, and DJ will be forced to take a stand. But choosing sides won't be that easy.
I love this series, and am so happy to have been able to snag an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
DJ has become one of my favorite urban fantasy heroines. She’s a wizard with some elvish blood, quirky and flawed, but with a huge heart and an even bigger magnet for trouble. She had to make some tough decisions in this book, and I really felt her struggle between fighting for what she feels is right, or fighting for her loved ones and wizards when they seemed to be traveling a different path. I was glad to see the love triangle diffused in the last book, but now we are seeing DJ and Alex's relationship struggle through those pesky problems that arise during a supernatural political struggle and threat of war. We also have more Jean Lafitte in this book, including some heart to heart talks between he and DJ that endeared the undead pirate to me even more (and I didn't think that was possible). I am hoping for a match up between Drusilla and Jean in a future book. I just can't get enough of him.
As in previous books, a few new characters seem to be introduced in each installment. This time, we get to know the faeries. I think Christoff, the Winter Prince, is going to be another favorite of mine. Johnson does an outstanding job developing her characters, no matter whether she is giving them good, bad or annoying traits. So I look forward to future antics from the faeries. The sibling rivalry between the two princes is sure to heat things up.
This book did not have any natural disasters or serial killers - but the action was non-stop anyway. The infighting among all the clans was superb and I never knew what was going to happen next. There was tons of intrigue and I absolutely loved it. Now I'm just sad that I have to wait for the next installment. Type fast Ms. Johnson, I'm begging!
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Excerpt:
DJ, are you awake?
Freaking
elf. “Go home, Rand.”
I
am home. Where are you?
I
frowned and burrowed my face into the soft down pillow. Which wasn’t my pillow.
Holy
crap. What had happened?
I
sat up and took in several observations at once, none of which made sense and
all of which sent my heart rate jack-rabbiting hard enough to send my blood
pressure into the ozone.
First,
I was lying beneath a heavy bedspread woven in a rich blue-and-cream print. The
bed was an elaborate confection made to look like an antique half-tester, and a
brass chandelier hung overhead.
I
recognized the Hotel Monteleone. I recognized Jean Lafitte’s bedroom in the
posh Eudora Welty Suite in the Monteleone. I didn’t have a clue as to how I got
here.
Second,
I wore only underwear. My clothes were thrown across a chair in the corner. I
had no recollection of removing them.
Third,
the pillow next to mine still held the clear indentation of a head, and there
was water running behind the closed bathroom door.
What
in God’s name had I done?
Rand!
Where are you? So help me, if that elf was behind this, I’d splay him open like
a catfish and watch his guts fall on the floor. Then I’d batter and deep-fry
him.
God,
Dru. Stop shrieking like an elven shrew. I think you got too cold and went into
a survival state.
Survival
state? Then I remembered, and shame joined panic. I had gone into hibernation
like a bear, right out on Royal Street in front of God and everyone. Quince
Randolph, you sonofabitch! Why didn’t you warn me that would happen?
Stop
yelling. How did I know you’d be stupid enough to go traipsing through the snow
to the point of unconsciousness? I can tell you’re in the Quarter, but where
are you?
Catch
you later.
I
slammed shut every mental door I could imagine and then troweled imaginary
caulk in any imaginary cracks around said doors. I was vaguely aware that, off
in the distance of my mental stronghold, Rand was yelling at me.
Had
Jean hauled me back to the hotel like a sack of pommes de terres? How had he
explained a hibernating blonde to the hotel management? At least my dark blue
underwear matched. Had he taken advantage of me? No, it wasn’t his style. Which
meant I’d consented.
Alex
was going to kill me if I didn’t kill myself first. I wasn’t sure
hibernation-brain was an adequate defense.
The
bathroom doorknob rattled and I dove under the covers, even though I realized
it was like closing the barn door after the half-naked cows had escaped.
From
my hiding spot, I heard the door open and footsteps cross from tile to carpet
before stopping with a rustle of fabric. “Hey, babe. You finally back from the
dead? Whatcha doin’ under there?”
“Rene?”
I poked my head out and frowned at my buddy the merman, fully dressed in jeans
and a Saints sweatshirt. His feet were bare, and he walked around the bed and
climbed in as if either one of us belonged here, much less at the same time.
“What
are you doing here? What am I doing here? Who undressed me? Where’s Jean?” And,
as an afterthought, “Why are we in bed?”
Now
that I realize I hadn’t acted like my licentious great-aunt Dru and slept with
the pirate, I transferred my anger to the proper place and it wasn’t to myself.
I’d kill that sneaky Frenchman if he weren’t immortal.
Rene
was not immortal, however, and he was within reach. “You better start talking,
fish boy.”
“Aiyeeee.”
Rene cackled like the Cajun he was, and fluffed the pillow behind his head. “I
told Jean you’d be spittin’ mad. Nothing happened, babe. Your clothes were wet
and I was just trying to keep you warm. I’m a shifter, you know. We run hot.”
“Oh,
do you now.”
That
made him laugh harder.
I
threw off the covers and stomped over to my clothes. He’d seen whatever I had
and I knew he didn’t want it, so there was no point in hiding. I picked up
three soggy layers of T-shirts and sweaters, and cords so wet they weighed
about ten pounds.
My
breath hitched. The staff; I’d lost the staff. I whirled to Rene, who sat
propped against the lush draped fabric that covered the headboard, watching me
with a grin. “Where’s my bag?”
“In
the living room. Everything’s there, babe, even your magic stick. Jean, he took
care of you.”
Yeah,
I just bet he did. It was hard to argue effectively in underwear I’d intended
only Alex Warin to see, so I went into the living room, dug my room key out of
my messenger bag, and stuck my head out the door, looking up and down the
hallway.
“I’ll
be back. Don’t go anywhere,” I yelled at Rene, and made a run for it, jamming
the keycard into my door lock and slipping inside before I was spotted. If
hotel cameras caught my mad dash on security footage, well, I’m sure they’d
seen stranger things. This was New Orleans, after all.
About
the Author:
Suzanne Johnson writes urban
fantasy and paranormal fiction from Auburn, Alabama, on top of a career in
educational publishing that has thus far spanned five states and six
universities—including both Alabama and Auburn, which makes her bilingual. She
grew up in Winfield, Alabama, but was also a longtime resident of New Orleans,
so she has a highly refined sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC
football, cheap Mardi Gras trinkets, and fried gator on a stick.
Writing as Susannah Sandlin, she
also is the author of the best-selling Penton Legacy paranormal romance series
and The Collectors romantic thriller series. Elysian Fields, book three in the
Sentinels of New Orleans series, won the 2014 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence
while her Sandlin-penned novel, Allegiance, is nominated for a 2015 Reviewer’s
Choice Award from RT Book Reviews magazine.
Website: http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com
FB: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSuzanneJohnsonGiveaway
Sentinels of New Orleans Series:
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