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.

We needed to get out of Barataria before all of us became alcohol-dependent.

You must not have carnal relations with this elf, Drusilla.

I’d been born on Mardi Gras; I hoped I didn’t die on it as well.

We should easily be home by eleven. Unless, of course, we were dead.

How come I’m always shopping for chicks and babies?

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.