Opportunity Knocks Quotes

A pessimist is somebody who complains about the noise when opportunity knocks.

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door

Opportunity does not waste time with those who are unprepared.

When a great moment knocks on the door of your life, it is often no louder than the beating of your heart, and it is very easy to miss it.

If somebody offers you an amazing opportunity but you are not sure you can do it, say yes – then learn how to do it later!

Opportunity may knock only once but temptation leans on the door bell

I like storms. Thunder torrential rain, puddles, wet shoes. When the clouds roll in, I get filled with this giddy expectation. Everything is more beautiful in the rain. Don't ask me why. But it’s like this whole other realm of opportunity. I used to feel like a superhero, riding my bike over the dangerously slick roads, or maybe an Olympic athlete enduring rough trials to make it to the finish line. On sunny days, as a girl, I could still wake up to that thrilled feeling. You made me giddy with expectation, just like a symphonic rainstorm. You were a tempest in the sun, the thunder in a boring, cloudless sky. I remember I’d shovel in my breakfast as fast as I could, so I could go knock on your door. We’d play all day, only coming back for food and sleep. We played hide and seek, you’d push me on the swing, or we’d climb trees. Being your sidekick gave me a sense of home again. You see, when I was ten, my mom died. She had cancer, and I lost her before I really knew her. My world felt so insecure, and I was scared. You were the person that turned things right again. With you, I became courageous and free. It was like the part of me that died with my mom came back when I met you, and I didn’t hurt if I knew I had you. Then one day, out of the blue, I lost you, too. The hurt returned, and I felt sick when I saw you hating me. My rainstorm was gone, and you became cruel. There was no explanation. You were just gone. And my heart was ripped open. I missed you. I missed my mom. What was worse than losing you, was when you started to hurt me. Your words and actions made me hate coming to school. They made me uncomfortable in my own home. Everything still hurts, but I know none of it is my fault. There are a lot of words that I could use to describe you, but the only one that includes sad, angry, miserable, and pitiful is “coward.” I a year, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be nothing but some washout whose height of existence was in high school. You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. I loved all those things, and I loved you. But now? You’re a fucking drought. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.

Opportunities will come and go, but if you do nothing about them, so will you.

Whatever you do, do it with purpose. Being focused is not something to be ashamed of. It is something to be proud of. When you know what are you are doing and have a clear vision of where you are going, you will not need to chase opportunities. Opportunities will seek you. Happiness will chase you. And, instead of being a choice, you will be the one choosing.

Temptation leans on the doorbell, but opportunity knocks only once.

The doors will be opened to those who are bold enough to knock.

When opportunity knocks, you don't leave it standing on the doorstep. You invite it in and feed it chocolate cake.

When opportunity knocks all some people can do is complain about the noise.

Happiness isn't something that you plan for. It comes knocking unexpectedly, just like opportunity. And it's up to you to answer the door and invite it inside.

Opportunity did not knock until I built the door.

Opportunity never knocks. It hangs thick in the air all around you. You breathe it unthinking, and dissipate it with your sighs.

Living well is the best revenge.If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.

Opportunity knocks only once.

Be brave. Even if you're not, pretend to be. No one can tell the difference. Don't allow the phone to interrupt important moments. It's there for your convenience, not the callers. Don't be afraid to go out on a limb. That's where the fruit is. Don't burn bridges. You'll be surprised how many times you have to cross the same river. Don't forget, a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated. Don't major in minor things. Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Helen Keller, Leonardo Da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein. Don't spread yourself too thin. Learn to say no politely and quickly. Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither can be retrieved. Don't waste time grieving over past mistakes Learn from them and move on. Every person needs to have their moment in the sun, when they raise their arms in victory, knowing that on this day, at his hour, they were at their very best. Get your priorities straight. No one ever said on his death bed, 'Gee, if I'd only spent more time at the office'. Give people a second chance, but not a third. Judge your success by the degree that you're enjoying peace, health and love. Learn to listen. Opportunity sometimes knocks very softly. Leave everything a little better than you found it. Live your life as an exclamation, not an explanation. Loosen up. Relax. Except for rare life and death matters, nothing is as important as it first seems. Never cut what can be untied. Never overestimate your power to change others. Never underestimate your power to change yourself. Remember that overnight success usually takes about fifteen years. Remember that winners do what losers don't want to do. Seek opportunity, not security. A boat in harbor is safe, but in time its bottom will rot out. Spend less time worrying who's right, more time deciding what's right. Stop blaming others. Take responsibility for every area of your life. Success is getting what you want. Happiness is liking what you get. The importance of winning is not what we get from it, but what we become because of it. When facing a difficult task, act as though it's impossible to fail.

It is not very often that an opportunity comes knocking. But when it does, you better be bathed and dressed and ready to answer its call.

Life is full of doors that don't open when you knock, equally spaced amid those that open when don't want them to.

When opportunity knocks, it’s too late to prepare.

The reason so many people never get anywhere in life is because when opportunity knocks, they are out in the backyard looking for four-leaf clovers.

I reach out and take his hand. “Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out,” I say mischievously. “Yeah, about that,” says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. “Don’t try something like that again.” “Or what?” I ask. “Or . . . or . . .” He can’t think of anything good. “Just give me a minute.” “What’s the problem?” I say with a grin. “The problem is we’re both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing,” says Peeta. “I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” I’m startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. “Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren’t the only one who . . . who worries about . . . what it would be like if. . .” I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “That’s exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of,” I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he’s probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

He knocks on doors and stands there. You’d be surprised how few doors get answered

If you have a belief and you come against an experience which the belief says is not possible, or, the experience is such that you have to drop the belief, what are you going to choose — the belief or the experience? The tendency of the mind is to choose the belief, to forget about the experience. That’s how you have been missing many opportunities when God has knocked at your door.

Moving right along In search of good times And good news, With good friends you can't lose. This could become a habit. Opportunity just knocked, Let's reach out and grab it, Together we'll nab it, We'll hitch-hike, bus, or yellow cab it.

Contrary to conventional wisdom, opportunity always knocks more than once whereas a false step can never be retraced.

Major Major's father had a good joke about opportunity. "Opportunity only knocks once in this world," he would say. Major Major's father repeated this good joke at every opportunity.

I don't know how often opportunity knocks, but temptations to make foul decisions bang on my door all day long. And smelly decisions make for smelly problems later on. A few little decisions, good or bad, can make a big difference in a life. Better to run from those skunks than with them.

A lot of aspiring writers are actually very talented and just have to continue polishing their craft till opportunity knocks. All writers have to persevere, have a story they want to share and push till it's in a form others can understand and appreciate. To my fans and readers, I love you all and say a great big THANK YOU!

Awake! arise! the hour is late! Angels are knocking at thy door! They are in haste and cannot wait, And once departed come no more. Awake! arise! the athlete's arm Loses its strength by too much rest; The fallow land, the untilled farm Produces only weeds at best.

The outcome is not up to you. The outlook is.

Who can tell? Your living is an organized hell. The mansion of your mind just an oversized cell. The pressure, everything is done to a measure. In the sea of competition sunk like a treasure. Like a feather falling slow spiraling to the floor. Strung up like a broken violin to your course. Opportunity is knocking at your door, But you never left a welcome mat (It doesn't matter anymore.). Or anyhow, but you're too late to turn back. Fate pushing you into the wall like a thumbtack. Ain't no comebacks in this game of life. Roll the dice again, Roll it once, never twice. Keep on going, and taste the stars. Keep on growing, and raise the bar. You're living life for the As down to the Zs, After one drop you got a fountain to seize. Wanna break from the world, but the world wanna break you, The weight makes your backbone curl up and make you.

Opportunity may knock once, but temptation bangs on your front door forever.

Too many people fail to answer opportunity’s knock at the door because they have to finish some preconceived plan.

Leaders don't need a path. They make one.

Within every adversity is an equal or greater benefit. Within every problem is an opportunity. Even in the knocks of life, we can find great gifts.

With careful searching, with careful attention, you might tip the balance toward opportunity and against obstacle sufficiently so that life is clearly worth living, despite its fragility and suffering. If you truly wanted, perhaps you would receive, if you asked. If you truly sought, perhaps you would find what you seek. If you knocked, truly wanting to enter, perhaps the door would open. But there will be times in your life when it will take everything you have to face what is in front of you, instead of hiding away from a truth so terrible that the only thing worse is the falsehood you long to replace it with. Do not hide unwanted things in the fog.

If the door of opportunity doesn't open, knock it the fuck down.

If you don't know what it is you're looking for you're NEVER going to find it. You have to be clear on what it is you're seeking.

Never chase opportunities. Let it come to you by creating value and building rare skillsets.

The people who say dreams never come true must have been asleep when opportunity knocked.-brewer

The people who say dreams never come true, must have been asleep when opportunity knocked

When opportunity knocks a pessimist dials 911; when opportunity knocks an optimist sets the table.

If opportunity knocks, let it in. But with the way things are nowadays-I'd rather meet opportunity somewhere that's more public. I could meet opportunity in a coffee shop, but what if it works there? Well, I could suggest my grandma's basement. -James Lee Schmidt and Jarod Kintz

Even though we may want something so badly, most times when it arrives we cannot see the thing for what it is. Opportunity knocks all the time, Molly, but it is your responsibility to open the door.

What is opportunity, and when does it knock? It never knocks. You can wait a whole lifetime, listening, hoping, and you will hear no knocking. None at all. You are opportunity, and you must knock on the door leading to your destiny. You prepare yourself to recognize opportunity, to pursue and seize opportunity as you develop the strength of your personality, and build a self-image with which you are able to live -- with your self-respect alive and growing.

We often wait for that knock of opportunity, though I've found it's better to just grab a chainsaw and cut open your own fucking door.

A man can be knocked down a thousand times and can still get back up, but when he puts himself down he has defeated himself more than a million others could have done.

opportunity always knocks more than once whereas a false step can never be retraced.

If one knocks oneself out of one’s routine—and in so doing knocks others gently out of theirs—then one can now and again create these momentary opportunities to be better than one is.

When death knocks at the door, it depends on how you react to it. If you can react in a friendly way, in a receptive mood, death can be transformed into eternal life. If you cling to life, you are possessed by it; then you missed one opportunity more.

..:"Your greatest test, is when you are to bless someone else while you are going through your own storms." When what you have and need is the very thing someone else is in need of and you know deep down what's the right thing to do. That is the greatest challenge ever. But, that is also the greatest blessing and door of opportunity that comes camouflage knocking our door. That is the very key that will unlock the gates of Heaven over our lives if we just learn to listen, to be kind and to let go:..

As Jax went to knock on the door, she nearly stopped him. But the opportunity was eliminated as his knocks faded into silence. “Who?” A sleep-hazy voice called. “Your blushing princess,” Jax called in a girlish falsetto. “Go away, Jax.

Sometimes we can make our own opportunities, sometimes we can see them coming, but more often than not they are like pop quizzes, they are sprung on you like a challenge to test your skills, almost like a dare to see if you can take that leap of faith to make whatever it is a success. Wait too long, and an excellent opportunity might slip away.

There is always a solution to any problem. Find opportunities in any circumstance. Never become a victim.

… always making sure I was present when anything was going on. I feared that if I missed any opportunity, the magic would come while I was not there and I would miss it forever.

Opportunity only knocks once in this world,” he would say. Major Major’s father repeated this good joke at every opportunity.

Love of God and people will pave roads where there once were none.

The door of opportunity is always open, but nobody bothers to push the door open. They just get tired out by knocking and then they leave.

When opportunity doesn't knock, create a door

To satisfy a want or a need, you must first go for it

If an opportunity does not knock why not build a door?

Happiness isn’t something that you can plan for.  It comes knocking unexpectedly, just like opportunity.  And it’s up to you to answer the door and invite it inside.

Just remember that crisis leads to opportunity.

If opportunity does not knock, build a door

Opportunity has a way of popping up without warning or planning. Always helpful were a good banker, good advice, good credit, and good karma. Knock on wood.

It's not the number of contacts you cultivate but the diversity and depth of connections that leverage your opportunity to use best talents more often to accomplish more.

It seems when Opportunity knocks, Fate shows up to open the door.

Opportunity Knocks Only Once'…Twice if it’s selling Girl Scout Cookies..."


People say opportunity knocks, but when it comes to success you really have to break the door off of its hinges before it even gets there.

If opportunity knocks, throw open the door and drag it in.

Opportunity knocks. And when it doesn’t knock, it kicks down the fucking door and robs you at gunpoint,” Meredith says,

Too often the opportunity knocks, but by the time you disengage the chain, push back the bolt, unhook the two locks and shut off the burglar alarms, it is too late.

When opportunities knock on your door, don't wait too long to decide because when you take too much time, the decision will be made for you — typically, this will not be to your benefit.

Accident, they say, favors the prepared mind. Opportunity knocks only for those who are ready at the door. If we believe the novels we read, upward mobility is always ambitious, hungry, and aggressive, or at the very least, discontented. The George Willards are forever yearning away from the spiritual starvation of Winesburg toward some vague larger life. But that is not always the way it is. Some of us didn’t know enough to be discontented and ambitious. Some of us had such limited experience and limited aspirations that only accident, or the actions of others, or perhaps some inescapable psychosocial fate, could explode us out of our ruts. In a way, I suppose I had to hitchhike out of my childhood; but if I did, I did it without raising my thumb.

All right. But take my advice, Mr. Hel. Don’t let this chance get away. Opportunity doesn’t knock twice, you know.” “Penetrating observation. Did you make up the epigram?” “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Very well. And ask the guard to knock on my cell door twice. I wouldn’t want to confuse him with opportunity.

What makes it worth it though, is I love drawing. I LOVE IT. I love making comics. I love starting a new page and buying new paper, ink and brushes. I love telling stories! I love the people I work with, I love the people I meet. I love thinking about the syntax and language of comics. I love esoteric discussions about the comic book industry. I love the opportunities I’ve had in life because of comics. The second I stop loving it I will find something else to do. Comics are hard work. Comics are relentless. Comics will break your heart. Comics are monetarily unsatisfying. Comics don’t offer much in terms of fortune and glory, but comics will give you complete freedom to tell the stories you want to tell, in ways unlike any other medium. Comics will pick you up after it knocks you down. Comics will dust you off and tell you it loves you. And you will look into it’s eyes and know it’s true, that you love comics back.

An opportunity only knocks once. The next one may be better or worse, but never the same one. That is why it is so crucial to make the right decision at the right time. A right decision at the wrong time becomes a wrong decision.

As Mickey looked on in shock, Emily used the opportunity to turn her anger on him. Pulling the tape from her mouth, she roared like Diana and kicked out at him with a surprise blow to his stomach that knocked him down to his knees. Emily tried to remember everything Diana had taught her, and tested out her fighting moves. Before Mickey could land one punch on Emily, Paelen appeared and gave him a bone-crunching blow to the chin. ‘That is for Joel!’ The hit was hard enough to lift Mickey off the ground and send him flying several metres in the air before crashing down on a sand dune.

Sometimes one needs to stay alone, a little bit of time in loneliness gives you the opportunity to knock on the door to your brain, and it opens to a sudden bright idea. But those who never stay alone don't even know what's inside their brains.

Each of us needs an opportunity to be alone and silent, or even, indeed, to find space in the day or in the week, just to reflect and to listen to the voice of God that speaks deep within us. . . . In fact, our search for God is only our response to his search for us. He knocks at our door, but for many people, their lives are too preoccupied for them to be able to hear. — Cardinal Basil Hume

Dream Fable I saw myself in a wide green garden, more beautiful than I could begin to understand. In this garden was a young girl. I said to her, "How wonderful this place is!" "Would you like to see a place even more wonderful than this?" she asked. "Oh yes," I answered. Then taking me by the hand, she led me on until we came to a magnificent palace, like nothing that was ever seen by human eyes. The young girl knocked on the door, and someone opened it. Immediately both of us were flooded with light. Only Allah knows the inner meaning of the maidens we saw living there. Each one carried in her hand a serving-tray filled with light. The young girl asked the maidens where they were going, and they answered her, "We are looking for someone who was drowned in the sea, and so became a martyr. She never slept at night, not one wink! We are going to rub funeral spices on her body." "Then rub some on my friend here," the young girl said. "Once upon a time," said the maidens, "part of this spice and the fragrance of it clung to her body -- but then she shied away." Quickly the young girl let go of my hand, turned, and said to me: "Your prayers are your light; Your devotion is your strength; Sleep is the enemy of both. Your life is the only opportunity that life can give you. If you ignore it, if you waste it, You will only turn to dust." Then the young girl disappeared.

Opportunity does not knock; It just enters the opened heart and mind.

When you knock on the door of opportunity, do not be surprised that it is Work who answers.

Baby, you’re ass-up in red heels over the hood of a Lamborghini. You think I’m missing this opportunity? Now hold still while I knock you up.

Opportunity is always coming but never knocks on the door. You have to get up and meet him

The next time someone says, ‘The odds are against you,’ remember: If you don’t try, you forfeit the opportunity.

Oh for Christ’s sake, give the ass-kissing a rest, Julian.” K.T. knocked back a slug of wine, then slapped her glass on the table. She actually snapped her fingers at one of the servers so he would deal with the refill. “Even your mouth ought to be tired of puckering up by now.” “We’re having a conversation,” Julian began. “Is that what you call it? You act like you and Marlo are the only ones in this goddamn vid, and the two people you’re trying so hard to mimic are the only ones who count. It’s insulting. So why don’t you give it a fucking rest, set up your threesome with Marlo and Dallas on your own time? Some of us are trying to eat.” In the beat of horrified silence, Eve studied K.T. down the length of the table. “Peabody?” “Yes, sir,” Peabody said, shoulders hunched. “You know how I occasionally mention the possibility of kicking your ass?” “I’d term that as regularly, but yes, sir, I do.” “You may get the chance to watch me kick your fake ass while you sit comfortably on your own. That’s an opportunity that doesn’t come around every day.

Master of human destinies am I. Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by Hovel, and mart, and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden, once at every gate! If sleeping, wake -- if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but to those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore-- I answer not; and I return no more.

Opportunity Knocks Being selective when deciding what opportunities to go after is one thing, but it can get even harder when opportunities come to us. We get a job offer we didn’t expect. A side project comes along that isn’t really what we do, but it is easy cash. Someone asks us to help out with something we love doing, but it is unpaid work. An acquaintance has a time share available in a less-than-ideal location but at a discounted rate. What do we do? The fear of missing out goes into full effect. How can we say no; the offer is right here for the taking. We might never have gone after it, but now it is so easy to get it we consider it. But if we just say yes because it is an easy reward, we run the risk of having to later say no to a more meaningful one.

The type that is ‘sensitive’ or ‘reactive’ would reflect a strategy of observing carefully before acting,” she writes, “thus avoiding dangers, failures, and wasted energy, which would require a nervous system specially designed to observe and detect subtle differences. It is a strategy of ‘betting on a sure thing’ or ‘looking before you leap.’ In contrast, the active strategy of the [other type] is to be first, without complete information and with the attendant risks—the strategy of ‘taking a long shot’ because the ‘early bird catches the worm’ and ‘opportunity only knocks once.’ 

It wasn’t just the flavors that knocked me on my ass. It was seeing different people holding it, preparing it, serving it. Sometimes the chefs were not in the white jackets, and it wasn’t only men, it was women, it was children, it was everyone. There were Indians, blacks, Koreans, mixed people. When I had my own restaurant someday, I thought, I would never rule out someone based on race or sex or nationality. I wouldn’t do it because it was egalitarian, I’d do it because cutting people out meant cutting off talent and opportunity, people who could bring more to the table than I could ever imagine. I felt like I was climbing aboard a new food train, one that I’m still on to this day.

Gene Logsdon is equally critical of the federal government’s interference with regional farming markets. In The Contrary Farmer,20 he explores how government manipulation of agricultural markets has led to costly, hare-brained, and environmentally damaging practices. For example, farmers are tempted by government subsidies to grow corn on land far better suited for other, unsubsidized crops. The end result: the agricultural and economic diversity of whole regions of the United States is diminished. This has the knock-on effect of undermining opportunities for people in these regions to obtain a variety of affordable, locally grown produce. People talk about addressing such problems by further regulating lobbyists, but every new wave of regulations seems only to make matters worse. The best way to avoid cronyism and the government manipulation of markets in favor of corporate bigness is to have big government shrunk down to size and hemmed in by severe limits.

I'm not superstitious. I don't believe in knocking on wood, or crossing fingers, or crystal gazing, or any of that. I don't think the cards have any special occult power, though I'm not sure I'd say that outright to a client. But they do ...' She found herself struggling to articulate something she rarely dissected, event o herself. 'They do still have meaning - even if you know nothing about tarot, you can see the richness of the symbolism and the imagery. The ideas they represent ... they're universal forces that bear on all our lives. I suppose what I believe is not that the cards can tell you anything you don't already know, or that they have magical answers to your questions, but that they give you ... they give you the space to question ...? Does that make sense? Whether the statements I make in a reading are true or false, they give the sitter an opportunity to reflect on those forces, to analyze their instincts. I don't know if I'm explaining this right.

Hermione!” She stirred, then sat up quickly, pushing her hair out of her face. “What’s wrong? Harry? Are you all right?” “It’s okay, everything’s fine. More than fine. I’m great. There’s someone here.” “What do you mean? Who--?” She saw Ron, who stood there holding the sword and dripping onto the threadbare carpet. Harry backed into a shadowy corner, slipped off Ron’s rucksack, and attempted to blend in with the canvas. Hermione slid out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker toward Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half raised his arms. Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach. “Ouch--ow--gerroff! What the--? Hermione--OW!” “You--complete--arse--Ronald--Weasley!” She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced. “You--crawl--back--here--after--weeks--and--weeks--oh, where’s my wand?” She looked as though ready to wrestle it out of Harry’s hands and he reacted instinctively. “Protego!” The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione: The force of it knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt up again. “Hermione!” said Harry. “Calm--” “I will not calm down!” she screamed. Never before had he seen her lose control like this; she looked quite demented. “Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!” “Hermione, will you please--” “Don’t you tell me what to do, Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Don’t you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!” She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation: It was like a malediction, and Harry could not blame Ron for retreating several steps. “I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!” “I know,” Ron said, “Hermione, I’m sorry, I’m really--” “Oh, you’re sorry!” She laughed, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry merely grimaced his helplessness. “You come back after weeks--weeks--and you think it’s all going to be all right if you just say sorry?” “Well, what else can I say?” Ron shouted, and Harry was glad that Ron was fighting back. “Oh, I don’t know!” yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. “Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds--” “Hermione,” interjected Harry, who considered this a low blow, “he just saved my--” “I don’t care!” she screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew--” “I knew you weren’t dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like--” “What it’s been like for you?” Her voice was now so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity. “I wanted to come back the minute I’d Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn’t go anywhere!” “A gang of what?” asked Harry, as Hermione threw herself down into a chair with her arms and legs crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely that she would unravel them for several years.

I suggest you stand slowly and walk out with my men,” Zrakovi said, tapping a napkin against his lying, two-faced mouth and putting a twenty on the table to cover the drinks. “If you make a scene, innocent humans will be injured. I have a Blue Congress cleanup team in place, however, so if you want to fight in public and damage a few humans, knock yourself out. It will only add to your list of crimes.” I stood slowly, gritting my teeth when Squirrel Chin patted me down while feeling me up and making it look like a romantic moment. He’d been so busy feeling the naughty bits that he missed both Charlie, sitting in my bag next to my foot, and the dagger attached to my inner forearm. Idiot. Alex would never have been so sloppy. If Alex had patted me down, he’d have found not only the weapons but also the portable magic kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw a tourist taking mobile phone shots of us. He’d no doubt email them to all his friends back home with stories of those crazy New Orleanians and their public displays of affection. I considered pretending to faint, but I was too badly outnumbered for it to work. Like my friend Jean Lafitte, whose help I could use about now, I didn’t want to try something unless it had a reasonable chance at succeeding. I also didn’t want to pull Charlie out and risk humans getting hurt. “Walk out the door onto Chartres and turn straight toward the cathedral.” Zrakovi pulled his jacket aside enough for me to see a shoulder holster. I hadn’t even known the man could hold a gun, although for all I knew about guns it could be a water pistol. The walk to the cathedral transport was three very long city blocks. My best escape opportunity would be near Jackson Square. When the muscular goons tried to turn me left toward the cathedral, I’d try to break and run right toward the river, where I could get lost among the wharves and docks long enough to draw and power a transport. Of course in order to run, I’d have to get away from the clinch of Dreadlocks and Squirrel Chin. Charlie could take care of that. I slipped the messenger bag over my head slowly, and not even Zrakovi noticed the stick of wood protruding from the top by a couple of inches. Not to be redundant, but . . . idiots. None of us spoke as we proceeded down Chartres Street, where, to our south, the clouds continued to build. The wind had grown stronger and drier. The hurricane was sucking all the humidity out of the air, all the better to gain intensity. I hoped Zrakovi, a Bostonian, would enjoy his first storm. I hoped a live oak landed on his head.

It was in her abode, in the janitorial quarters assigned her on the ground floor rear, that seemingly inoffensive Mrs. Shapiro set up a clandestine alcohol dispensary—not a speakeasy, but a bootleg joint, where the Irish and other shikkers of the vicinity could come and have their pint bottles filled up, at a price. And several times on weekends, when Ira was there, for he got along best with Jake, felt closest to him, because Jake was artistic, some beefy Irishman would come in, hand over his empty pint bottle for refilling, and after greenbacks were passed, and the transaction completed, receive as a goodwill offering a pony of spirits on the house. And once again those wry (rye? Out vile pun!), wry memories of lost opportunities: Jake’s drab kitchen where the two sat talking about art, about Jake’s favorite painters, interrupted by a knock on the door, opened by Mr. Shapiro, and the customer entered. With the fewest possible words, perhaps no more than salutations, purpose understood, negotiations carried out like a mime show, or a ballet: ecstatic pas de deux with Mr. McNally and Mr. Shapiro—until suspended by Mr. Shapiro’s disappearance with an empty bottle, leaving Mr. McNally to solo in anticipation of a “Druidy drunk,” terminated by Mr. Shapiro’s reappearance with a full pint of booze. Another pas de deux of payment? Got it whole hog—Mr. Shapiro was arrested for bootlegging several times, paid several fines, but somehow, by bribery and cunning, managed to survive in the enterprise, until he had amassed enough wealth to buy a fine place in Bensonhurst by the time “Prohibition” was repealed. A Yiddisher kupf, no doubt.

Dunyasha lunged. Inej stayed close, using every opportunity to keep inside the mercenary’s guard and deny her the advantage of her longer reach. She was stronger than she’d been when they’d faced each other on the wire, well rested, well fed. But she was still a girl trained on the streets, not in the towers of some Shu monastery. Inej’s first mistake was a slow recoil. She paid for it in a deep slash to her left bicep. It cut through the padding and made it hard to keep a good grip on the blade in her left hand. Her second error was putting too much force into an upward jab. She leaned in too far and felt Dunyasha’s knife skim her ribs. A shallow cut that time, but it had been a close thing. She ignored the pain and focused on her opponent, remembering what Kaz had told her. Find her tells. Everyone has them. But Dunyasha’s movements seemed unpredictable. She was equally comfortable with her left and right hands, she favored neither foot, and waited until the last moment to strike, giving no early indication of her intent. She was extraordinary. “Growing weary, Wraith?” Inej said nothing, conserving her energy. Though Dunyasha’s breathing seemed clear and even, Inej could feel herself dragging slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give the mercenary the advantage. Then she saw it—the slightest hitch of Dunyasha’s chest, followed by a lunge. A hitch, then another lunge. The tell was in her breathing. She took in a deep breath before an attack. There. Inej dodged left, struck quickly, a rapid jab of her blade to Dunyasha’s side. There. Inej attacked again, and blood flowered on Dunyasha’s arm. Inej drew back, waited as the girl advanced. The mercenary liked to hide her direct assaults with other movement, the whirl of her blades, an unnecessary flourish. It made her hard to read, but there. The quick burst of breath. Inej sank low and swept her left leg wide, knocking the mercenary off balance. This was her chance. Inej shot to her feet, using her upward momentum and Dunyasha’s descent to shove her blade under the leather guard protecting the girl’s sternum. Inej felt blood on her hand as she wrenched the knife free and Dunyasha released a shocked grunt. The girl stared at her now, clutching her chest with one hand. Her eyes narrowed. There was still no fear there, only a hard, bright resentment, as if Inej had ruined an important party. “The blood you spill is the blood of kings,” seethed Dunyasha. “You are not fit for such a gift.” Inej almost felt sorry for her. Dunyasha