No Rest for the Witches by Karina Cooper

laughed, and as he pushed his splayed palm towards the ground, Naomi’s knees buckled. Throwing her head back, Naomi cried out as her shoulders collapsed under a weight she couldn’t see. Her muscles strained, every tendon pushed to the breaking point as she fought to stay standing.
    The kid dropped his hand lower.
    She slammed into the cement. Fists tight against the ground, she struggled to suck in air as the invisible weight compressed her back. Her chest.
    Her lungs.
    Heart pounding a heavy staccato in her ears, her skull, she struggled to get her hands under herself. Her cheek ground into the floor. The tattoo sparked and sizzled.
    Spots detonated at the corners of her vision.
    â€œGoddamn it, stop!”
    As if Silas’s guttural roar was the signal, the pressure eased. Just enough.
    Naomi sucked in a gasping breath.
    â€œGorgeous!” the kid crowed. “Exactly what I would have expected from the great Naomi West.”
    Senses reeling, Naomi couldn’t stop to examine the statement. She sucked in gasp after gasp of dust-choked air, muscles shaking uncontrollably, fatigued beyond anything she’d felt in too long.
    She was out of shape.
    And Lillian was going to pay if she didn’t get. Her shit. Together.
    Silas was watching her as she finally raised her head. She dragged her dust-coated sleeve over her mouth. Jerked a nod.
    She was fine.
    Pissed, but fine.
    Son of a . . . witch .
    His jaw tightened, gaze snapping back to the witch hiding behind Lillian. “Who the hell are you?” Silas demanded, his hands loose at his sides.
    â€œAnd how do you know me?” Naomi added.
    The knife glinted as the end worked under Lillian’s collar. Pale, sweating, she gazed at the ceiling with the thousand-yard stare Naomi recognized from too many hostages. Disassociated. Scared.
    Trying hard not to think about the outcome of this.
    There would be blood.
    The beast in Naomi raged for it.
    She gritted her teeth.
    â€œEveryone knows you,” he was saying, jerking her attention back to those empty eyes. He was smiling again. Casual.
    What the hell was his angle?
    â€œI knew you’d show your pretty face again. The bounty on your head is at fifty thousand dollars, did you know that?”
    Naomi’s smile was made of teeth. “So I heard.”
    â€œTwice that if you’re alive,” he added. “I’m going to be a very rich man when this is done.”
    A scuffle across the circle forced him to tighten his hold on Lillian. She bit back a small cry, fear and loathing, as her back flattened against his chest.
    Silas struggled against the men holding him, muscles straining. “What the hell makes you think a witch’ll be able to collect?”
    â€œOh, I have secrets that would give you nightmares.” He slid the knife out of Lillian’s collar, leaving a long, thin red line in its wake. Naomi’s teeth ground so hard, her jaw popped. “But there’s no bounty for you. Kill him. I have what I need.”
    â€œWho are you?” Silas growled, wrenching at the hands holding him back. “What’s your angle?” The black-clad man on his left unlatched the gun from his hip. The sleek, matte-black weapon leveled at Silas’s head.
    Tears spilled over Lillian’s lashes, tracking through the dust coating her cheeks.
    The platinum-blond witch’s eyes crinkled, cheeks turned up in a smile that somehow managed to make him look . . . boyishly endearing.
    Naomi’s fists clenched. Heart in her throat, skin crawling, she dug her feet into the ground. Every muscle clenched in anticipation.
    â€œWhat do you think I am?” he asked dryly. “A storybook villain? Want me to tell you everything before I kill you?” He pulled Lillian to the side, draped that arm on her shoulder as if she were just a buddy to lean against. The knife flashed as he pointed it at Silas. “I don’t think so. Just