No Rest for the Witches by Karina Cooper

By Karina Cooper

New Seattle is altering. Witches and witch hunters became allies, and the Order's grip at the urban is slipping. yet they might not move down with no fight...After the disastrous finish to their final project, Jessie, Silas, and Naomi regroup at their sanctuary a ways underneath New Seattle. yet their short relaxation is shattered while Jessie "sees" in their personal attacked topside. Dodging bullets and black magic, they danger all of it on a treacherous rescue challenge. Already stretched to the restrict, threat waits in unforeseen corners. If the Holy Order unearths them, the group is pretty much as good as lifeless. yet they can not cover forever...

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Standard tactics. Was he facing down an old Mission teammate? Eckhart?  . Miles? He gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to go down that mental road. He’d made his choice. He’d protect Jessie until the end of the earth. He’d keep Naomi’s ass covered and do his part, no matter what. They’d had to make their choices, too, and they chose the Mission. Fine. Safety glass shattered out in a spray of glittering shards, raining down on him. Silas rose, gun tight in one hand, and sighted down the length of his arm.

Dilapidated furnishings provided the barest minimum of livability, the sofa was a strange shade of green, and the brown curtains hanging from the windows were threadbare. The normally mud brown carpet had seen better days, turned nearly black underneath a tall, lean man wearing designer clothes. Compared to Naomi’s worn black denim and fitted shirt, he looked like a slummer taken a bad turn. His clothes would get him jumped in the middle of a crowded street down here. Or would have, before his blood had colored his light blue dress shirt vibrant red.

He motioned to Joel. ” Even Silas blanched at the anguish in Naomi’s order. Circling around them, he stepped between the bloody, rabid struggle and the window, placing himself at an angle guaranteed not to offer a clear shot. He wasn’t that far out of the game. Phin all but snarled as Joel caught his hands, holding them to the floor. Anything he said was lost in the thick-tongued gibberish Silas knew meant the man had lost a lot of blood. The hole in his shoulder and matching graze on his thigh must have made getting down here a bitch.

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