D. Jackson - Thieftaker

Despite her talents with a blade and a firearm, despite her reputation for ruthless cruelty and the lethal storm that always raged around her-or perhaps because of all these things-Sephira was renowned and respected throughout the city. Rather than hiding in shadows, with other thieves and ruffians, she walked the streets as if she were royalty. She spoke with the confidence of someone who knew beyond doubt that she was the mistress of her own fate and the fates of everyone she met. She was several years younger than Ethan, but she dispensed wisdom-or what she took for wisdom-like a sage. Ethan thought of Sephira as little more than a glorified brigand, lovely to be sure, but wicked in every way. But he took great care in concealing his true feelings. Because everyone else in Boston, including Sephira herself, considered her nearly the equal of no less a man than Thomas Hutchinson, or even the governor of Massachusetts, Francis Bernard.

It wasn’t just that she was the most important thieftaker in Boston, in all of the American colonies. She was also responsible for much of the thieving and violence that made thieftaking necessary. At least half the gems and jewelry and other riches she returned for reward were first stolen by men in her employ. She took with one hand, gave back with the other, and was paid handsomely for doing so.

Those like Ethan, who lived their lives in the streets, saw the woman for what she really was: a charming, clever villain. But to the unsuspecting, particularly the wealthy, she was the person who kept Boston’s streets safe. And by dint of having forged this reputation, she had built an empire for herself. For if she profited from her efforts to keep order in the city and see to it that stolen property was restored to its rightful owner… well, who could begrudge the woman a bit of coin?

She watched Ethan now as she circled him, a half smile on her exquisite face, an appraising look in her cold, pale eyes, as if she was weighing whether or not to have her men beat Ethan a bit more.

“You’ve been hired by Berson,” she said at length.

Ethan would gain nothing by denying it. Little happened in Boston without Sephira knowing of it; chances were she had known Berson was going to hire Ethan before the merchant’s man ever reached the Dowsing Rod. But Ethan saw no reason to confirm her suspicions. He stared back at her as the pain in his gut and his cheek gradually faded.

After several moments, Sephira flicked her gaze up to one of the men standing behind Ethan. One quick glance, that was all it took. Immediately the man behind him-Yellow-hair-grabbed Ethan by the hair, pulled his head back, and laid the edge of a blade against Ethan’s throat, much as Ethan had done to Daniel the night before.

“I believe Miss Pryce asked ye a question,” Yellow-hair said, giving Ethan’s hair an extra yank.

“Actually, she didn’t,” Ethan said, his voice strained. “She made a statement.”

The man looming over him frowned, then looked to Pryce, apparently unsure of what to make of this.

“Let him go,” she said.

The man released Ethan’s hair, but then smacked him across the top of the head. Ethan winced.

“This is why I choose to let you live, Ethan,” Sephira said, her laugh deep and throaty. Even mocking him, she sounded enticing. “You amuse me. And I’ll admit that you have some courage, as well, though the line between bravery and folly can be a fine one.”

“I didn’t realize that my life was subject to your whim,” Ethan said.

In an instant, her expression changed to a sneer. “Then you’re a greater fool than I thought. The life of every man, woman, and child in this city is subject to my whim.”

Ethan wanted to challenge her on this. Surely Sephira didn’t mean to imply that even officers of the Crown were within her reach. But he held his tongue. If she did wield such power, over even the king’s men, Ethan wasn’t certain he wanted to know about it.

“I’ll ask it as a question this time,” Sephira went on a moment later. “Have you been hired by Abner Berson in the matter of his daughter’s murder?”

“Yes, I have,” Ethan said. “Actually, that reminds me: Can you account for your whereabouts last night?”

Pryce rolled her eyes and nodded to one of the men behind Ethan.

A fist to the temple sent Ethan sprawling to the floor again and knocked over the chair. One of the men kicked him in the stomach; another kicked him in the small of the back. A wave of nausea crashed over him and once more he could barely manage to draw breath.

“Get him up,” Sephira said.

One of the toughs righted his chair, and the others lifted him off the floor and dumped him back into it, none too gently. Ethan hung his head, gasping for air, his elbows resting on his knees. He could feel Pryce watching him.

“Don’t make me do that again,” she said.

“You know he hired me, Sephira,” Ethan managed to say. “You’ve known it all along. What’s all this about?”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“I think you don’t like it when wealthy men come to me. You don’t mind me working for the likes of Ezra Corbett, because he’s hardly worth your time, but when someone like Berson hires me you feel like I’m taking money out of your purse.”

Sephira smiled, and the entire room seemed to get colder. “You see? You can be clever when you want to be.”

“You don’t want this job, Sephira. Believe me you don’t.”

“Because she was killed with witchery?”

Ethan stared back at her.

“Yes,” she said, “I knew that, too.”

“Do you know who killed her?”

She shook her head, reclining on the bed once more, like some woman from a prisoner’s dream. “I’m not sure I’d tell you if I did, but as it happens, I’ve no idea.”

Something occurred to him in that moment, but he kept it to himself. He would have time to satisfy his curiosity later in the day, provided he survived this charming interview.

“I’ve been happy to let you have the jobs involving witchcraft,” she told him, “because until now it hasn’t cost me much to do so. But that changed when Berson hired you.”

“Do you know much about conjuring, Sephira?”

“I know enough to have taken your knife from you as soon as you entered the room. You need blood, or something of the sort, to attack me with anything more than an elemental spell. And I know enough not to be afraid of elemental conjurings. Those are illusion spells. They can’t really hurt me.” Her smile this time was fleeting, though no less icy. “How am I doing so far?”

“Fairly well,” Ethan said. “But you can’t conjure, can you?”

By now, no answer would have surprised him. Still, Ethan knew a moment of profound relief when Sephira shook her head and said, “No, I can’t.”

“Then you know as well as I do, that you can’t hope to find the person who murdered Jennifer Berson without getting yourself killed. That’s the reason her father came to me.”

“Yes, it probably is.”

“So then what are we doing here, Sephira?”

“We’re making sure that you understand just that. Witchcraft is the only reason Berson hired you instead of me. And witchcraft is the only reason I’m allowing you to keep the job. The Ezra Corbetts of the world are yours. The Abner Bersons belong to me.”

Ethan eyed the woman another moment, then shook his head and let out a small laugh.

She sat up abruptly, her expression deadly serious. “You think I’m joking?”

“I know you’re not. I just find it hard to believe you’ve gone to all this trouble because you’re worried I’m taking jobs that you think should be yours.”

“Well, believe it, Ethan. I’ve tolerated you working in Boston because there are certain jobs I would rather not take on. The last thing I need is to fail a few important clients and ruin my reputation, all because some idiot conjurer has taken to thieving. In some small way I need you, so I let you work at the fringes of my trade. But make no mistake: You work in this city-you live and breathe in this city-because I allow it.”