Thieftaker by D. B. Jackson Page B

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