By D. B. Jackson
Ethan Kaille isn’t the likeliest hero. A former sailor with a bothered previous, Ethan is a thieftaker, utilizing conjuring talents to seek down those that thieve from the nice voters of Boston. And whereas chasing down miscreants in 1768 makes his lifestyles a dangerous one, the simmering political tensions among loyalists like himself and rabble-rousing revolutionaries like Samuel Adams and others of his ilk are even perhaps extra harmful to his health.
When 100 sailors of King George III's Royal army are mysteriously killed on a boat in Boston Harbor, Ethan is thrust into dire peril. For he—and now not Boston’s superior thieftaker, Sephira Pryce—is requested to discover the reality in the back of their deaths. urban Sheriff Edmund Greenleaf suspects conjuring used to be utilized in the dastardly crime, or even Pryce understands that Ethan is healthier outfitted to take care of issues of what so much of Boston considers darkish arts. yet even Ethan is daunted by way of magic strong adequate to fell such a lot of in one stroke. whilst he begins to enquire, he realizes that the mass assassin will cease at not anything to dodge catch. And making his activity more challenging is the British fleet's profession of town after the colonials' violent protests after the seizure of John Hancock's send. Kaille will desire all his personal magic, road smarts, and a little bit success to maintain this Boston bloodbath from giving the hotheads of Colonial Boston an excuse for inciting a riot—or worse.
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Extra resources for Thieves' Quarry (Thieftaker Chronicles, Book 2)
HAMILTON grown. It showed his profile for a moment, and because I was in the mood to pick, I asked something I’d been debating on for weeks. I traced the bridge of his nose. “When I first met you, your nose looked like it had been badly broken. ” “Yes,” and his voice was soft when he said it. There was no smile now, not even the confusing one. His face had closed down. I’d begun to realize that this was how he looked when he was sad. I’d met Chimera, hell, I’d killed him. He’d been one of the most insane beings I’d ever met.
If we weren’t in love, then how did he do that? Hell, I’d been in love with people that didn’t even come close to meeting this many of my needs. “You are not a sociopath, Anita. You have given up pieces of yourself so you can do your job. ” I wrapped my arms around him, held him tight, rested my forehead in the bend of his neck, rubbed my face against the incredible smoothness of his skin. “I’m trying not to lose more pieces of myself, but it’s like I can’t stop. I felt nothing tonight, except guilt that I felt nothing.
He started to turn away. I caught his sleeve, lightly. I had to be careful how I touched him lately. He took so many things as aggression. “Cops do not use the phrase serial killer unless they have to. One, you don’t want it to be true. ” He looked down at me, and I let go of his sleeve. “There aren’t any reporters here, Anita. ” “Dolph,” I said. He almost smiled. “I got a bad feeling, that’s all. This is either their first kill, or the first kill we’ve found. ” “Yeah, but who? Was it the killer, or killers?