Chapter ONE - Weebly

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.”
Sephira glanced past him again, which gave Ethan at
least some warning that another blow was coming. Not
that it helped much. One of Pryce’s men grabbed his
chair from behind and pulled it out from under him, so
that Ethan fell face-first to the floor. Two others lifted
him and pinned his arms to his sides, and Yellow-hair
resumed the beating. This time Sephira let them have
their fun for what felt like an eternity before finally
calling them off. Yellow-hair drove one last punch into
Ethan’s side before the other two released him, leaving
him to crumple to the floor.
Every inch of Ethan’s body hurt, and he could feel
blood flowing freely from his nose, his split lip, and
more cuts on his face than he could count. He didn’t try
to move, not even when he felt one of the men rifling
through his pockets.
“Here it is,” the man said.