Page 19 of The Unweaver (Unwoven Fates #1)

H er head snapped up. A sea of curious faces greeted Cora. An audience had gathered as they played. Seated at tables with drinks in hand, they looked at Cora with a mixture of intrigue and wariness.

She caught whispered fragments of their conversations. Who is that? Looks just like Teddy Walcott, don’t she? Didn’t he have a twin? What’s she doing here?

She was surrounded by the Realmwalker’s gang. Her judge, jury, and executioners. Her fear was just short of apocalyptic as her worst nightmare unfolded around her.

“All right, mates,” Bane said over the chatter. He dragged a chair across the stage, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Let’s get started.”

Panic boiled in her veins. She surged to her feet, toppling the piano bench over. A dozen pairs of eyes fastened on her like spotlights, tracking every twitch of her limbs and dart of her eyes, judging her in the expectant silence. Her heart hammered.

Too late. Trapped.

Stop! The scream clawed the back of her throat. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and flee from their probing stares. Desperately, she wished she had Bane’s magic to disappear. Wished she had anyone’s magic but her own.

Bane’s gaze was uncompromising despite the silent scream in her eyes. Any foolish optimism she had of him respecting her secrecy withered. Cora felt as if she were leaning out of her body and watching the nightmare devour someone else.

Bane addressed the group, his eyes locked on her. “First order of business. We’ve lost Joe Gallagher and gained a new member. This is Cora Walcott. Cora”—he relinquished her gaze to sweep the assembled faces in wordless challenge— “is the Unweaver.”

Everyone froze. Their widening eyes flew to her. A moment’s silence, like a slamming door, then the deafening stillness of disbelief.

Floating disembodied, Cora watched with detached horror as a lifetime of secrecy was blown to hell in a single moment. Somewhere below, her body was stunned to the spot. Somewhere below, she was motionless, speechless, thoughtless.

A flurry of sounds and movement whirred past like a beehive in bedlam. Gasps. Breaking glass. Scraping chairs. The gang jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons in a thrumming undercurrent of magic and fear.

With incredulity and scorn, with fright and animosity, they stared up at the freakish spectacle on the stage. The abomination they were locked inside with.

The giant Hydromancer backed away as if Cora was a rabid animal, water vapor swirling around his fists like a storm. Anita gaped at her in astonishment. The Electromancer’s eyes shot poison daggers. Ravi’s fearful expression flayed her to the bone.

Cora was nine years old, on her knees on the cold stone floor as Sister Jessica lashed her with a switch and the bitter truth.

She was twelve years old, sobbing as Felix stole the last of her innocence.

She was sixteen years old, hanging from a noose as Mother’s pets cheered.

She was thirty years old, stripped bare before her executioners.

Abomination .

Cora crashed back into her body. Alarm stampeded through her. She stood, exposed, with her most deeply buried secret staring back at her from a dozen pairs of eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her, daring her to meet his gaze. When she did, he looked back, unrepentant. Their gazes clashed in the weighty silence.

Betrayal unfurled in her chest. He’d said he wanted her to trust him. She had known better, and it hadn’t changed a damn thing. Trust was built on a foundation of shifting sand.

How carelessly her darkest truth had slipped from his mouth, a confession that was not his to make. And one he felt no remorse in making. Cora was disgusted with him. With the people staring accusingly at her. With herself and her rotten core on display.

“Cora is the most powerful Necromancer born in generations,” Bane continued as if he hadn't already condemned her to death. “I witnessed her drown Verek in his own lung cancer with a touch. If anyone has a problem with Cora, you’ll answer not only to me, but to her.”

A damning silence fell and stretched on and on. Cora didn’t mistake their silence for acceptance. Their collective fear and resentment was palpable, pushing in on her from all sides. No one would defy the Realmwalker to his face, but she knew what was coming. The spite. The violence. Only a matter of time before she was hanging from a different rope.

Anita broke the tense silence. “You taking the piss, Mal? The Unweaver is this slip of a thing? Never would’ve thought I’d meet the bloody Unweaver . Come to think of it, ain’t ever met a Necromancer, or heard of twin mages before.”

Whispers erupted. Twin mages . Unweaver . Murderer. Monster.

Cora walked off the stage with wooden feet, winding through the crowd that parted fearfully for her. They turned to gawk as she passed, recoiling as if she were contagious. Ravi flinched away in a burst of air magic, wind whipping his hair and clothes.

“Murderer,” Guy Haviland spat, his bashful smile replaced by a ferocious scowl.

She walked as far away as the confines of her cage would permit. Shame sent her to the farthest seat away, but misplaced pride kept her in that seat. Albeit perched on the edge, angled towards the locked door, and poised to flee.

Eyes downcast, she felt their wary backward glances as Bane continued onto other matters. As if nothing were amiss.

The induction ritual into the Realmwalker’s gang was apparently public humiliation. Something not even Mother had subjected her to. The old bird had respected her anonymity. Eventually. She hadn’t violated Cora like this. But not Malachy Bane. To him, she was just another piece on his chessboard.

Helpless anger roiled as she watched Bane debrief about the gang war. The bastard had steamrolled her concerns without batting an eye. She’d be choking on the dust of this collapse for what little remained of her life.

Cora blinked in surprise when Anita sat beside her with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Was the execution beginning already?

“Figure I’d fill you in on the who’s who and what’s what,” Anita whispered. “Since you’re new and all.”

Stupefied that anyone would ever speak to her again, Cora could only stare. Anita’s smile was strained and her body stiff, but her kindness was a warmth in the winter of Cora’s misery. She swigged straight from the bottle in silent thanks. Anita was watching her with raised brows when she came up for air.

“Looks like someone needed a drink.” Anita poured herself a glass and sipped. “Don’t mind them. They’ll warm up in time. Took them weeks before they spoke more than two words to me.”

Very reassuring . Though, in that moment, Cora could have wept with gratitude to have one friendly face in a den of hostility.

“Say, you ever seen a ghost?”

It took several starts and stops before Cora found her voice. “No. Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Huh.” The worry on Anita’s features was eased by a grin. “Look at you. White as a ghost yourself. Don’t fret, love. We’re all mages here, even if some of us are a little high and mighty about it. Mal don’t judge, but he can’t really get it. Me? I’m a blood charmer. I get it.”

Cora managed a tentative nod at the Sanguimancer’s commiseration but remained unconvinced. Mages also scorned blood magic, though more from squeamishness than the existential revulsion they felt for Necromancy. Even so, it was possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to Cora. She wanted to weep all the more. Despite the reassurances, though, her entire body was tensed to run.

“—Gallagher was killed by Edwina’s gang last night,” came Bane’s voice. “Ravi has the update.”

“Joe was our Ferromancer,” Anita whispered. “From Galway. Real decent bloke. Great shot.”

How easily Cora could’ve met Gallagher’s fate today. And how much better that would’ve been for everyone involved. No wonder Bane had been so angry earlier. Losing two pawns in as many days would have been very inconvenient.

Ravi, still shaken from learning he’d just played a duet with the Unweaver, stood to report. “According to human witnesses, Gallagher was mauled by a wild animal in the middle of a street in Sutton. I have confirmation it was one of Mother’s Bestiamancers.”

“The coppers are sniffing around,” Bane said. “Lt. Randolph Potts paid me a visit about certain inexplicable events. They know Gallagher was one of ours. We need damage control. Ravi, talk to Maude at The Times . She’ll get us on the front page to milk the public sympathy while it lasts. Joseph Gallagher was an upstanding citizen, a loving husband and father on his way home when tragedy befell him. A preventable attack if the London police were less incompetent. I’ll arrange a grand funeral for Gallagher with the Archbishop. Bastard’s got deep pockets to line but he owes me a favor.”

Ravi frantically wrote this down.

“In the meantime, we can’t let the beasts run amok. I need someone to leash the Bestiamancer that killed Gallagher.”

“Any Bestiamancer could transform into that animal if they ate its heart,” Ravi said. “I’ve got an inside connection to Mother’s gang, but what if I can’t find the one responsible?”

Cora looked at Ravi with new eyes. She hadn’t been the only one hiding something. The Aeromancer had been spying on the spies, using his intimacy with Teddy as an in to a rival gang. Had Ravi only been using Teddy?

She dismissed the thought. His affection and his grief had seemed genuine. While he could’ve fooled her, he couldn’t fool an Animancer. Perhaps Ravi had simply been taking advantage of love’s windfalls.

“Pick a fall guy.” With a wave of his hand Bane signed the death warrant of someone from Cora’s former gang. Someone who might be innocent. Of this crime, at least. “Be discreet.”

“Will do, Mal.” Ravi returned to his seat.

“Until this war blows over, everyone pairs up. No one goes out alone. No exceptions.” Bane gave Cora a pointed look. She glared back. “O’Leary, see to it that Gallagher’s family is provided for. Pay his widow restitution of Gallagher’s wages. Indefinitely.”

Talking compensation in front of the whole gang was a level of transparency Cora hadn’t expected. Mother only held one-on-one meetings and likely sang a different tune for each of her pets.

“As you wish.” Gold-rimmed spectacles flashed on John O’Leary’s pinched face as he made note in a careful hand. Cora couldn’t imagine someone as reserved as the Irish Memnomancer ever removing his over-starched suit, let alone doing so to sire six children in rapid succession.

“Guy, find easy jobs for Gallagher’s two lads in the automotive expansion,” Bane said to the Electromancer. “On the legitimate side of the business. Joe would’ve wanted the lads' noses kept clean. Put them to work on the Silvertown factory construction.”

“Got it, Mal,” Guy said. “We started laying the foundation for the new automobile factory. I’m taking a page out of Henry Ford’s book across the pond. We’ll have the assembly lines up and running by the end of next year.”

“Grand. I’ll let everyone know the details of Gallagher’s funeral soon. Now, onto the late Pyromancer’s gang. Since the Unweaver killed Verek, they’re too busy dogfighting to be a real threat. Barring further mishaps, we’ll snatch up their steel manufacturing empire while they’re distracted. I’ve backed Rune Borges to take over. Rune led that gang when Verek was still pissing himself in nappies.”

Every mage had heard tales of the infamous Portuguese mercenary. Heroic antics that were no doubt as embellished as the specialized armor his Ferromancy crafted.

“Rune Borges?” Anita scoffed. “That pompous old windbag? Last I heard, he’s working as the Gilded Lily’s security.”

“Sure, Rune’s got a legacy as a mercenary and their former boss,” Guy said. “But that was decades ago, Mal. There are more powerful Ferromancers and Pyromancers that could take over. Isn’t Rune kinda the underdog?”

“Exactly. Rune needs my support to take leadership. He’s proud of his legacy and that vanity is exploitable. He’ll be a decorative figurehead indebted to me while we swipe their steel monopoly out from under them.”

“I dunno, Mal,” Guy said. “Verek’s gang won’t take kindly to him in charge.”

“Clearly, which is why I’ve armed Rune and his supporters with an arsenal to take out the opposition.” Bane almost smiled. “Ferromancer-modified Winchester rifles confiscated from the late Verek’s shipment to anti-IRA loyalists.”

Cora reeled at his evil ingenuity. Bane had orchestrated Verek’s gang to kill themselves with their own guns. He was playing a long game on a dozen chess boards, and Cora, a lowly pawn, couldn’t see beyond her own square.

“Corpses are piling up, Mal,” came the lilting voice of a petite, strawberry blonde woman with freckles dusted on the fresh cream of her skin like cinnamon. “It’ll be difficult to sweep them all under the rug. I’ve got intel that even the coppers on your payroll are getting suspicious. Lt. Potts has a lot of sway.”

“That’s Sloane Kilbride,” Anita whispered. “Umbramancer spy. And my flatmate. Mal’s had Sloane after the Unweaver for years. She’s gotta be right pissed she didn’t find out who you were before now.”

Cora had never seen the shadow mage before. Which, she supposed, was the point. She shivered. Over years of Mother’s favors, how many times had she looked into the shadows and they were looking back? That enchanted cloak really had been worth every penny.

“We’ll cooperate fully with the authorities,” Bane said to the Umbramancer, “by providing evidence that points them elsewhere.”

“What if there is no evidence?” Sloane Kilbride said.

“You’ve scrounged up enough dirt on the other gangs. Pick something. If it’s not there, fabricate it. Dimitri, what’s your update on the bullet I was shot with? Did Rune, the self-proclaimed weapons specialist, have any insight?”

The hulking Slav stood. “Went to Crossbone cemetery. Find nothing. No bodies, only blood. I took bullet to Gallagher before died. He did not know. I go to Borges. He take bribe and send me back with message. If Realmwalker want answers, need ask Borges himself. Not send lackey .”

“Did he now?” Bane lifted his brows. “Biting the hand that feeds him already. Anita, you’ve connections at the Gilded Lily and a rapport with Rune. How’d you like to bring our wayward Ferromancer to heel?”

Anita perked up. “Can I use my magic? In case of, er, forceful negotiations?”

“Granted.”

Anita cracked her knuckles with a wicked grin. “My pleasure, boss. We’ll have to bribe that windbag well and good to keep him from blabbing to Madam Kalandra.” She spoke the name in a fearful undertone. With Teddy off the board— for now, please let it only be for now —the Gilded Lily’s Madam was the best Animancer in London. An hourglass-shaped force to be reckoned with.

“Make sure Rune sings for his supper this time, eh?” Bane said. “Take Cora with you.”

It was difficult to say who was more surprised by the order. Anita cast Cora an uncertain look. There were limits to the Sanguimancer’s compassion, and working directly together was pushing them. Cora sank down in her chair at the slitted gazes homing in on her.

So, this was how Bane would move his Necromancer pawn into position, by sending Verek’s killer as a message to his replacement. Like Mother’s loyal Doberman that had roasted to death during parley, Cora was there for intimidation.

“Yvonne, what’s your update on the shipments into Prohibition states?” Bane said.

A woman near Cora’s age rose to her feet with fluid grace. She was stunning in a beaded green dress that matched her shining eyes. Sable hair fell like silk in a bob that framed her flawless, olive-toned features.

“But of course, Mal,” she purred in a French-accented voice. The effortless sophistication of her movements and the seduction of her husky voice snared everyone’s attention.

“Yvonne Archambeau,” Anita whispered. “Parisian Phytomancer. You can thank the plant mage for all the enchanted coke and grass and hops.”

“I was checking on our liquor shipments,” Yvonne said, twirling an antique locket on a chain that dipped into her cleavage. “When I discovered hidden things. Dark magic relics that were very well concealed. We checked all the cargo and found more stashed loot. I do not think this is the first time it has been done.”

“Someone’s smuggling cargo in my smuggled cargo?” Bane said. “Bastard. Any idea who?”

“ Oui , Mal. We traced the relics to Monsieur Marcel Durbec.”

Anita’s glass plummeted to the floor and shattered. “Durbec? The French Sanguimancer? He’s done some real sick shit, Mal. Pretending to be a surgeon when he ain’t nothing but a butcher. His blood’s like pitch in his heart.”

“Aye, I know him.” Bane stroked his jaw. “Durbec fancies himself a collector these days. Owns a shop in Chelsea, selling tat to the public and dark relics to private clients.”

“I’m sure that ain’t all he’s doing,” Anita said under her breath.

“Here is the inventory of what Monsieur Durbec was attempting to smuggle.” Yvonne sashayed to the stage and handed Bane a sheaf of papers, murmuring something in French that Cora missed. She did not miss, however, the easy way Yvonne’s hand rested on Bane’s knee while he pored over the pages.

Ah, so this was where he’d been spending his nights. Shagging a Phytomancer would explain why Bane had so many plants in his house.

If Cora had touched him with such familiarity in front of his gang, he’d pry her fingers off one by one like leeches. For Yvonne, though, he smiled and replied in flawless French and was rewarded with the tinkling bell of her laugh.

Something slithered into Cora’s stomach, ugly and unwelcome.

Her gaze bounced over the Realmwalker’s gang. Every woman was attractive. Suspiciously attractive. She tallied up Bane’s dalliances. Definitely Yvonne. Likely Anita. Maybe the strawberry blonde Umbramancer who had followed him from Ireland judging by her accent. Thankfully Cora hadn’t joined the pattern shaping around her. It would have only made his violating her secrecy hurt more.

“Smuggling is the least of Durbec’s crimes,” Anita said. “We oughta report him to the Tribunal, Mal.”

“Not yet. The last thing we need is the Tribunal paying too much attention to London. Let’s not rouse suspicions until we know what game Durbec’s playing. Keep a close eye on him. Take his Urn of Depravity and drown him in fees to make amends. With penalties on the dodged transportation costs and a twenty percent tax on the net worth of smuggled cargo…”

Bane glanced over the inventory and listed an obscene figure. “Toss in a fifty quid tax for him being an arsehole and make it even. What say you, O’Leary?

O’Leary readjusted his spectacles and squinted down at the inventory, jotting down the calculations Bane had done in his head. “Most reasonable,” he concluded in a bland voice.

“What was Durbec’s excuse when you confronted him, Yvonne?”

“Oh, Mal, he denied responsibility, of course.” Yvonne tossed her head with a ripple of silken hair. “Durbec claimed he had no memory of doing anything of the kind. Even after the dock manager positively identified him, Durbec insisted a Lumomancer must have been impersonating him. Absurde . His alibi, when he was, ah, pressed for answers, was that he had been napping.”

“Napping,” Bane repeated in a dark voice. “O’Leary, double the arsehole tax. Yvonne, kindly remind Durbec that if he pulls this stunt again, he’ll lose both of his fuckin’ hands. Take Dimitri with you. Durbec will appreciate a firm touch.”

“But of course, Mal.” Yvonne lowered herself gracefully back into her seat.

“If Durbec so much as breathes near our territory, I want to know about it. Sloane, any updates from the shadows?”

The petite Umbramancer stood. “On top of restless coppers, Edwina Morton has been a busy bird. She’s been meeting with human politicians and the other gang bosses, especially Madam Kalandra. I put the full report on your desk, Mal. The magpie’s not taking the…” Sloane sent Cora a tense look over her shoulder. “Unweaver’s defection well.”

“So I gathered,” Bane said. “If there are no other updates, everyone’s got their orders for the week. Any questions?”

The Electromancer, who had been shooting Cora seething glances the entire meeting, stood up from his table beside the wall.

“I got something to add, Mal. Respectfully, there’s no way in hell I will ever work with that thing ,” Guy sneered, pointing at Cora. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. The gang should take a vote on whether to let it in.”

There was a collective murmur of agreement as all eyes turned from it to Bane. In the hush was an unspoken consensus that pierced her to the core. The executioners were assembling.

“A vote.” Bane’s posture was casual, but his eyes were dangerous. Then he was no longer straddling the chair but standing beside Guy. Bane grabbed the back of Guy’s head and slammed his face into the wall with a sickening crack and spurt of blood. Guy dropped to his knees, groaning and clutching his broken nose. Blood gushed between his fingers.

“It’s not a fuckin’ democracy.” Bane straightened his tie and addressed the gang. “Any other questions?”

Silence.

“Good. Pay day, everyone. Get your cut and fuck off for the night. Drinks are on the house.”

The scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet joined the fraught whispers. Steering clear of Cora with looks of fear and morbid curiosity, the gang collected their pay from O’Leary and lingered over their bottomless drinks.

Cora slunk towards the door, willing it to be unlocked. Guy Haviland blocked her path with hatred in his eyes and a blood-soaked rag over his nose. Electricity crackled along his knuckles. She tried to sidestep but he crowded her.

“Lorena Fitzgibbons,” he hissed, the lisp from his broken nose somewhat diminishing his overall intimidation.

“Pardon?”

“Lorena. Fitzgibbons. July 23, 1916.”

Brow furrowing, Cora glanced around. Everyone had gathered as far away from her as possible. Bane was conversing with a smiling Yvonne.

Guy jabbed her shoulder and she jerked back at the electric shock. “You don’t even remember, d’you, Unweaver? All the lives you’ve taken. All the blood on your filthy hands. Lorena was going to be my bride before you got your rotten paws on her.”

Cora searched her memory, dredging up a pasty Aeromancer, though she couldn’t remember why the woman had been killed before Mother sicced her Necromancer on her. His accusation crushed her, nonetheless. “I-I didn’t kill her. She was already dead when I communed with her—”

“Were those your rotten handprints on her body?” he snarled. “The Unweaver’s devilish handiwork. Do you deny it?”

She winced. The hands he’d been praising for their artistry an hour before were now atrocities. “You don’t understand—”

“We had to bury my Lorena in a closed casket so her mum wouldn’t see how you defiled her.” Guy stepped forward, electricity sparking off him, and lowered his voice. “Sooner or later, Mal will see you for the monster you are. And when that day comes, I’ll fry you myself.”

“The handprints were mine, but I didn’t kill—”

Guy unleashed a volley of electricity she barely ducked in time. She shoved the heel of her palm into his broken nose, and he fell back against the wall with a curse, blood spouting.

“I’ll put my rotten hands on you next if you don’t back the hell off.”

A motion behind her drew her attention. Ravi, fear etched onto his features, was eyeing her like the abomination she was. He gave her a wide berth as he slipped through the doors.

Tears pricked her eyes. She’d take Guy’s open hostility over Ravi’s silent reproach any day. Trembling, she dashed out of the club’s confines and back to the Witch’s Cap tower where no one could see her fall apart.