Page 101 of The Unweaver

“Am I interrupting, Mal?” came a woman’s Cockney voice from far away. Words were exchanged without Cora understanding them. “Rush of blood to the head coming up, boss.”

Hands planted on her sternum and her blood rose up to meet the touch. Anita’s magic sobered her like tossing a bucket of ice water straight into her veins. Cora startled awake as if from a dream. Groggy, but undeniably awake.

“...I dunno, Mal. It’s some kind of sedative. There’s only trace amounts in her blood. It’d take a Sanguimancer and some dark magic to make it this potent, that’s for sure.”

“Here’s the glass she was holding,” Bane said. “What did Durbec drug her with?”

Anita dipped a finger into the glass and tasted it. Her eyes widened. “Like fizzy cyanide.”

“What happened?” Cora sat up with a wince. Both her vocal chords and thoughts were packed in wool.

“Looks like Frenchie spiked your drink, love.”

“Fuckin’ bastard.” Bane was coldly, calmly furious. “Drugging my w—” His gaze shot to Cora. “Gang.”

Cora was gingerly planting her feet on the floor when the door burst open, bringing in a wave of jazz, laughter, and desperate pleading. The Hydromancer shoved Durbec inside. “Rat try to sneak off.”

Wrists bound with ropes of water vapor, Durbec’s eyes spun as he cringed and wheedled apologies. Dimitri tossed him against the far wall and forced him onto his knees, and a smug Anita cuffed him with the manacles hanging from the ceiling.

Why are there manacles hanging from the ceiling?

Durbec, kneeling with his hands bound overhead, began sobbing in earnest. Cora savored every tear, relishing the rapture of his impending death. She had never been more sober in her life than when Durbec’s panicked gaze met hers. Shock, then terror flashed across his blanched features. His mustache trembled as he gave her a simpering smile.

One. Thread. At. A. Time.

“Found this round neck.” Dimitri handed Bane a polished sandstone obelisk with a diamond-tipped point that looked vaguely familiar to Cora.

“A fuckin’ Occlusion Obelisk. Diverting the suspicions of the betrayed from the betrayal.” Holding it by the chain, Bane dropped it into his desk drawer. “You shouldn’t have, Durbec.”

Occlusion Obelisk. The same as Mother had handed Cora after the botched Chronomancer favor. The obelisk linked Mother and Durbec like the gossamer threads of a web. But who was the spider and who was the prey?

Cora shivered. How readily she’d complied with Durbec’s wishes under the obelisk’s influence. Unsuspecting, she’ddisarmed and drugged herself without hesitation. A sheep led willingly to its slaughter.

Bane dismissed Dimitri and Anita locked the door behind them, leaving Durbec alone with the Unweaver and Realmwalker.

“I do hope you’ve had your fill of pleasure, Durbec,” Bane said. “We’ve business to attend to.”

“Are w-we to conduct business with the m-mademoiselle present? P-please, this is all a t-terrible misunderstanding! Allow me to explain. I meant the mademoiselle no insult. No, quite the contrary! In Paris, it is the highest of compliments—”

The strike of Bane’s fist cut Durbec’s words short. His head snapped to the side, and he sagged against the manacles. Bloody spittle leaked from his mouth, pleading with increasing franticness.

Bane loosened his tie and shrugged out of his suit jacket, leveling Cora with an intent look. There was a question, an invitation, in his gaze.

Cora understood the dark implications. A smile stretched across her face. “Oui.”

Bane smiled back. Turning to the Sanguimancer, he said in a menacingly soft voice, “I don’t appreciate you drugging my gang, Durbec.”

“Dr-drugging? Ohnon, monsieur! I swear on my sweet Maman’s grave, I-I merely added a drop of opium.” His moist lips tweaked into a beseeching smile. “To help mademoiselle relax.”

Bane stilled her lunge. “Let me kill him,” Cora snarled.

“Not yet. Dispense with the bullshit, Durbec. That wasn’t opium.”

“But— Please, b-bereasonable—” Bane cracked his fist along Durbec’s jaw and his head whipped back. He whimpered in broken French.

“Cora?” Bane glanced over his shoulder, a lock of fallen hair sweeping his brow. “Persuade Durbec to be more cooperative.”

Her shadow fell across Durbec as she towered over him. Gaze never straying from his terrified eyes, she removed her gloves finger by finger. In a dark, nasty part of herself, she liked frightening him. The rush of power was thrilling, addictive.

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