Page 118 of The Unweaver

The chains pulled tight across her chest, jolting her out of the blanketing sedation. Bane was a leaden weight dragging them both to the floor. She stifled a groan, desperate to stay awake.

She kept her eyes shut and her face blank in the hope no one realized her precarious wakefulness. The chains pricked her flesh like a swarm of mosquitoes sucking her dry when she triedto rust them off. But if she could loosen them enough to shimmy out of, they might have a chance.

Drugged and drained, the going was slow. Metal scoured skin and exhaustion smothered thought. A faint smell of rust emanated from her hands. She prayed to an unknown deity that it wouldn't draw attention.

“...the others?” Mother’s voice flitted through the fog.

“Escaped,” Owens replied.

“What a bother. And my pets?”

“Alice is tallying the dead now. We have suffered heavy casualties, Mother. Percy may not survive the night.”

“Double bother. I was rather fond of this brood. Have you summoned darling Marcel to heal my pets?”

Owens cleared his throat. “I fear Durbec has joined our expanding list of casualties. He was found in his shop this morning with his, ah, heart removed.”

Mother gasped. “Was it Cecelia? Itoldthat girl not to perform the ritual without my explicit approval again. After poor Teddy, I cannot believe the impertinence of that little— It is simply too much to bear. Marcel has been so very useful.”

Was Cecelia the blonde girl? Cora needed out of there before she learned the answer. Abandoning the chains and fighting the overpowering sleepiness, she pressed her palms to the floor and coaxed the wood to decay. After the trod of countless waltzing steps, it complied readily.

By degrees, she and Bane sank through the bowing floorboards. What they might encounter below—while still bound in magic-absorbing chains—she didn’t care to ponder.

“Make particular note, Owens, that we shall need another Sanguimancer for the Sleepwalker’s Draught. A more competent Sanguimancer. Marcel’s attempt to keep the blood flowing after we removed Mr. Horace’sheart was a messy failure, and we cannot afford another. However… Marcel’s demise does presentan opportunity. Owens, I fear we have no choice but to take what he can no longer appreciate. Send my surviving pets to divest the deceased of his wares.”

“A thousand pardons, Mother. Durbec’s shop was already divested of wares when his body was discovered.”

Ah,Cora thought in the last functional part of her dimming mind,so that’s what Bane was up to last night. Raiding a dead man’s worldly possessions.

“This isnotto be borne, Owens! Marcel’s access to Profane relics shall be irksome to replace. Though the relics he supplied were all without success. I was sure the Oracle Ruby would be a sufficient vessel.” Mother tutted. “Poor Teddy. If Cecelia hadn’t misbehaved so dreadfully, his vile sister’s spirit could be in that ruby. Though, if Teddy hadn’t become more sloppy and less useful, Mr. Moriarty would still be alive and my plans unspoiled. Alas. My darling pet was a necessary sacrifice, yes, but a devastating loss. I daresay, I shall never find another Animancer quite as proficient.”

The bottom of Cora’s heart dropped out. Mother, through her pet Cecelia, had desecrated Teddy. And for what? Because he’d been late to interrogating a Chronomancer in the tunnels by the Thames? Because a dead man had told Cora she might one day be the Realmwalker’s weakness?

“It shall work this time, Mother,” Owens assured. “Once we have Koschei’s Egg. Then, both your body and spirit shall be preserved.”

“And where is dear Cecelia?” Mother asked. Then louder, “Where is Cecelia?”

From the far wall, the rasping groan of the haggard-faced puppets answered. “She… comes…”

Bane twitched at her back. Cora drew in a surprised breath and felt two heads spin to look at her.

“Could she be awake?” Mother hissed.

“She couldn’t possibly be. Durbec ensured this was a potent draught and the creature swallowed more than enough. ‘Tis merely the Realmwalker dreaming.”

“All the same, do we have another specialbullet for our pests?”

“Alas, Mother, that was the last one. We shall need to contact the Baron to reequip ourselves.”

“Triple bother. I suppose the metal has proven worth its exorbitant expense. Is it not delectable to see the Realmwalker in his proper place at last, hm?” Her laugh rang high through the cavernous ballroom. “I shall relish pecking holes in his black heart when Cecelia fetches it.”

“She… comes…” the puppets groaned in an overlapping hum like a swarm of wasps. “She…comes…”

Through the thickening fog of the Sleepwalker’s Draught, Cora sensed the girl’s entrance before she heard it. Her Mary Janes were silent, but her magic felt like walking through an unexpected spiderweb. It took all of Cora’s willpower not to squirm at the sticky threads of dream magic.

“Cecelia. My dearest pet.” Cora could all but see Mother’s lips thinning in displeasure. “How good of you to arrive. Finally.”

“The Intentions Lock proved more challenging than the Necromancer’s dream made it out to be. Only my most guileless puppet could get past it.” The childish voice was laced with the same subtle venom as her adoptive mother. “Fortunately, the tracking device you planted on the Realmwalker’s house made finding it swift work.”

---