Page 12 of The Unweaver

Bound by secrecy and humbled by ostracization, Cora had assumed mages would be united by their misfortunes. This, apparently, did not inspire camaraderie so much as it bred contempt. They might all be mages, but only Cora was a Necromancer. A critical difference, she soon learned, and one she’d never be allowed to forget.

There was a pecking order in Mother’s nest, and it was clear from that first day that Cora was at the absolute bottom. It began with taunts. Insults the pets hurled out of Mother’s earshot. They tripped her in the corridors and down the stairs. Knocked her meals to the floor. Ripped her new hand-me-downs.

Cora hadn’t survived sixteen years without learning to defend herself. But there were a dozen of the beastly brutes and only one of her. She tried to keep her head down.

Every creature harbored a bone-deep fear of death. For Bestiamancers, their senses honed by animal instincts, the natural revulsion one felt for decay was tenfold for Cora. Necromancers were the personification of their fears, the walking reminder of their mortality.

Surrounded by her own kind at last, and Cora would never belong. The mage’s condemnation confirmed the truth no magic could dislodge. Necromancy was just another word for abomination.

Her only comfort was the closet-sized room Mother stuffed her away in. A private sanctuary within four sloped walls Cora could only leave unscathed if she endured the humiliation ofTeddy escorting her. The small window that didn’t quite latch was her porthole to the outside world.

When not doing Mother’s one-sided favors or avoiding spiteful pets, she was beaten down into the shape of a proper young lady. She barely reacted when Mother’s switch sang through the air and stung her skin. Flinching had been beaten and starved out of her long before Mother took to the task with such relish.

For their second, dreaded weekly check-in, Teddy escorted Cora into Mother’s office that was more like a parlor.

“Teddy, darling,” Mother cooed with a warm smile, waving him to her perch on a pillow-laden settee. She cupped his face fondly. “Let’s have a look at you. Why, you grow more handsome by the day! So well-mannered. And clean. How do your lessons progress, dear?”

“Splendidly, Mother. Most splendidly. I calmed Rupert down from a homicidal rage—you know how unreasonable he is in his mongrel form. I even persuaded Jane that the bite marks weren’tthatunsightly. And that was only this morning.”

After plying him with sweets, Mother sent Teddy off with her lipstick branded on his cheek. When the door closed, Mother’s smile frosted over. She eyed Cora like she was a mistake in need of correcting.

Cora fed on the crumbs of affection Mother lavished upon Teddy, tucking the stray compliments away for safekeeping. There wouldn’t be any crumbs today. She was forced to stand, straighten, and spin in a circle—a slow circle, Mother snapped—while Mother tsked and shook her head.

Mother frowned at the ring of bruises on her arm, courtesy of her fellow adoptees. Her frown deepened when Cora tried to yank out her grasp. “What happened?”

“Your bloody pets happened.”

Her sharp nails dug into the bruises until Cora grimaced. “Well, my dear.” Sitting back, Mother sipped her tea. “I daresay, that is a most atrocious story. I know my pets and they are not the cretins you describe. None of my darlings are capable of that. Are you quite certain you’re not imagining things?”

Mother waved a dismissive hand before she could respond, as if sweeping Cora under the rug.

The pets upgraded to leaving rat carcasses in her room, then poisoning her drinks. One night, a viper Bestiamancer greeted her in bed, coiled beneath the sheets. Its fangs sank into her flesh like sabers. The acid burn of venom catapulted through her veins.

During their next check-in, Mother chided her foul mouth for half an hour before addressing her venom-mottled flesh. Cora told her with barely restrained rage.

“Well, my dear. Even if that did happen—and given your flights of fancy, I daresay, there is room for doubt—I’m sure my pets didn’t mean it that way. They are jokesters, not ruffians. You’re being overly sensitive.”

The next week, Cora startled awake with a noose tied around her neck. It was the last night she would spend at Mother’s house. After getting browbeaten into sitting ramrod straight, Cora recounted to Mother what she had awoken to. Pathetic tears burned her eyes.

“Well, my dear.” Mother nibbled a gingerbread biscuit. “Even if that did happen as you claim, are you quite certain you didn’t do something to deserve it?”

Cora frowned. Had she done something to deserve it? Beyond existing, that is. She had socked the Bestiamancer for his snake stunt. He still bore the bruise on his pimply jaw. Was that provocation enough for murder?

The gleam in Mother’s eyes caught her attention. Under the facade of maternal sympathies was a flicker of wicked glee. Sherelished Cora’s suffering, delighted in her self-doubt. They were weaknesses Mother could wrap around her throat like a leash.

Her pet's animosity was becoming homicidal and Mother wasn’t going to lift a finger. She’d sit back and watch them squabble in the nest until Cora was knocked out, likely dangling at the end of a rope.

If she was Teddy, Mother would intervene. If she was Teddy, Mother would have adopted her when her affinities manifested years ago.

How long had Mother known about her? The magpie spy seemed to know everything. Had she waited to collect Cora until she had irrefutable proof of the abomination she was?

No, that wicked gleam in her eye told her that Mother had known exactly who, what, and where Cora was long before the hospital. She had bided her time for when Cora was the most malleable, scraping her off of rock bottom and sculpting her into a useful tool.

“Do you want them to kill me, Mother?”

Mother smiled a little smile and waved her off.

Cora was rounding the corner to her bedroom when they ambushed her. The pets pulled her into a dark room with an open window. A rag, wet with an acrid chemical, covered her face.

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