Page 26 of The Unweaver

His thugs, Ferromancers less bright than the metals they could manipulate, stationed themselves on either side of him. With slitted eyes, they sized up everyone in the room, narrowing on the Doberman for several tense moments. The beast growled and the left thug growled back, sliding his thumb along the hilt of the ferocious blade his magic could propel like a lethally accurate boomerang.

The thugs inspected Cora for less than a second before dismissing her.

Mother greeted the rival gang with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Verek gruffly rejected her offer of tea and biscuits.

“I’ll take a cuppa, ma’am, if it ain’t too much trouble,” said the Ferromancer on his right.

“We ain’t got time for tea and chit chat.” Verek’s gravel baritone was as blunt as the weapons he favored. He hacked a wet cough into a gold-embroidered handkerchief.

Cora sensed death on the Pyromancer. The anticipation clung to him like a shroud. Illness paled his ruddy complexion and dark circles ringed his eyes. When he shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket, it was flecked with blood.

Lung cancer, his death whispered to her. Toxic air inhaled over a lifetime, from the mines to the factories to the cigars he now reeked of, had blackened the spongy pink tissues of his lungs and spread. Verek’s name was already carved on his gravestone.

“That cough sounds dreadful, you poor dear.” Mother sipped her tea. “How has that tonic I gave you been working?”

“Only thing that helps, Mother. I’m grateful to you. Need to pick up another batch from that Frenchman.” Verek cleared the phlegm from his throat. “Where’s the damn Paddy?”

“Rudely late as usual. I heard about your little dockyard spat with Mr. Bane. What a bother that must be.”

“We ain’t been taking it lying down, I tell you, Mother. That Paddy’s refused to ship my steel for the last time. I’m taking back those docks and shipping the damn steel myself. We don’t need no middleman. Ain’t that right, boys?”

“Right,” the Ferromancers snickered.

“Burned down one of the Paddy’s warehouses, we did. That liquor he’s been smuggling across the pond into prohibition states went up likethat.” The snap of Verek’s fingers sent up a spark of flame. His boastful laugh devolved into a coughing fit.

“Ah, yes, arson,” drawled a deep, lilting voice. The Realmwalker strode in, his long coat billowing over an elegant three-piece suit. “How clever.”

Bane’s gaze, so cold it was scalding, swept the room and snagged on Cora for a stuttering heartbeat. The room seemed to shrink around her. Fear pinched her breath. Would he keep her secret? If Verek learned what she was, leaving this parley alive wouldn’t be an option.

Other than a raised brow, Bane’s features were hewn from stone. His gaze continued past her. Outnumbered seven to one, he strolled inside and took the remaining chair.

“Mr. Bane has graced us with his presence at last,” Mother said.

“Realmwalker,” the Pyromancer boss ground out.

“Verek. Edwina.” Bane rocked his chair back and kicked his feet onto the table, rattling teacups and splattering mud from his boots. There was a coiled tension in his nonchalance, a calculation in his obsidian eyes. “Now we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries, let’s hear it.”

Owens locked the door with a silencing ward. An unnatural quiet descended over them. “Let the parley commence.”

Cora’s pulse quickened. The windows were too high and narrow for her to get through. Only Owens could unlock the door, and his pinched scowl did not look particularly supportive.There was no escape. She was trapped in a room with London’s most powerful mages.

“Gentlemen, how good of you to join me.” Mother gave them an indulgent smile. “How long has it been since the three of us were in a room together?”

“Who fuckin’ cares?” Bane said. “What do you want.”

Mother’s smile turned brittle. “Your manners are as charming as they were the first day we met. Do you remember that lovely day in Dublin, Mr. Bane? Twenty years ago, can you believe it?” She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “Twenty years and you haven’t aged a day.”

The comment gave Cora pause. Bane appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Whether from good Irish breeding or magic, she couldn’t tell.

“You’ve called parley to discuss the Paddy’s bloody looks?”

“No, Mr. Verek.” Mother’s smile dropped. “I’ve called parley to discuss three matters of business. The first, Mr. Bane, are your violations of our truce.”

Bane reached into his pocket. Everyone tensed. Both Ferromancers stepped forward, hands twitching on their blades. A low growl of warning rumbled from the Doberman. Owens stiffened like a statue behind Mother.

With a faint curve of his lips, Bane plucked a cigarette from the silver case and a lighter from the air. Taking a long drag, he motioned for Mother to continue.

“First.” Mother folded her hands primly on the table. “Our truce explicitly stated anequaldivision between our gangs. Yet, Mr. Bane, you have expanded your operations and territory beyond our agreed terms. Furthermore, you have most of the police and a fair number of judges on your payroll. An unfair advantage which you refuse to share.”

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