Page 36 of The Unweaver

The statistics of Necromancy were damning. Cora had been doomed the moment she was born from a dead womb. Necromancers not killed when their affinities manifested unerringly killed themselves. For her, the wounds with the greatest risk of fatality were self-inflicted. Her greatest fear was herself.

Only a matter of time before she joined the statistics. Hopeless inevitability led to one fate, after all. Just nature culling an aberration

“Necromancers don’t live long.” She tugged her sleeves down. “Who’d want to? We’re abominations.”

“Cora.” He lifted her chin to meet his eyes, as vast as a moonless night. “Fuck that. You’re not an abomination. People have projected their fear of death onto you, and you’ve internalized it as shame. But you have power. They fear that power. Let them fear you.”

She stepped away from his light touch and heavy gaze. Was he attempting to secure her compliancy through flattery? Rather unnecessary, as she’d already signed her life away to him. “What do we need to go to Purgatory?”

His eyes sought hers, but she couldn’t meet them. He returned to the grimoire. “We need an anchor for Teddy to the Living Realm. You, his twin. The Damnation Elixir to ease the passage into Purgatory. A gold crucible. And a medium to meld our magic so we can traverse corporeally… Goat milk. A lot of goat milk.”

Chapter 9. Purgatory in a Bathtub

Cora didn’t know where Bane had gotten a literal bathtub full of goat milk, and she didn’t ask. She simply poured bucket after bucket into the “crucible,” a clawfoot tub made out of a king’s ransom in gold.

Candlelight spilled across the mosaic tile floor and midnight blue brocaded walls. Bane’s bathroom brimmed with potted ferns and curling tendrils of ivy. The sweet fragrance of hothouse blossoms kissed her nose. Vials and jars lined the vanity shelves, and floating inside a glass orb was something that watched Cora back as she poured more milk into the golden tub.

While Bane had spent several hours out of the house attending to “none of your fuckin’ business,” she’d hefted buckets and brewed the damn Damnation Elixir. Her back was sore, and her nostrils burned from the foul ingredients she’d ground with mortar and pestle in his well-stocked magical storeroom.

If this was any indication of their working relationship, Cora was far from thrilled.

She was grabbing the final bucket when something furry brushed her calf. Screaming, she dropped the handle. Milk splashed everywhere. The creature loosed an angry yowl and streaked under the vanity. A Persian cat, with milk drippingfrom its long orange fur, glared at her with a put-out look on its snub-nosed face.

Was that a telltale amber glow in its unblinking eyes?

Panic bolted through her. It had to be one of Mother’s pets. Her gaze not leaving the feline, she backed toward the door and yelped when she hit something solid. Whirling, she saw Bane regarding her with raised brows.

“It’s one of Mother’s spies,” she hissed. “How’d the cat get in your house?”

“Oh, that’s just Caoimhin.”

“...Kevin?”

“Caoimhin. He’s lived here for years. Since Dublin.”

“You… have a cat?”

He shrugged. “He showed up on the doorstep one day. Never bothered to get rid of him.”

Mother’s pets might have traveled as far as Ireland. Florence, the Siamese cat Bestiamancer, had infiltrated 10 Downing Street; why not Bane’s unfindable house?

“You’re sure he’s not a Bestiamancer?”

“I would’ve noticed a strange naked man in my house by now.”

Bestiamancers couldn’t retain their animal forms without a steady diet of hearts, and long-term transformations drained their magic. Those facts brought little comfort as the cat’s yellow eyes remained fixed on her.

“Bugger off, Caoimhin.”

Perhaps the most shocking part of this encounter was that the cat complied. Shaking his drenched fur with indignation, he strutted out of the bathroom.

Bane brushed back his tousled hair. Somehow, his suit was even more charred and bloodied than after the parley disaster.

“How’s the, er, war going?”

“Grand,” he said. “I left some body parts in the icebox for you to commune with later.”

“Oh, grand. I thought I’d have to ask for that.”

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