Page 71 of The Unweaver

“All right, mates,” Bane said over the chatter. He dragged a chair across the stage, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Let’s get started.”

Panic boiled in her veins. She surged to her feet, toppling the piano bench over. A dozen pairs of eyes fastened on her like spotlights, tracking every twitch of her limbs and dart of her eyes, judging her in the expectant silence. Her heart hammered.

Too late. Trapped.

Stop!The scream clawed the back of her throat. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and flee from their probing stares. Desperately, she wished she had Bane’s magic to disappear. Wished she had anyone’s magic but her own.

Bane’s gaze was uncompromising despite the silent scream in her eyes. Any foolish optimism she had of him respecting her secrecy withered. Cora felt as if she were leaning out of her body and watching the nightmare devour someone else.

Bane addressed the group, his eyes locked on her. “First order of business. We’ve lost Joe Gallagher and gained a new member. This is Cora Walcott. Cora”—he relinquished her gaze to sweep the assembled faces in wordless challenge— “is the Unweaver.”

Everyone froze. Their widening eyes flew to her. A moment’s silence, like a slamming door, then the deafening stillness of disbelief.

Floating disembodied, Cora watched with detached horror as a lifetime of secrecy was blown to hell in a single moment. Somewhere below, her body was stunned to the spot. Somewhere below, she was motionless, speechless, thoughtless.

A flurry of sounds and movement whirred past like a beehive in bedlam. Gasps. Breaking glass. Scraping chairs. The gang jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons in a thrumming undercurrent of magic and fear.

With incredulity and scorn, with fright and animosity, they stared up at the freakish spectacle on the stage. The abomination they were locked inside with.

The giant Hydromancer backed away as if Cora was a rabid animal, water vapor swirling around his fists like a storm. Anita gaped at her in astonishment. The Electromancer’s eyes shot poison daggers. Ravi’s fearful expression flayed her to the bone.

Cora was nine years old, on her knees on the cold stone floor as Sister Jessica lashed her with a switch and the bitter truth.

She was twelve years old, sobbing as Felix stole the last of her innocence.

She was sixteen years old, hanging from a noose as Mother’s pets cheered.

She was thirty years old, stripped bare before her executioners.

Abomination.

Cora crashed back into her body. Alarm stampeded through her. She stood, exposed, with her most deeply buried secret staring back at her from a dozen pairs of eyes.

She could feelhiseyes on her, daring her to meet his gaze. When she did, he looked back, unrepentant. Their gazes clashed in the weighty silence.

Betrayal unfurled in her chest. He’d said he wanted her to trust him. She had known better, and it hadn’t changed a damn thing. Trust was built on a foundation of shifting sand.

How carelessly her darkest truth had slipped from his mouth, a confession that was not his to make. And one he felt no remorse in making. Cora was disgusted with him. With the people staring accusingly at her. With herself and her rotten core on display.

“Cora is the most powerful Necromancer born in generations,” Bane continued as if he hadn't already condemned her to death. “I witnessed her drown Verek in his own lung cancer with a touch. If anyone has a problem with Cora, you’ll answer not only to me, but to her.”

A damning silence fell and stretched on and on. Cora didn’t mistake their silence for acceptance. Their collective fear and resentment was palpable, pushing in on her from all sides. No one would defy the Realmwalker to his face, but she knew what was coming. The spite. The violence. Only a matter of time before she was hanging from a different rope.

Anita broke the tense silence. “You taking the piss, Mal? The Unweaver is this slip of a thing? Never would’ve thought I’d meet the bloodyUnweaver. Come to think of it, ain’t ever met a Necromancer, or heard of twin mages before.”

Whispers erupted.Twin mages.Unweaver.Murderer. Monster.

Cora walked off the stage with wooden feet, winding through the crowd that parted fearfully for her. They turned to gawk as she passed, recoiling as if she were contagious. Ravi flinched away in a burst of air magic, wind whipping his hair and clothes.

“Murderer,” Guy Haviland spat, his bashful smile replaced by a ferocious scowl.

She walked as far away as the confines of her cage would permit. Shame sent her to the farthest seat away, but misplaced pride kept her in that seat. Albeit perched on the edge, angled towards the locked door, and poised to flee.

Eyes downcast, she felt their wary backward glances as Bane continued onto other matters. As if nothing were amiss.

The induction ritual into the Realmwalker’s gang was apparently public humiliation. Something not even Mother had subjected her to. The old bird had respected her anonymity. Eventually. She hadn’t violated Cora like this. But not Malachy Bane. To him, she was just another piece on his chessboard.

Helpless anger roiled as she watched Bane debrief about the gang war. The bastard had steamrolled her concerns without batting an eye. She’d be choking on the dust of this collapse for what little remained of her life.

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