Page 73 of The Unweaver

“Exactly. Rune needs my support to take leadership. He’s proud of his legacy and that vanity is exploitable. He’ll be a decorative figurehead indebted to me while we swipe their steel monopoly out from under them.”

“I dunno, Mal,” Guy said. “Verek’s gang won’t take kindly to him in charge.”

“Clearly, which is why I’ve armed Rune and his supporters with an arsenal to take out the opposition.” Bane almost smiled. “Ferromancer-modified Winchester rifles confiscated from the late Verek’s shipment to anti-IRA loyalists.”

Cora reeled at his evil ingenuity. Bane had orchestrated Verek’s gang to kill themselves with their own guns. He was playing a long game on a dozen chess boards, and Cora, a lowly pawn, couldn’t see beyond her own square.

“Corpses are piling up, Mal,” came the lilting voice of a petite, strawberry blonde woman with freckles dusted on the fresh cream of her skin like cinnamon. “It’ll be difficult to sweep them all under the rug. I’ve got intel that even the coppers on your payroll are getting suspicious. Lt. Potts has a lot of sway.”

“That’s Sloane Kilbride,” Anita whispered. “Umbramancer spy. And my flatmate. Mal’s had Sloane after the Unweaver for years. She’s gotta be right pissed she didn’t find out who you were before now.”

Cora had never seen the shadow mage before. Which, she supposed, was the point. She shivered. Over years of Mother’s favors, how many times had she looked into the shadows and they were looking back? That enchanted cloak really had been worth every penny.

“We’ll cooperate fully with the authorities,” Bane said to the Umbramancer, “by providing evidence that points them elsewhere.”

“What if there is no evidence?” Sloane Kilbride said.

“You’ve scrounged up enough dirt on the other gangs. Pick something. If it’s not there, fabricate it. Dimitri, what’s your update on the bullet I was shot with? Did Rune, the self-proclaimed weapons specialist, have any insight?”

The hulking Slav stood. “Went to Crossbone cemetery. Find nothing. No bodies, only blood. I took bullet to Gallagher before died. He did not know. I go to Borges. He take bribe and send me back with message. If Realmwalker want answers, need ask Borges himself. Not sendlackey.”

“Did he now?” Bane lifted his brows. “Biting the hand that feeds him already. Anita, you’ve connections at the Gilded Lily and a rapport with Rune. How’d you like to bring our wayward Ferromancer to heel?”

Anita perked up. “Can I use my magic? In case of, er, forceful negotiations?”

“Granted.”

Anita cracked her knuckles with a wicked grin. “My pleasure, boss. We’ll have to bribe that windbag well and good to keep him from blabbing to Madam Kalandra.” She spoke the name in a fearful undertone. With Teddy off the board—for now, please let it only be for now—the Gilded Lily’s Madam was the best Animancer in London. An hourglass-shaped force to be reckoned with.

“Make sure Rune sings for his supper this time, eh?” Bane said. “Take Cora with you.”

It was difficult to say who was more surprised by the order. Anita cast Cora an uncertain look. There were limits to the Sanguimancer’s compassion, and working directly together was pushing them. Cora sank down in her chair at the slitted gazes homing in on her.

So, this was how Bane would move his Necromancer pawn into position, by sending Verek’s killer as a message to hisreplacement. Like Mother’s loyal Doberman that had roasted to death during parley, Cora was there for intimidation.

“Yvonne, what’s your update on the shipments into Prohibition states?” Bane said.

A woman near Cora’s age rose to her feet with fluid grace. She was stunning in a beaded green dress that matched her shining eyes. Sable hair fell like silk in a bob that framed her flawless, olive-toned features.

“But of course, Mal,” she purred in a French-accented voice. The effortless sophistication of her movements and the seduction of her husky voice snared everyone’s attention.

“Yvonne Archambeau,” Anita whispered. “Parisian Phytomancer. You can thank the plant mage for all the enchanted coke and grass and hops.”

“I was checking on our liquor shipments,” Yvonne said, twirling an antique locket on a chain that dipped into her cleavage. “When I discovered hidden things. Dark magic relics that were very well concealed. We checked all the cargo and found more stashed loot. I do not think this is the first time it has been done.”

“Someone’s smuggling cargo in my smuggled cargo?” Bane said. “Bastard. Any idea who?”

“Oui, Mal. We traced the relics toMonsieur Marcel Durbec.”

Anita’s glass plummeted to the floor and shattered. “Durbec? The French Sanguimancer? He’s done some real sick shit, Mal. Pretending to be a surgeon when he ain’t nothing but a butcher. His blood’s like pitch in his heart.”

“Aye, I know him.” Bane stroked his jaw. “Durbec fancies himself a collector these days. Owns a shop in Chelsea, selling tat to the public and dark relics to private clients.”

“I’m sure that ain’t all he’s doing,” Anita said under her breath.

“Here is the inventory of what Monsieur Durbec was attempting to smuggle.” Yvonne sashayed to the stage and handed Bane a sheaf of papers, murmuring something in French that Cora missed. She did not miss, however, the easy way Yvonne’s hand rested on Bane’s knee while he pored over the pages.

Ah, sothiswas where he’d been spending his nights. Shagging a Phytomancer would explain why Bane had so many plants in his house.

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