Page 74 of The Unweaver

If Cora had touched him with such familiarity in front of his gang, he’d pry her fingers off one by one like leeches. For Yvonne, though, he smiled and replied in flawless French and was rewarded with the tinkling bell of her laugh.

Something slithered into Cora’s stomach, ugly and unwelcome.

Her gaze bounced over the Realmwalker’s gang. Every woman was attractive. Suspiciously attractive. She tallied up Bane’s dalliances. Definitely Yvonne. Likely Anita. Maybe the strawberry blonde Umbramancer who had followed him from Ireland judging by her accent. Thankfully Cora hadn’t joined the pattern shaping around her. It would have only made his violating her secrecy hurt more.

“Smuggling is the least of Durbec’s crimes,” Anita said. “We oughta report him to the Tribunal, Mal.”

“Not yet. The last thing we need is the Tribunal paying too much attention to London. Let’s not rouse suspicions until we know what game Durbec’s playing. Keep a close eye on him. Take his Urn of Depravity and drown him in fees to make amends. With penalties on the dodged transportation costs and a twenty percent tax on the net worth of smuggled cargo…”

Bane glanced over the inventory and listed an obscene figure. “Toss in a fifty quid tax for him being an arsehole and make it even. What say you, O’Leary?

O’Leary readjusted his spectacles and squinted down at the inventory, jotting down the calculations Bane had done in his head. “Most reasonable,” he concluded in a bland voice.

“What was Durbec’s excuse when you confronted him, Yvonne?”

“Oh, Mal, he denied responsibility, of course.” Yvonne tossed her head with a ripple of silken hair. “Durbec claimed he had no memory of doing anything of the kind. Even after the dock manager positively identified him, Durbec insisted a Lumomancer must have been impersonating him.Absurde. His alibi, when he was, ah,pressedfor answers, was that he had been napping.”

“Napping,” Bane repeated in a dark voice. “O’Leary, double the arsehole tax. Yvonne, kindly remind Durbec that if he pulls this stunt again, he’ll lose both of his fuckin’ hands. Take Dimitri with you. Durbec will appreciate a firm touch.”

“But of course, Mal.” Yvonne lowered herself gracefully back into her seat.

“If Durbec so much as breathes near our territory, I want to know about it. Sloane, any updates from the shadows?”

The petite Umbramancer stood. “On top of restless coppers, Edwina Morton has been a busy bird. She’s been meeting with human politicians and the other gang bosses, especially Madam Kalandra. I put the full report on your desk, Mal. The magpie’s not taking the…” Sloane sent Cora a tense look over her shoulder. “Unweaver’s defection well.”

“So I gathered,” Bane said. “If there are no other updates, everyone’s got their orders for the week. Any questions?”

The Electromancer, who had been shooting Cora seething glances the entire meeting, stood up from his table beside the wall.

“I got something to add, Mal. Respectfully, there’s no way in hell I will ever work with thatthing,” Guy sneered, pointing atCora. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. The gang should take a vote on whether to let itin.”

There was a collective murmur of agreement as all eyes turned fromitto Bane. In the hush was an unspoken consensus that pierced her to the core. The executioners were assembling.

“A vote.” Bane’s posture was casual, but his eyes were dangerous. Then he was no longer straddling the chair but standing beside Guy. Bane grabbed the back of Guy’s head and slammed his face into the wall with a sickening crack and spurt of blood. Guy dropped to his knees, groaning and clutching his broken nose. Blood gushed between his fingers.

“It’s not a fuckin’ democracy.” Bane straightened his tie and addressed the gang. “Any other questions?”

Silence.

“Good. Pay day, everyone. Get your cut and fuck off for the night. Drinks are on the house.”

The scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet joined the fraught whispers. Steering clear of Cora with looks of fear and morbid curiosity, the gang collected their pay from O’Leary and lingered over their bottomless drinks.

Cora slunk towards the door, willing it to be unlocked. Guy Haviland blocked her path with hatred in his eyes and a blood-soaked rag over his nose. Electricity crackled along his knuckles. She tried to sidestep but he crowded her.

“Lorena Fitzgibbons,” he hissed, the lisp from his broken nose somewhat diminishing his overall intimidation.

“Pardon?”

“Lorena. Fitzgibbons. July 23, 1916.”

Brow furrowing, Cora glanced around. Everyone had gathered as far away from her as possible. Bane was conversing with a smiling Yvonne.

Guy jabbed her shoulder and she jerked back at the electric shock. “You don’t even remember, d’you, Unweaver? All thelives you’ve taken. All the blood on your filthy hands. Lorena was going to be my bride before you got your rotten paws on her.”

Cora searched her memory, dredging up a pasty Aeromancer, though she couldn’t remember why the woman had been killed before Mother sicced her Necromancer on her. His accusation crushed her, nonetheless. “I-I didn’t kill her. She was already dead when I communed with her—”

“Were those your rotten handprints on her body?” he snarled. “The Unweaver’s devilish handiwork. Do you deny it?”

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