Page 92 of The Unweaver

“The magical block was… vicious,” he said in a faraway voice. “For it concealed a perversion of nature. Teddy Walcott was cursed with the profanest of dark magic. The Specter’s Scourge.”

Cora didn’t recognize the curse but it was clear Bane did. He went very pale and very still. His facade of indifference collapsed, his features stricken as if he were disturbed down to his marrow.

“Sweet merciful Jesus.” He poured himself a whiskey, then another. Thudding the glass down, he braced his hands on the fireplace mantle, back turned, shoulders hunched, head bowed.

Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She’d never seen Bane this dismal, this raw. The curse must be very, very bad.

“The Specter’s Scourge is…?” she ventured into the tortuous silence.

Lazlo started out of his grim reverie. “The Profane curse scourges all but a sliver of the spirit from its mortal vessel, leaving the victim a specter of themselves. But something must have gone awry when they cursed your twin, as that sliver was not kept in his body but damned to Purgatory, thus killing him. As you did not find him in the Death Realm, the rest of his accursed spirit must be caged in a vessel somewhere outside his body. The perpetrator who scourged his spirit and took his heart likely holds them captive still. The only way to reunite the pieces of his spirit is to release them from that vessel.”

Horror doused her. She remembered the terrible Solstice ritual she’d stumbled upon. Had she interrupted them before the curse was complete? Was she to blame for Teddy’s fractured spirit?

Soon, she would make his spirit whole again and reanimate his poor body. The monster responsible would feel her wrath keenly.

“Who cursed him, Master Lyter? I will hunt the bastard down and end this tonight. I will wrench Teddy’s heart out of his dead hands, break this curse, and bring him back.”

“I am sorry, Cora.” The solemn Sciomancer shook his head. “The cost of such dark magic is very high—”

“Later.” Bane cut him off with a sharp glance and turned to face them. “We’ll get into that later. Let’s focus on the next step now. Finding the curse-caster and the spirit vessel.”

Lazlo held Bane’s gaze for a long moment. “You already know how this will end, my friend.”

Bane shot Cora a grave look. “Who cursed Teddy, Laz?”

“Fortunately, I recognized the magical signature. Unfortunately, it was Marcel Durbec.”

“Durbec? The French Sanguimancer? That fuckin’ wanker?”

“You are familiar with Monsieur Durbec, then. The Tribunal was involved in shutting down his… surgery in Paris.” Lazlo shuddered. “Grisly business. We were not aware he’d relocated to London after the war.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bane raked back his hair and paced the library in carpet-eating strides. “We just busted Durbec for smuggling dark magic relics. I’ll check the inventory for possible spirit vessels. Got an Urn of Depravity off him.”

“Those are exceedingly rare,” Lazlo said.

Obsidian eyes flashed. “Rare like Sephrinium.”

Armed with a name, Cora now had a target to direct her rage at. Teddy’s murderer was slated for annihilation. Death would be a mercy when she was finished with Marcel Durbec. “Let’s find Durbec and bring him to justice.”

“Whose justice?” Bane scoffed.

“Who cares? Let’s nab the vessel and pump him with lead. I’d like to see the bloody blood mage getthatout of his system.”

“Your vengeance lacks subtlety, Cora.”

“That is the point.”

“No,” Bane said. “It’s about applying the right amount of pressure to the fault lines. Durbec’s too slimy for the direct approach. We need the spirit vessel and information from him. I guarantee he’s not working alone. Durbec’s a man of negotiable morals—he’ll respond better to a trade than a threat.”

“You’re going to do business with the bastard who cursed my brother? Why not kill him first and ask questions later?”

“Killing Durbec isn’t going to bring Teddy back.”

“No,” she said sullenly. “But it’ll make me feel better.”

“I can tell you from experience that the best revenge is living well.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

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