Page 96 of The Unweaver

Cora didn’t know if it was her outfit or the Unweaver’s reputation that drew every pair of eyes in the Emerald Club to her.

Every table and barstool were packed, and more people lined the walls, queued at the golden bar, and milled about the dance floor. Was Bane’s posh club always this crowded? Or had they come to gawk at the freakish spectacle on piano?

Any hope she would remain unnoticed evaporated the moment she jostled through the crowd towards the stage. Conversations ground to a halt. Recognition and fear struck their faces as they parted for her like a jewel-toned wave. Their gazes felt like sticky fingers on her as she passed. Cora regretted not only her existence, but her wardrobe choice.

Earlier, Bane had given her what might generously be called a dress.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” She’d eyed the slip of black gossamer. “Floss?”

She had reconsidered the dress while preparing for the night and consequently working through a bottle of gin. Liquored lubrication for improved decision making.

Not even an entire bottle gave her the liquid courage to pull the floss-dress off. So she opened another bottle. Sure, Bane hadsaid no drinking tonight. The lying bastard said a lot of things. Not everyone was capable of his admirable self-restraint.

After the Sciomancer’s ritual and her foray into the forbidden room, Cora had needed a drink. And with the anticipation of seeing Teddy’s murderer twisting in her stomach, she had needed several drinks throughout the day.

An idea struck when she tossed aside the floss-dress. She raided Bane’s closet, and after a moment’s drunken deliberation, she decided to justtry onone of his impeccable suits. Losing her battle with the black silk tie, Cora caught a glimpse of someone familiar from the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around.

Teddy?

Disappointment crushed her. It wasn’t Teddy, but her own reflection. Suit-clad, she could pass as her twin. Albeit somewhat less sophisticated given the oversized jacket, cuffed trousers, and rolled up sleeves. Bane was a few inches taller and much broader in the shoulders than her.

Cora headed to the Emerald Club and whatever awaited her.

Enough booze now hummed in her blood that everything took on a pleasant vagueness. The colors ran and the sounds faded like a dream, blurred and full of sensations.

While her outfit drew many raised brows, she could spot the mages in the crowd by their furtive glances. To them, she might as well be wearing the Unweaver’s fetid cloak and sacrificing humans onstage.

Though she hated to admit it, the Unweaver’s reputation did have some perks. She’d cut through the bar’s long queue of people dressed, or undressed, in their evening finery.

Anita, with a wink and a wave, thrust a drink in her hand and said the most magical words Cora had ever heard: “Band drinks free, love.”

Ignoring the queue’s grumbles and whispers, Cora tossed the drink back. The cocktail was a dangerously delicious marriageof gin and champagne. Worlds better than the coffin varnish the Starlite served.

Anita poured her another and eyed the suit. “Is that who's I think it is?” she asked. At Cora’s sly smile, she threw her head back laughing.

Ravi, tuning his trumpet, gave her a startled double-take when she neared the stage. “God, you look just like him in a suit,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

Even Guy, his twice-broken nose bandaged, contented himself with some glares and a hissed, “Don’t rot the piano, murderer,” as he checked the microphone’s wiring.

Cora stepped onto the stage with the breathless anticipation before a guillotine dropped. Sitting at the grand piano, she squinted past the bright stage lights but could make out little of the crowd. Perhaps for the best.

Sipping the cocktail lightened the weight of staring eyes. A pleasant, buzzing numbness blanketed her thoughts.

She tried to focus on the piano keys swimming in a sea of ivory and ebony. Playing had always been a release before. To lose herself in music, if only for a few moments. Now she doubted she’d be able to keep rhythm. Instead of confronting Marcel Durbec, she’d be serenading him with bloody jazz.

Cora reached for her drink but it was snatched away. A presence loomed at her back and a deep voice growled in her ear, “What fuckin’ part ofno drinkingare you having trouble understanding?”

Bane stood behind her with an imposing scowl. Cora wanted to wrinkle his immaculate suit and muss his perfectly slicked back hair. Pry all the secrets he was withholding from his lips.

“The part where you don’t sayyes drinking,” she said in a valiant effort not to slur her words. It didn’t work.

“Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up.”

His scowl turned to surprise as his gaze skated over her wearing his suit. While the slightly oversized fit might detract from the overall elegance, Cora was pleased with the results. Bane, in spite of himself, also seemed pleased. Shaking his head, the corners of his mouth threatened a smile.

“Maddening,” he muttered.

A motion behind Bane drew her attention. Several people shot her looks, speculating behind gloved hands and feathered fans. “They’re all staring at me,” she said.

---