Page 97 of The Unweaver

“Of course they are. You’re beautiful.”

With that one word, Bane gathered all her breath. He vanished past the glaring stage lights. Cora blinked after him. It had been a statement, not a compliment, but her heart stuttered just the same. No one had called her beautiful except Malachy, in a breathless dream.

The countdown of drumsticks yanked her attention back. The band was starting up for the night’s entertainment. Her hands flew over the piano keys and the band fell into a lively, swinging rhythm.

The Emerald Club’s band was more skilled than any she’d played with before, and not entirely due to magic. Superior instruments and an audience not whooping and hollering over the music greatly improved the acoustics.

The piano’s rich notes were more intoxicating than any cocktail, so smooth they resonated in her blood. Through melodies familiar and improvised, Cora immersed herself in the croon of Ravi’s trumpet, the deep thrum of Tim Tambo’s standup bass, the sensual purr of Dimitri’s saxophone.

Applause dimly registered when the first set ended an hour later. Cora loosened her tie and flagged down a waitress who blessedly brought her another cocktail.

Her gaze locked with a pair of obsidian eyes across the crowded club. This time they weren’t winking but scolding herfrom afar. Bane’s disapproving frown told her a tongue-lashing would be forthcoming. She toasted him with an unrepentant smile. What did it matter to the secret-keeping bastard? She was performing as commanded. Her eyes slid to the man beside him. The glass froze halfway to her lips.

The club muted. Her focus sharpened on the slight, middle-aged man wearing a burgundy suit and mustard tie. With sweeping hands and obsequious smiles, he attempted to ingratiate himself to a stone-faced Bane. Wan skin stretched tight over his skull, shellacked by dark, thinning hair. His trim mustache twitched when their eyes met. He glanced away, licking his lips like a frog in search of flies.

Heedless of the band’s chatter and the crowd's attention, Cora could only stare at Marcel Durbec. Hatred writhed in her gut, afloat in a sea of booze. She felt the Sanguimancer staining her with his eyeballs as he kept glancing at her.

Did he recognize her as the Unweaver, or was it Teddy’s face he saw on her own? He must have gotten a close look while he carved her twin’s heart out. The resemblance was uncanny, but if he didn’t know who Cora was now, he would soon. She would unweave Marcel Durbec one thread at a time.

Bane and Yvonne, stunning in a peacock feather dress, escorted Durbec into a private room curtained off in the back. Cora watched Durbec’s glossy head bob away through the crowd. The Phytomancer drew the emerald curtains shut behind them.

“Break,” Cora called out to the band.

“We can’t take our fifteen until after midnight,” Ravi said, quiet but adamant. “Mal’s orders.”

“You see him here now?” She gestured at the club, knocking her drink over. “Just a quick break.”

The room spun when Cora stood. She grasped the piano for support and stumbled down the steps, winding between dancersand tables to her quarry. She barely noticed the crowd parting for her as she made a beeline to the private room.

Beyond the curtains was a room full of mirrors.

Gilded mirrors lined the emerald satin walls, reflecting everything and everyone in a dizzying multitude. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in an ethereal sparkle. People sat around a mirrored table, and it took Cora a moment to separate the dozen well-dressed men and mostly undressed women from their reflections.

Eyes feverishly bright, they were drinking too much, laughing too loud, and snorting lines of the Phytomancer-enchanted snow the club was renowned for. Tendrils of smoke from cigars and opium-laced cigarettes mingled with fine perfumes and colognes. A heady aroma of indulgence.

Cora’s gaze landed on her target.Murderer.

The room collapsed to the vile man giving her a onceover. Hunger glittered in his eyes. Booze curdled in her gut. Reflections of Marcel Durbec surrounded her from every angle. In one mirror she glimpsed herself. A woman possessed.

Bane appeared in front of her looking like he wasn’t the only one capable of murder. She dragged her gaze away from Durbec to meet his glare. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into what could be mistaken for an intimate embrace. Cora knew better. This wasn’t the easy familiarity he’d shared with Yvonne. This was a cage. They stood toe to toe in matching suits, gazes clashing. His irises were spreading like ink through milk.

“The band’s taking fifteen—”

“I gave you one job,” Bane hissed in her ear. “I told you no drinking or—”

“I know, I know. I’ll behoove—behave myself.”

“You are fuckin’ this up. Playing piano was supposed to keep you from doing something stupid, and you went and did itanyway. Get out of here.” He ushered her towards the curtains. “Now.”

Their gazes met in a mirror. From the depths of her gin-soaked mind stirred a memory of looking into another mirror and Malachy’s blue eyes gazing back. Was this also a dream? No, the arm banded around her was very real.

“Your eyes,” she said. “The black is bleeding into the white.”

Bane drew back sharply and looked away. “Either Anita sobers you up, or you go home and sleep it off. You are steaming drunk right now.”

“Hey, I resen—resemble that comment. I can’t just go whenhe’shere. What are we bloody waiting for?”

“I’ll handle it. Go home or I will fuckin’ carry you there.”

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