Page 99 of The Unweaver

Durbec’s nostrils flared. “I assure you, sir—”

“Shall we try my most cherished batch?” Yvonne Archambeau, her name as melodic as her voice, unlatched the locket around her neck and dusted white powder onto the mirrored table. “It is enchantingly amorous. Lovelier thanfolie à deux, the madness shared by two lovers. Sweeter thanla petite mort, the pleasure that should always be shared by lovers.” She favored Bane with a coy smile, then turned to her compatriot. “For you, Monsieur Durbec, as our special guest.”

With a flourishing sweep of his hand, Durbec motioned for Cora to do the line in his stead. A veritable martyr of narcotics. She snorted it before Bane or Yvonne could stop her.

The enchanted coke burned up her nostrils and across her sinuses like mustard gas. Energy was a lightning bolt to the heart, skittering across her nerves in frenetic pulses. Her brain moved faster than her body, a sprint to time’s loping strides. Lights were brighter, colors more vibrant, sensations more raw.

This snow was sublime. Sublimated sublimity. Addictingly euphoric. Leagues beyond the baking powder they hawked at the Starlite.

Nose twitching, Cora bared her teeth in a smile. “Merci, Durbec.”

“S'il te plaît, mademoiselle, call me Marcel.”

“My pleasure, Durbec.”

The Sanguimancer sidled up to Cora and she scooted away until her back was pressed into a mirror, every muscle drawn taut. Bile rose higher in her throat with each embellished word out of Durbec’s mouth as he droned on. His breath, warm and sour, wafted across her face.

“Why do you look so familiar, mademoiselle?”Because you murdered my twin, arsehole. “Maybe it is because you have been in my dreams,non?”

I will rot your heart out. After I have the spirit vessel, death will come for you, Marcel Durbec.

Cora, wiping the coke off her nose, turned to Yvonne while Durbec was midsentence. “My compliments to the chef.”

Yvonne’s brows rose in gentle arches. She glanced at Bane, and Cora caught his subtle nod in a mirror. Her wary gaze returned to Cora as she delicately backed away.

Up close, Yvonne’s sable bob was threaded with silver. To Cora’s increasing dismay, this only made the Phytomancer more attractive. Elegantly strolling through her forties, the faint lines radiating from her emerald eyes and supple mouth spoke of a thousand pleasures.

Jealousy slithered in Cora’s belly. She would never live up to this beautiful woman.

Cora met Bane’s gaze. He chatted with Durbec and the judge, but his eyes followed her. She rolled up her shirtsleeves to keep from fidgeting and asked Yvonne, “So, how long have you had the pleasure of working for our Irish overlord?”

Yvonne dismantled her reservations with a dazzling smile. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Their emerald facets had hardened, taking Cora’s measure with cool aloofness.

“I met Mal in Paris before the war, and we grew very close. We were separated, then reunited, under tragedy. Mal welcomed me and my daughter into his home when we fled the bombingfor London. Why, he has even helped me start a flower shop in Mayfair that I run with my darling daughter, Rosemarie.”

Cora had no doubt the daughter was a beautiful replica of the mother. Between the flowers she sold to the public and the enchanted drugs she sold in private with Bane, business must be very good. “A magnanimous overlord, indeed.”

Yvonne’s look at Bane lingered like a silent plea. She opened her mouth to respond when Durbec tapped his glass.

“Mesdames et messieurs.We have much to celebrate,non? The beginning of a fruitful business venture, I do hope. Let us have a toast! Do you know any toasts, Monsieur Bane?”

“I’m Irish.” Bane raised his glass and others joined in. His gaze landed on Cora. “May you taste the sweetest pleasures that fortune bestowed, and may your friends remember the favors you are owed.”

They clinked glasses, splashing champagne on wool and mink and silk. Cora drank the champagne without tasting it.

“Let us get onto that aforementioned business before the night gets away from us,” Lord Something said. “Unlike Judge Forley, my wife shall not only notice my absence but take considerable exception to it. She shall remark upon it most vehemently should I be detained any longer.”

“Ah, butmessieurs. Pleasure before business,non?” Durbec said. “In Paris, we always do it this way for it tastes the sweetest. Come, let us have a dance and enjoy the evening’s delights before we speak of such mundane matters as numbers and, ah, contracts.”

The gentlemen were debating the specific order of business and pleasure when a cloud of brown hair, followed by Guy Haviland’s bandaged face, popped through the curtains. His accusatory eyes narrowed on Cora.

Got you, Guy mouthed, then turned to Bane. “The band’s starting up again, Mal. I’ve been looking everywhere for the piano player. Everyone’s waiting on it.”

“Just a minute.” Cora enunciated carefully so as not to slur. It almost worked.

“Time to leave, Cora.” Bane’s eyes were two pits of brimstone. That quavered into four pits of brimstone.

Guy stalked over and grabbed her arm. “This is how you act on your first day on the job?” he said in a biting undertone. “It was a mistake letting you in the gang. You’re not only a monster, but an unreliable one.”

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