Page 114 of The Unweaver

He considered, his expression darkening. “The former Master Oneiromancer—she abused the Profane Arts, and her dream magic became empire-crumbling. She’s the cunt who introduced Master Ghose to dark magic. When the Tribunal ended the nightmare, she’d trapped a Russian city in, her spirit was so corrupted she was more demon than mage. But I watched Ikelas die.”

Cora frowned. “What if this is more than puppeteering? Could this girl be the… flesh vessel the Oneiromancer is occupying? A spirit in the wrong body would kill them both, but could a demonic spirit possess a living vessel?”

“A body-snatching dream demon? Impossible. Even in death, spirits are tethered to their own mortal carcasses.”

“We can ponder the impossibility later. What I do know is that death isn’t always permanent, and demons are bloody terrifying.” Grabbing his arm, she pulled him out of the kitchen. “No time to waste. Let’s go to Mother’s and nab the demon spawn.”

He stopped them short in the entryway. “If we’re ambushing enemy territory, we need to be prepared.”

She spun on her heel. “You’re being a coward.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Better a coward than a corpse.”

“I dunno, I’ve met several corpses more charming than you.”

“Cora, you can’t just barrel into someone’s territory and demand answers.”

“Why not? It worked with you.”

He stared hard, then nodded in begrudging concession. “That notwithstanding. To get what you want, we need a plan.” His arm locked around her shoulders, easing her from the door. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Six mages. Five Ferromancer-modified rifles. Four grenades. Three smoke bombs. Two grappling hooks. And one very shoddy plan.

After scrubbing off their respective gore, Bane and Cora had gone to the Emerald Club and gathered Dimitri, Anita, Ravi, and Sloane for their midnight ambush of Mother’s house. The club had not only a full bar, but a full arsenal.

Team assembled and weapons prepped, they turned to Bane for the full plan of attack.

“I can’t traverse into Edwina’s warded house. She’s been careful to never invite me inside, and I can’t accurately traverse myself, let alone five other people and the weapons, to a place I’ve never been. We’ll take the lorry, get in by some means, and hunt the Oneiromancer brat down where she sleeps.”

Strained silence met his words.

“So,” Anita ventured, “no plan.”

Dimitri thudded a heavy bag of weaponry onto the gold bar. “I have plan. Shoot way in. Kill everyone not dream mage.”

“Wait, wait.” Cora held up a hand to stymie the gang’s chorus of protests. “Let the man talk.”

An argument ensued. Ravi decried the plan as barbarous. Anita agreed it was short on tact, though that ain’t always a bad thing. Sloane denounced it as lacking in both stealth and logic. They had no reliable map of the house, other than Cora’s lackluster recollection of its labyrinthine interior.

“What’s the best way to get in?” Bane asked Cora. “You used to live there.”

“For a month. Thirteen years ago. You’re the captain of this misadventure, Bane. You tell us how to get in.”

Anita looked between them and threw up her hands. “You telling me we don’t even know how to get past the bloody door?”

“The Oneiromancer might be long gone by now,” Sloane cautioned. “We could be walking into a trap.”

“Tonight’s the night,” Bane said. “Let’s load up.”

Anita and Sloane followed him, carrying the supplies into the lorry idling outside. Ravi, with a fearful look at Cora, trailed after them with the rifles. She found herself alone with the giant Hydromancer. The uncomfortable silence practically begged her to fill it.

“Say, Dimitri.” She cleared her throat. “Have you ever heard of something called Coshoy’s Egg? Or Coshoy’s needle within the, er, egg?”

He stuffed more ammo into a rucksack, sparing her a narrow-eyed glance over his massive shoulder. “You mean Koschei’s Needle? Koschei the Deathless is Slavic myth. He hide spirit in objects, stacked like Matryoshka doll, and avoid death. Needle inside egg. So on.”

Cora blinked. She’d assumed occasional grunts were the extent of Dimitri’s conversational skills. The complete sentences caught her off guard. As did their meaning. Their terrible meaning.

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