Page 84 of The Unweaver

It worked. Very, very well.

“The odd thing is your twin claimed he couldn’t remember coming here at all that night. He said he’d been having the strangest dream and simply found himself here.” Madam angled her head, rolling her plump lips together. “Have you had any strange dreams, Cora?”

The image came unbidden. Malachy, looking up between her thighs as she came apart on his tongue.

“Minute’s up.” Anita jerked Cora to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Cora rubbed her hands together, breathing fast. She wasn’t sure how much the Animancer had sensed, but judging by Madam’s cunning smile, it was more than enough. Iris blocked the door, awaiting Madam’s signal.

Kalandra stared hard at Cora for several moments before standing in a whisper of silk. “I can see her in you, you know. Her hunger. Her desperate bitterness. Iris was not the first Bestiamancer to work within these walls, you know. The Gilded Lily catered to a different clientele back then. Edwina’s husband sold her to the previous Madam for a handful of shillings when she couldn’t bear his children. In those days, women’s work was wedding or bedding. Edwina had been forced into both and was determined to carve a third path.” She eyed Cora. “Ask her if it was worth it.”

Edwina. Mother.From unwitting wife to whore to spy.

Mother had never shared about her life before they met, and Cora had certainly never asked. Thirteen years with Mother, and she was only a more familiar stranger.

“Edwinaand I aren’t on speaking terms anymore. She’s let this pet go.”

Kalandra shook her head with that private smile. “Edwina will never let you go. That was always her problem. Letting go.”

Anita looked between them and took another step towards the door. “We ought to get going, Madam. Mal will be in a mood if we’re not back soon.”

With a slight nod to the tailed redhead, they were released. Cora didn’t take a full breath until they were back out in the bitter cold.

Chapter 23. Conjuring Ghosts

“Cora,” came Bane’s voice from somewhere inside the house.

Lounging in a chair with her legs hooked over its arms, Cora started guiltily. She shoved the book behind a cushion, blinking in surprise to find that the sun had sunk to the horizon. Hours had passed unnoticed while she was engrossed in the morbid particulars of the Profane Arts.

“Cora?” Bane’s voice was closer. The house groaned in response. Kevin, dozing before the library’s crackling fireplace, perked an ear up. She froze. She wasn’t ready to see Bane yet. Or ever.

New Year's Eve had loomed for days, filling her with sour anticipation. At last it had dawned, cold and somber. The auspicious date she’d waited for the Master Sciomancer to identify what had cursed Teddy. And their chosen birthday.

There’ll always be a party, Cora dear.

But not this year. Or any other unless a miracle happened in the unfurling hours and possibilities of 1921.

Today, Cora was a year older than Teddy might ever be. Shambling onward while her twin was stationary in death, a Sanguimancer-embalmed corpse in an icebox. Today, champagne would taste like despair.

“Cor—” Bane appeared and stopped short, his gaze riveting on the expanse of her thighs bared between her stockings and chemise “—a.”

She swung her legs to the floor and belted her robe. At least the new garments he’d gotten an eyeful of were made of silk and not threadbare cotton. The silk seemed woefully thin as his eyes raked over her.

“She’s in here,” Bane called over his shoulder.

They waited in strained silence as shuffling steps approached. After the public character assassination Bane had subjected her to, frosty was the nicest she’d been to him.

Fortunately, she’d only run into him once since she’d dreamed of him between her thighs. While walking in opposite directions down the hallway, they had nearly collided, both sidestepping to the right, then to the left. Bane had gripped her shoulders, moved her aside, and brushed past without a word. Cheeks aflame, she’d wanted to confront him and demand an explanation for outing her. Instead, she’d watched him walk away, the words dying on her lips.

An ancient man, frail yet determined, hobbled into the library’s stony silence. A patched cloak drooped over his spare frame like limp clothing on a line. What little hair he possessed was a wispy cloud above the deep crags of his face.

Kevin’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets at the man’s entrance. The cat tore out of the library with more speed than Cora thought his stubby legs were capable of.

The man arched a winged brow at the fleeing feline. Turning to Cora, his rheumy eyes twinkled with mischief as he took in her state of undress. She could feel his magic scraping against her mind. A probing finger and not a talon like Madam Kalandra’s Animancy had been.

Her heart pounded. No amount of clothing could hide what his magical sixth sense had already shown him.I’m meeting the distinguished Master Sciomancer. In a bathrobe.Brilliant.

Master Lazlo Lyter glanced at Bane, his eggplant-colored lips peeling back in a smile, rascally but not unkind.

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