Page 85 of The Unweaver

“Behave yourself, old man,” Bane said.

Master Lyter chuckled. “I could say the same to you, Mal.” The hoarse rasp of his voice was a hearty stew of Hungarian vowels.

“I’ll just, er, go put more clothes on then.” Cora jumped to her feet to dash away.

“Needn’t bother now.” Her withering look was lost on Bane as he made introductions. “Lazlo, this is Cora Walcott, the Necromancer I told you about. Cora, Master Lazlo Lyter. My oldest friend.”

Literally?

When they shook hands, Master Lyter’s gnarled grip was surprisingly strong. But beneath his parchment-thin skin, roped with spidery blue veins, Cora sensed death. A peaceful death. Sleep would soon ease the Sciomancer out of the Living Realm.

“Lovely to meet you, Master Lyter,” she said with a stiff smile.

“Oh, please call me Lazlo. Master Lyter makes me feel so veryold. You are the Unweaver, hm? I look forward to knowing you. Many have awaited you.”

Once pleasantries were expended, Cora suggested they start right away. The gentlemen disagreed. Bane had just traversed Lazlo here from Budapest and the old Master was exhausted. For a successful ritual, they needed rest and food first.

“The ritual will commence at the stroke of midnight,szívem, my heart,” Lazlo said with the wink of a much younger man as Bane led him to a spare bedroom. “And not a moment sooner.”

Cora didn’t argue. The Sciomancer looked so feeble, he’d need to save up all his energy for tonight.

In the Witch’s Cap, she agonized over what to wear to the dinner she smelled Bane cooking. For once, she had options.

Eventually she settled on a turquoise dress, then spent too much time attempting to tame her hair. As usual, the chestnut waves fell wherever they damn well pleased. The cosmetics Anita had insisted she buy didn’t sit right on her face. Too heavy. Uneven.Desperate. Feeling foolish, she wiped off the lipstick. Then reapplied it.

Wondering why she was even bothering, she followed the rich medley of roasting food into the kitchen.

Lazlo was reclining at the table, quite at his leisure, a grin on his wrinkled face and a half-empty glass of wine at his elbow. Bane, down to his waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves, stirred an aromatic pot of soup.

Bane’s gaze snagged on her in the doorway. His eyes lit a scorching path over her. “You look different.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.” Cora poured herself a glass of wine and arched an eyebrow. “A small improvement from calling me a vinegary spinster.”

The bastard had the gall to smile. “Was I wrong?”

Her lips thinned. “You’re an arsehole.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Amusement danced in his eyes.

With a final glare, she sat across from Lazlo. “Has our mutual acquaintance always been this charming?”

“Enough arrogance for a dozen men, no?” Eyes twinkling, Lazlo tried suppressing a grin she couldn’t help but match.

Bane shot them a look and shook his head. “I am never putting the two of you in a room together again.”

Cora smiled behind her wine glass. “Was Bane your apprentice, Master Lyter?”

The gentlemen exchanged a glance. Lazlo chuckled. “Who is to say when the apprentice becomes the master, hm? We met ages ago, when Mal was but a lad, wild and chomping at the bit.No woman could drag him close to the altar. Except perhaps for Colleen.”

“We remember how that ended,” Bane muttering, not turning from cooking Lazlo’s favorite, unpronounceable dish.

“True. But remember Glasgow, Mal?” He waggled his bushy white eyebrows. “Many years ago, we were traveling through Scotland…”

A masterful storyteller, Lazlo’s quick wit and casual manners soon put Cora at ease as he immersed her in tales of his exotic travels. Battling an Umbramancer in Paris during “one of the French revolutions.” Pitted against a Phytomancer and his poisonous vines in Brazil. Trapped in an Oneiromancer’s nightmare in Russia.

As they polished off a bottle of the best wine Cora had ever tasted, she listened in awe as the Master Sciomancer wove the vibrant tapestry of his long life. He’d traveled across every continent, and she’d never left London.

“I’d love to go anywhere but here,” she confessed.

---