Iron Cast (42 page)

“We'll leave it alone now,” Corinne said, “if you let us take Saint.”

Johnny shook his head. He was pulling something from his pocket—earplugs. Jackson had a pair around his neck and used one hand to shove them into place, keeping his gun hand ready. Corinne realized it didn't matter where Charlie and Ada were now. It was over.

“Sorry, Corinne. It can't be helped,” Johnny said. “Jackson, kill them.”

Gabriel grabbed Corinne's arm and yanked her behind him. She closed her eyes waiting for the shots, waiting for the end of everything.

But there weren't any.

Just a loud thump, followed by a softer one. She opened her eyes and looked past Gabriel and saw Charlie standing over Jackson's prone body, gripping his French horn.

“Who would've thought these things could be so versatile?” he asked.

From behind Saint, Johnny spat out a curse. Corinne saw the knife glinting in his hand and ran forward, her warning caught in her throat. Saint let out a gasping cry and kicked both legs backward. His heels caught Johnny in the chest, and Johnny stumbled backward, right into the steel bar that Ada was swinging at his head.

He crumpled to the ground without a sound, and Ada flung the hand crank away, wiping her hands on her dress to alleviate the burn. Corinne and Gabriel ran forward to help Saint. They managed to get some of the chains loose from his chest, but even standing on the chair, Gabriel couldn't loosen the chains from his wrists.

“We have to lower him,” he said. “Up there.”

They could see that the chain was looped over a ceiling brace above and secured on the railing of the warehouse's mezzanine.

“I'll get it,” Charlie said, taking off.

“Dammit,” said Gabriel. “Where's Jackson?”

As soon as he spoke, the warehouse went dark. At first all was silent. Then there was a gunshot, and the world became chaos. Someone knocked Corinne over, and she crawled for the crates she knew were to her right, calling out for Ada and Gabriel as she went. She felt the wooden crates with her hands and tried to move to where she would be covered, but she didn't actually know where the gunshot had come from.

She shouted for Ada and Gabriel again, and then jumped at Gabriel's voice in her ear.

“He's across the room. We need to move farther back.”

She nodded, though he couldn't see her, and tried to follow his lead. Her heart was skipping every other beat, and her head pounded with adrenaline. She reached out to touch Gabriel, desperate for an anchor in the darkness. Her fingers brushed what must have been his gun hand, because she could feel the cool metal.

Except it didn't sting, the way that steel should.

She stumbled backward, her mind reeling to catch up. From the corner of her eye, in the distance, she saw a glint of orange light in the black. Gabriel was lighting a match.

Before she could scream, Jackson had lunged on top of her and clamped a hand onto her face. She kicked blindly, feeling the barrel of his gun pressed into her stomach. She managed to bring up one of her knees for leverage and rolled hard to the right, slamming his shoulder into a crate. She heard the clunk of the gun hitting the floor and tried to pull up her other knee so she could push away from him. He moved both his hands to her neck, and she choked on her last breath as his grip tightened around her windpipe.

Her vision exploded into red and violet. She clawed at his hands, digging her fingernails into skin, but his hold was a vise. She could hear music through the rushing in her ears. She wondered if instead of seeing her life flash before her eyes, she was going to relive one of her most cherished, most private memories. Huddled on her bed in the Cast Iron, still in the black dress from her grandfather's funeral, and Ada sitting beside her, coaxing everything bright and beautiful in the world back to life with only the strings on her violin.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she realized that the music was real. With her last reserve of strength she lifted her right hand and raked her fingernails across Jackson's face until she found his ear. She yanked the earplug away and then stopped struggling, because she was just too damn tired.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, she thought his grip was loosening. But that might have just been wishful thinking.

Ada played the violin until Gabriel switched the lights back on. At first she didn't even notice when they plunged back into light. Her eyes were shut tightly with focus. She was trying to aim the music directly toward Jackson, which was something she had never attempted without actually being able to see the person. But Jackson
was the one with the gun, and she couldn't risk putting everyone else to sleep if he still had the earplugs in. She was hoping that Jackson had removed them to hear better in the dark.

When her eyes had adjusted to the light, she surveyed the warehouse, spinning in a tight circle. She could see Charlie above at the railing, and Gabriel was behind her, coming back from the light switch, but Corinne was nowhere to be seen.

“Cor,” she shouted, running down the length of the warehouse, scanning the rows of crates.

Then she saw Jackson, slumped on the ground, and Corinne beside him. She screamed.

She ran to them, not caring if he would wake up, not caring if he still had the gun. She could hear Gabriel behind her as she threw herself down beside Corinne, who was lying unmoving on her back. Jackson's hands were loose around her neck, and Ada pushed him off.

“Cor,” she said, sliding her hands underneath her head to cradle it. “Corinne, wake up.”

“She's breathing,” Gabriel said, the relief evident in his voice.

Ada saw that he had taken one of Corinne's hands in his own. When Ada caught his eye, he dropped her hand and grabbed Jackson's gun from the ground.

“Here,” he said, flicking on the safety and giving it to her. “Just in case.”

Ada stared at the unfamiliar weight in her hands. It was relatively small and would fit easily in her coat pocket. That was where she tucked it, for now.

“How long will Jackson stay asleep?” Gabriel asked.

“Not long,” Ada said.

“Stay with Corinne,” he said. “I'm going to help Charlie get Saint down so we can reuse those chains for Sleeping Beauty.”

Gabriel took both of Jackson's wrists and dragged him out of the aisle and toward the center of the warehouse. Ada maneuvered to rest Corinne's head on her knees. She hummed a low tune, willing the melody to follow Corinne into her dreams, to bring her back soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When Corinne regained consciousness, it was like waking from an afternoon nap. Ada's music was inside her, filling her up with a serenity she had never found anywhere else. It wasn't until she had opened her eyes that her head began to split and her throat began to burn. She coughed and sucked in ragged breaths.

“You're all right, you're all right,” Ada kept repeating, though Corinne couldn't help but feel it was more for Ada's benefit than her own.

She sat up with Ada's help.

“Can you walk?” Ada asked. “We've got Saint in the car. We didn't want to move you until you woke up.”

“Where's Johnny?” Corinne pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to edge out her agonizing headache.

“Gone. Who knows where. He must've slipped out while the lights were off.”

Corinne nodded slowly, relieved that she didn't have to face him again. She accepted Ada's help in standing. They walked outside together, with Corinne leaning on Ada's shoulder. Saint was in the backseat of the car, head resting against the window. Charlie stood a few feet away, watching the street nervously. Gabriel was leaning against the driver's side door, smoking a cigarette. On the ground beside him was Jackson, who was fettered well with iron and apparently unconscious.

“What are we going to do with him?” Corinne asked.

“Drop him off at the police station, I guess,” Ada said. “They probably know he's one of Johnny's crew.”

Corinne would have much preferred to drop Jackson into the bay, but maybe Haversham would be an equally fitting fate. She straightened up and was relieved when her knees supported her. She went to Gabriel.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.

He nodded and ground out the cigarette under his heel. Corinne grabbed his wrist and led him away from the car, back inside the threshold of the warehouse, where they could be alone.

“Corinne,” he started.

“Thank you,” she said. “I mean, I'm not saying I forgive you, because most of this is your fault anyway.”

“I'm—”

“You never made it a secret how you feel about what I do for a living, so I suppose I should have seen it coming.”

“Corinne—”

“It's not like you redeemed yourself or anything, but at least you're not a psychopath like Johnny. And I—”

Gabriel leaned down and kissed her, sliding his hand around the nape of her neck, his touch so light she could barely feel it. For a split second the press of his lips, slightly chapped, felt like something she wanted—then her mind caught up. She pushed him back.

“No,” she said.

There was more she wanted to say, but she couldn't remember any of it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. He took a small step away from her. “This is the second time in so many nights I've thought you were dead.”

It was easier for her to think, now that he had moved back. As always, the steel of his gun was nudging at her consciousness, pulling her focus. Her headache was getting worse.

“You'll have to excuse me if I'm not sympathetic,” Corinne said. “Especially since you were the one who sold me out the first time.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again, his voice softer.

In the dull light of the warehouse, the angles of his face were less severe. Corinne could see a glimpse of the vulnerability she'd seen outside Down Street.

“That doesn't mean anything,” she said.

Gabriel broke her gaze. He stared to his right, where half an hour ago Saint had been dangling from iron chains. He released a slow breath.

“My father was a Bolshevik activist in Russia,” he said, dropping his eyes. “Eleven years ago, before the
Bolsheviki
took power, he was in a protest that got out of control. Several police were killed, and my father was executed in the street. Some of his comrades helped my mother and me flee the country. I knew I shouldn't attend those meetings at Down Street, but I couldn't stay away. Those ideas felt like the only thing my father had ever given me.”

He hesitated, staring down at her hand in his.

“Then my name was put on a list, and one night they dragged me into the police station, and Pierce and Wilkey told me that if I didn't help them, they would put me on the next ship to Russia and leave my mother to fend for herself.”

Corinne bit her lip. She remembered the way his mother had clutched him so desperately, calling him
myshka.

“They're going to know you helped us now,” Corinne said. “They'll probably even think you helped us escape Haversham.”

“I know. My mother and I will have to leave. I'll find work somewhere else. New York, maybe.”

His eyes were still downcast. He pushed his hands into his coat pockets.

“It was the hardest thing I've ever done, Cor—you have to know that. When you told me you weren't a nice person, I tried to believe it. I hoped it would be easier if I thought the worst of you. If you were just a privileged, arrogant thief without a morsel of empathy.” He met her eyes suddenly. “But you're more than that,” he said. “And I can't tell if you really don't think so or if for some reason you're determined that no one but Ada will ever find out.”

“I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't a nice person,” Corinne said.

He smiled ruefully. “You're definitely not a nice person, but there's more to it than that. I tried not to see it, but it's impossible to ignore. You're best friends with Ada and Saint, and you love the Cast Iron for what it could be and not necessarily what it is, and that night in the alley, you gave Harry a poem when he needed it most. You're not nice, but you're
good.
”

Corinne couldn't catch her breath. The sincerity in his eyes was iron on her skin.

“You should have told us about the HPA,” she managed finally. “Ada and I would have found a way to help you.”

“I don't doubt it,” he said, his eyes lowering again. “I wish . . . a lot of things had been different.”

Corinne studied his expression for a few moments, considering. “I wish things had been different too,” she said. “Especially the part where Madeline died choking on her own blood.”

Gabriel flinched, and for a heartbeat she could read the sorrow in his face as clearly as if it had been written there.

“I never—”

“I know,” Corinne said. “But that doesn't change what happened.”