Iron Cast (35 page)

Saint was still lying on the ground. He was laughing.

“It worked,” he said. “I've been doing cups and spoons and eggs for months, but it only works once for each painting, and I can't paint that fast.”

“I can't believe this. The eggs—you should have told me.” Corinne was still turning slowly, trying to get her bearings. Of course she knew exactly where they were, but it was hard to wrap her head around it. Only seconds ago they had been ten blocks away.

Saint climbed to his feet. “It never seemed important before.”

“Are you joking? This is incredible, Saint. I can't believe this.”

“You said that already.” In the dimly glittering lights of the marquee, she could see that he was blushing again.

They went around the back of the theater, and Corinne banged again on the stage door. For a while there was no answer, but Corinne kept knocking, and eventually the panel slid open. James's face appeared, midyawn. His eyes were bleary and his hair rumpled.

“What?” he said, banging his forehead against the wood of the door. “What in the name of all things sacred are you doing here?”

“I brought Saint with me,” Corinne said helpfully. “Let us in.”

“Hello, Sebastian,” James said, managing to sound vaguely cordial. He looked back at Corinne. “It's three in the morning. I'm going back to bed, and you can come back tomorrow. Or never. Not you, Sebastian, of course. You can come back whenever. But not at three in the morning. That is the point I'm trying to make here.”

He started to slide the panel closed.

“There are HPA agents at the Cast Iron,” Saint said quickly.

James hesitated but still didn't open the door.

“So? They were bound to raid it eventually.”

“Gabriel is a rat,” Corinne said. “He told them—I don't know— probably everything. And if he told them about the Cast Iron, you can bet he told them about you and Madeline.”

James stared at her for a few seconds. He swore softly. Finally the door opened.

“Come on,” he said, looking past them nervously, as if he half expected the agents to be on their heels.

They congregated in the dressing room, and James woke up Madeline.

“Maybe you're blowing this out of proportion,” she said, once she had been brought up to speed. She was slumped on the couch in a black silk dressing gown, her dark hair in tangled disarray.

“Johnny's dead,” Corinne said. “Luke Carson was run out of town for selling off his people as lab rats, and Silas Witcher is
probably still at the asylum. There aren't any safe havens left for hemopaths in Boston.”

“Well, I don't know what you expect us to do about it,” Madeline said with a yawn. “James and I have always avoided Johnny and all the rest. We don't have anything to do with it.”

“She's right,” James said. “You're the ones who mixed us up in this. Maybe it's best if you both leave.”

“James, listen to me,” Saint said. His voice was taut but even. “Things are only going to get worse.”

“We don't have anything to do with this,” James said, echoing his wife's sentiment. “We just want to run our theater.”

“We're past that now,” Corinne snapped. “Gabriel saw everything. He knows everything. You don't get it, do you? What they're doing to hemopaths. Dr. Knox is a madman, and he won't be happy until he's sliced us all open and figured out what makes us tick.”

James pursed his lips.

Madeline had sat up a little straighter. “You're exaggerating,” she said, not as a statement but more as a probative question. “They can't get away with that. We have rights.”

“They
are
getting away with it,” Corinne said. “I've been there. I've seen it.”

The iron corridors, the glistening white tile, the draining blood—she didn't think she would ever be able to
stop
seeing it.

“What are you suggesting, then?” James asked.

“We save Ada,” Corinne said. “And then . . . I don't know. I really don't.”

“We have to get her out of Haversham tonight,” Saint said. “And I don't think we can pull it off without you two.”

Madeline and James looked at each other, their conversation a silent one.

“I've always wanted to play a doctor,” James said.

“The Mythic is in the red anyway,” Madeline said. “I don't suppose some light felonies will do us any harm.”

“Thank you,” Corinne said. She had never meant those two words so much. She glanced at Saint. “Thank you.”

“Please tell me there is an actual plan in place,” Madeline said. “Or are we expected to come up with that as well?”

“I think I have an idea,” Corinne said. “But we need a songsmith.”

“Everyone who worked at the Cast Iron is gone,” Saint said. “I don't know where to find them.”

“Actually, I have someone else in mind,” Corinne said. “We need to make a stop at the Red Cat.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They stayed at the Mythic long enough for Madeline and James to get dressed and for Corinne to talk them through her plan. Then Corinne and Madeline set off for the Red Cat on foot, while James and Saint gathered the rest of what they needed from the theater.

“Meet us with the car in two hours,” Madeline said as she and Corinne slipped into the alley. “Don't be late.”

“We'll be there,” James said.

“I'm serious. You two had better not waste any time canoodling. You're a married man, James.”

James shut the door on her, and Madeline laughed.

The Red Cat was less than a mile away from the theater. The sky was heavy with the promise of more snow, and they both shivered in their coats as they walked.

“You think this will work?” Madeline asked when they were almost there.

“I've gotten into the Red Cat before,” Corinne said. “Their security isn't as tight as they like to pretend.”

“No, I mean everything. The whole plan.”

“I don't know,” Corinne said. “But I don't see what other choice we have.”

“And then what?” Madeline asked softly. “Are we even going to be able to stay in Boston?”

Corinne was quiet for half a block. A taxi revved past them, its headlights momentarily blinding and then fading into the distance.

“I don't know, Maddy,” she said at last. “I guess I don't really know anything right now.”

“I gave up everything for that stupid theater,” Madeline said. “Everyone thought I was mad. My family barely acknowledges me anymore. You know what my father's last words to me were? He told me he wished I had turned out better. Who says that on their deathbed?”

“Someone who was disappointed in his own life and wants to take it out on you,” Corinne said.

“No,” Madeline said. Her voice was faint, and Corinne could see her puffs of white breath as they passed under a streetlight. “Someone who really means it.”

The Red Cat came into view. Its glittering sign still lit up the street, reflecting red and gold off the slick sidewalk. The doorman in his navy-blue uniform and cap was still standing watch, though there was no sound of music.

“Now's a good time for your brilliant plan,” Madeline said, giving no evidence of her fragility moments before.

“You ever seen Eva Carson?”

“A couple of times. The Carsons show up at the Mythic occasionally.”

“Think you can pull her off?”

Madeline considered, then nodded.

“Perfect,” Corinne said. “Then we'll just walk in like you own the place.”

Madeline closed her eyes for a few seconds, tilting her head to the left, then the right. She chewed on her lips, shook her shoulders loose, and cleared her throat. It wasn't an instant transformation. It was more like the pieces of Madeline that were most like Eva Carson—the big eyes, the puckered lower lip—became more like
Eva. The parts of Madeline that were nothing like Eva became less and less important, gradually eclipsed until suddenly the exact image of Eva was standing in front of Corinne. She picked at one of her red manicured nails and looked over Corinne with a haughty eye.

“Are we going to stand here all night then?” she asked. The voice wasn't exactly right, but it was close enough.

Corinne couldn't help but smile.

They went straight to the front door.

“Excuse you,” Madeline said to the doorman, who blocked their way.

“Mrs. Carson?” he said, blinking. “I didn't see you go out.”

“I was stealing a smoke,” Madeline said, patting his lapel in a dismissive gesture. “I found this little vagabond while I was out there. We're going to have a chat inside.”

The man looked between her and Corinne, his mouth gaping. “Mrs. Carson, if you want, I could—”

“I'm bored with you now,” Madeline announced. She brushed past him, and Corinne followed, keeping her head low so that her smile wouldn't be so obvious.

They edged around the tables with the last sleepy patrons and ducked backstage. Somewhere along the way, Eva had vanished, and when they stood blinking in the dim backstage area, Madeline was standing beside Corinne again.

“Do we even know if he's here?” she whispered to Corinne.

“They would have just finished their last set. He's around here somewhere,” Corinne said, though she wasn't as certain as she tried to sound.

After opening a few doors to empty rooms, supply closets, and one couple passionately necking in the dark, they finally found the
back room where the band gathered, cleaning their instruments. Charlie was just tucking his French horn into its case when he saw them. He jumped up.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice, crossing the room.

“Damn, Charlie, my man,” said one of the musicians. “You get around, don't you?”

“Introduce us to your friends, Charlie,” said another.

Madeline waved cheerily at them as Charlie herded them out of the room and slammed the door.

“We're not here to cause trouble,” Corinne told him.

“Little late for that,” he said, glancing around them nervously. They were alone for now.

“Ada's been taken to Haversham,” Corinne said.

He started at that. “How did—”

“Listen to me, Charlie,” Corinne said. She was so desperate that her words spilled out almost faster than she could think them. “I know the only illegal thing you've ever done is play these shows for the Red Cat, but we need your help. I've got a plan to save Ada, and honestly there's only a snowball's chance in hell that it will work—”

“That's the first
I'm
hearing of those odds,” Madeline interjected.

“—and Ada is going to murder me when she finds out I dragged you into this,” Corinne continued. “But I can't think of any other way, and there's no one else I can ask. Please—”

“Corinne,” Charlie started.

“Just listen to me,” Corinne insisted. “I know you haven't even known her a year, but she's my best friend in the entire world, and it's her own fault she's there alone right now, but I have to get her out. I'll do anything.”

“Corinne—”

“Dammit, Charlie. Can't you at least consider it for a few seconds before you say no?”

Charlie raised his eyes heavenward and rubbed his finger across the bridge of his nose. “As soon as you're done yammering, maybe we can leave,” he said.

Corinne blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“If Ada's in trouble, of course I'm going to help her. I'll meet you out back in five minutes,” he said. “Don't be seen.”

Eva Carson was waiting for Madeline and Corinne outside the stage door. Beneath her fur-lined coat she wore a green silk dress and black gloves. Her golden hair was twisted atop her head, with an impeccable curl falling on either side of her face. Her arms were crossed.

“Damn,” Madeline said. “I didn't do you justice, did I?”

Corinne elbowed her. Eva smirked at them. In the shadows of the alley, without her thick-necked husband beside her, she looked sharper. More dangerous.

“I never smoke after midnight,” she said. “I also don't hire idiots.”

“Good to know,” Corinne said. “We were just leaving.”

“Charlie Lewis is a good boy,” Eva said, as if Corinne hadn't spoken. “He's been with us a long time.”

Corinne waited for a threat, but it never came.

“He's got a shiner from one of the HPA agents your husband is in bed with,” Corinne said.

Eva tossed her head and snorted. Somehow, she made it look like an elegant gesture. “Luke is no choirboy, but he would never work with the agency.”

“I saw him take the bribe,” Corinne said. “Last night when I was here.”

Madeline had grabbed her wrist, but Corinne refused to back down. Someone had to answer for Luke Carson's crimes. It might as well be Eva. She was probably behind them all anyway.