Iron Cast (46 page)

She spoke with as much force as she could muster, but really she was just figuring it out. Of course Johnny knew what she could do. That was the reason Corinne was still alive. The second he lost his leverage, he was at Ada's mercy. But she couldn't risk anything while he had Corinne.

Movement in the corner of her eye. Ada looked to see that Saint had taken a few steps backward, closer to the front door. His eyes were wide, and she could see that he was trembling. She jerked her gaze toward the door, willing him to leave. For a split second she thought he would obey. But then he shook his head, his anxious eyes angling back toward Corinne.

“You could have just left,” Ada said to Johnny, fighting to keep her voice steady, fighting for more time to think. She was keenly
aware of a weight in her coat pocket that she had forgotten until now. “No one would have been able to find you.”

“I've been stockpiling my fortune in that warehouse for years,” Johnny said. “I'm not going to walk away and let a bunch of slagger kids take
my
club.”

Ada flinched at the slur from Johnny's lips. She couldn't stop thinking about Corinne, curled up on her bed, weeping because he was gone. All that thundering rage and pain, and for what?

“You should have left it alone,” Johnny went on, his grip on the knife tightening. “You two wouldn't be able to keep it open during Prohibition anyway. The Cast Iron will never be what it was.”

Corinne squeezed her eyes shut, and Ada saw a thin trickle of red running down her neck.

“We have to try,” Ada said.

“No,” Johnny said simply. “It's over now.”

In that moment she believed him. They'd dodged the Hemopath Protection Agency, survived Haversham Asylum, and outsmarted a councilman. And now the end had come, at the hand of someone she had once trusted with her life. With her mother's life. With everything.

The storage room door flew open behind Johnny. He spun around, jerking Corinne with him. The newcomer was Guy Jackson, looking worse for wear and beyond furious.

“You lying son of a bitch,” he shouted at Johnny. “I'm going to kill you!”

He stormed into the room, and even though he didn't appear to be armed, Johnny took a few steps back. Corinne clutched at his arm and stumbled back with him, still trapped in his grip.

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asked, suspicion rising in his voice.

“I know it's a real shock,” Jackson spat. “You figured I'd just rot quietly in prison—well, I'm not taking the fall for you, Dervish. I'm getting every penny you owe me, even if I have to take it off your corpse.”

With Johnny's back still turned, Ada slipped her hand into her coat pocket. Jackson's gun from the warehouse was still there. It was a sliver of a chance. She gripped it, her finger questing for the safety. She flicked it off and lifted the gun, aiming it at Johnny's back. She had the power to end this. All she had to do was pull the trigger. She didn't have a choice.

In her mind's eye, she could see the tree from Charlie's childhood and the wildflowers swirling in the breeze. She was a liar and a thief, but she had never killed anyone. She'd thought that the day she shook hands with Johnny Dervish was the day that everything had been irrevocably lost, but maybe there was more to lose. She still had one choice she could make.

She didn't pull the trigger.

Jackson had seen the gun, and at his expression Johnny spun back to face Ada. He stared at the raised gun in her hands, confusion melting away. He smiled thinly.

“You always were too hesitant,” he told her.

“Shoot him,” Corinne said.

“Go ahead,” Johnny said, giving Corinne a shake. “I hope your aim is good.”

Ada met Corinne's eyes, saw the fatalistic determination there. She really wanted her to do it. She was ready to die if it meant taking Johnny with her. Ada shook her head.

“I can't,” she said, dropping her arm.

“Jackson, get the gun,” Johnny said.

Jackson's gaze darted between Johnny and Ada, weighing his
options. Finally he stepped forward, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the electric bulbs. He reached for the gun, and with Johnny's knife still at Corinne's throat, Ada didn't know what else to do. She let him take it.

She had the distant thought that she hadn't replied to her mother's letter. Her parents would wonder what had happened to her. They would probably never know.

Instead of just shooting her, Jackson backed toward the front door, training the gun on Johnny.

“I'm not doing your dirty work for you anymore,” he said. “I want my money.”

Johnny glowered at him, but the wheels in his head were obviously turning. “Help me clean up this mess,” he said, jerking his head toward Ada, “and I'll pay you double what I owe.”

Jackson paused, considering. Almost faster than Ada could follow, Saint rounded the corner of the bar, charging Jackson. For the space of a breath, they struggled over the gun. Then Jackson yanked it free, shoved him to the floor behind the bar, took aim, and fired.

There was a scream, mingled with the deafening gunshot. When she felt the raw pain in her throat, Ada realized it was her own. She ran forward, too intent on Saint to think about the fact that Jackson was in her path. When he leveled the gun at her, Ada stopped. Her chest heaved as she stared down the barrel. She couldn't see Saint over the bar. She couldn't feel anything but her own hammering heart.

“Shoot her,” Johnny said, “before she tries anything.”

“No!” Corinne struggled against Johnny, heedless of the blade breaking skin.

Ada stumbled backward on numb legs, unable to tear her eyes away from the gun. Jackson moved with her, kicking stools aside,
aim never wavering. But he didn't pull the trigger. Ada stopped when she hit the edge of a table. She reached back, pressing her palms against the satin tablecloth, trying in vain to steady herself.

“Do it now,” Johnny said.

But Jackson still hesitated, glancing toward Johnny with an unreadable expression on his face. Ada's eyes found Corinne's, and she knew what Corinne wanted her to do. It was their last chance. She had to sing.

Ada's mouth was bone dry, and she trembled uncontrollably. She needed only a few notes to trap Johnny and Jackson under her will, but Johnny needed fewer than that to slit Corinne's throat. Ada licked her lips, mind fumbling for the right melody.

“Useless,” Johnny snapped. “Give it to me.”

He shoved Corinne forward, and Ada's song caught in her throat as Corinne careened into her. Johnny moved to take the gun from Jackson, but Jackson spun on him immediately and rammed the barrel against Johnny's chest, right at his heart.

“Madeline loved a good revenge story,” Jackson said.

Johnny's eyes widened in realization, but it was too late. Guy Jackson had aimed the gun, but it was James Gretsky who pulled the trigger.

A gunshot echoed around them, seeming to fill up the world. For a moment, the Cast Iron was perfectly, completely still.

Then Johnny crumpled to the ground. Ada's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, and her ears rang from the shot. She clutched at Corinne's elbows, still trying to steady her. Behind the bar, Saint came into view, dragging himself upright. He was paler than usual but otherwise unharmed. Corinne took a step forward, then another, but she didn't seem to know where she was going exactly. James still had the gun trained on the
lifeless heap that had once been the indomitable Johnny Dervish. His expression was somewhere between horror and relief, and there were silent tears streaming down his face. The gun was trembling in his grip.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Finally, with careful steps, Saint came around the bar. He went to James's side and gently closed a hand around his wrist. James relaxed as Saint lowered the gun and pried it from his fingers. A few interminable seconds passed; then James let out a single, strangled sob and threw his arms around Saint.

Corinne turned to look at Ada. Crimson spilled from the cuts on her neck, pooling at her collarbone. Ada could see in her eyes what had to be done. She nodded once and picked her way around the scattered chairs to where Saint's wildflower painting hung on the wall. She lifted it free and crossed the room to him and James.

“It's time to leave,” she told them.

James pulled back from Saint and looked at her, disoriented. Ada pressed the painting into Saint's hands, and he stared down at it as if he were seeing it for the first time. It was the only one of his paintings that had survived. And soon it would be the only thing left of the Cast Iron.

“Head toward the Red Cat,” Ada said, pleased to find that her voice wobbled only slightly. “Charlie will be there.”

Saint looked between her and Corinne uncertainly.

“But what about—”

“Go,” Ada said, giving both him and James a little shove toward the door.

“We'll catch up,” Corinne said.

Saint looked like he had more to say, but he only nodded and took a few steps backward, hugging his painting against his chest.
James hesitated where he stood. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes from the blood on the floor. Finally Saint took his hand, and he turned away. They left through the front door.

Corinne had leaned against the table beside Ada, squeezing the sides of her skirt in white-knuckled fists. She had lost more of the jet beads from her dress, and her dark hair was slick with sweat. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Ada let her gaze drift around the Cast Iron, avoiding Johnny's body. She wished they could've known it at the height of its glory, before it had been tainted by greed and hate.

“It wasn't all bad,” Corinne said at last.

Ada nodded.

Some of it was perfect,
Corinne thought. The problem was that there was no way to separate the perfect from the polluted. No way to carve out Johnny's avaricious legacy and separate it from all the things the Cast Iron had been built to represent. Even now his blood was seeping into the floorboards, staining them forever with his death.

Corinne stumbled around Johnny to the bar, ignoring the stinging, bloody cuts on her neck. She dug through the cabinets until she found the clear, unmarked bottle that Danny kept hidden for special occasions and particularly stressful nights. They'd hosted last night's party as a celebration, but now it would be a send-off. A grand farewell to all that had come before.

They could do better.

Ada was coming across the floor toward her. She moved like a memory, gliding past the tables that hours ago had held patrons with stars in their eyes. Corinne popped the cork from the bottle and dumped the contents onto the bar, from one end to the other.

Ada watched her without questioning. Corinne knew that she understood what they had to do. They couldn't perform on that stage anymore, pretending they were untouchable. Danny couldn't serve up drinks to the judges and politicians, while Johnny traded favors and secrets at his corner table. The line of patrons, dressed to the nines in silk and furs, couldn't slip through the mirrored corridor with the watchword on their lips. For better or worse, Prohibition had passed, and everything was going to change. Johnny had been right about one thing—the club couldn't be as it was. Maybe it was better this way.

The Cast Iron would be his funeral pyre.

Corinne rounded the bar to stand beside Ada several feet away, pulling Gabriel's matches from her pocket. She lit the entire book. For a split second she didn't move. Just held it there between them. Her eyes met Ada's over the flames.

Ada gave one quick nod. Corinne flung the matches to the counter, and it came alive with heat, roaring orange and yellow, blinding them momentarily. It was simultaneously the most beautiful and most terrifying thing Corinne had ever seen.

They left through the front door. Corinne stopped at the fire alarm box at the street corner and pulled the handle. She and Ada kept walking, their heads ducked against the wind. The city of Boston stretched before them like a second chance. They said nothing, but Corinne lifted her hand, palm up, and Ada tapped her fingertips twice.

Soon the flames behind them would tear free, straining for cool oxygen to devour. Until then the Cast Iron remained quiet, its red door radiant in the January dawn.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A million thanks to my family, for all your love and support, and for being pretty cool about the fact that I didn't mention I'd written a novel until it was being published.

Thanks to Taylor, my incredible agent, for believing in this book. And Anne, my wonderful editor, for all the countless hours you put into making it shine. And my copyeditor, Renée Cafiero, for your phenomenally diligent work.

This book would not have happened at all if it weren't for the Pedestrian Club, my fabulous, tireless critique group. Thank you for your rainbow of ideas that saved this book from NaNoWriMo chaos. I'm so glad I found you all.

Special shout-out to my
majaoes
—you know who you are. Thanks for teaching me the true meaning of a name. No matter the miles that separate us, we'll always have the Cabal.

Squirrel, thank you for always showing me the silver lining. Badger, thank you for sharing your grandmother's words of wisdom and for being my number one fangirl. Soup, my nerdy soulmate, thank you for answering all my creepy questions about blood and never thinking I was a serial killer. Emily, thank you for being half science and half writer and all magic. Clare, thank you for Anders, which has nothing to do with this novel, but I needed to document my gratitude in a permanent fashion.

Puffin, thank you for lighting the way on this scary, wonderful journey. Slytherfriends, from the womb to the tomb.

Kara, you were there before the beginning and I'll never be able to thank you enough for the years of support and wit and beautiful stories and reminding me of important life events that I totally forgot, like the goat in my front lawn. You are the strongest person I know, and I'm a better person for having known you. Captain Shod forever.