Iron Cast(103)

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.”

“I know.”

They were both quiet for a long while. Corinne could hear the mechanical sputtering and coughs of the car as it was cranked to life outside. If there was more to say, she couldn’t think of what it might possibly be. She had the thought that she might not ever see Gabriel Stone again after tonight. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that. She couldn’t decide how she felt about anything right now. Her head hurt so badly.