Iron Cast(113)

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.