Iron Cast(17)

“Take off your hat,” Corinne said.

“What?”

“Let’s find out if you’re smarter than the councilman. Take off your hat.”

“I just said—”

“If it only works on the weak brained or the gullible, then you have nothing to worry about.”

Gabriel looked ready to protest further, but he removed his hat, holding it in both hands. There were a few people passing on the sidewalk, but they were all bundled in their coats, lost in their own business.

“Now, what are you holding?” Corinne asked.

With a pained expression, Gabriel tried to keep walking, but Corinne blocked him.

“I know we just met last night,” she said. “So here’s the first thing you should know about me: I never back down from a challenge.”

“I didn’t challenge you to anything.”

“Two minutes,” Corinne said. “That’s all I need, I swear.”

Gabriel glanced around them at the passersby, who weren’t paying them any mind. He sighed his consent.

“What are you holding?” Corinne asked.

“My hat.”

“ ‘ ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre—’”

“What the hell are—”

Corinne pressed her finger against his lips. He let out a startled breath, warm even through her glove. She forged ahead. Her left hand was in her pocket, gloved fingers wrapped around the brass timepiece. Its familiarity helped her find focus.

“ ‘Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.’ That ought to do it.”

Corinne stepped back and crossed her arms in satisfaction.

“Do what?”

“What are you holding?”

“My hat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I—” Gabriel looked down and saw that he was holding a soft black rabbit.

He cried out and dropped it, stumbling back a few steps into a hunched old lady in a Sunday hat who whacked him across the back with her walking stick.

Corinne was laughing so hard, she gripped her stomach and doubled over. People were starting to stare now. Gabriel regained his dignity and approached the animal with the caution of a soldier approaching a land mine.

“It’s not real,” he said, but it came out as more of a question.

“Touch it,” Corinne said. “It won’t bite. Probably.”

Gabriel knelt down and prodded the fur hesitantly. The rabbit looked at him and twitched its nose.

“I find Carroll especially potent for animals,” Corinne said. “There are some wordsmiths who swear by Blake, but Carroll captures the motion best, I think.”

Gabriel shook his head, still prodding at the rabbit. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m just proving that you have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Stone. Now pick up your hat. You’re causing a scene.”

Gabriel started to protest, but before he could make a sound, the rabbit had become his hat once again. He picked it up, carefully, and put it back on his head. He stood up, watching Corinne with a new look in his eyes. Fear with a smidgen of awe. Her favorite.

“Come on,” she said. “Ada will be waiting.”

Corinne tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and tugged him gently along. The brick and stone businesses of the financial district dominated the cityscape, casting vast shadows across the lines of sleek black Oldsmobiles and low-riding roadsters in the street. As they got closer to the heart of the district, the car horns and sputtering exhaust fumes drowned out all memory of the Cast Iron’s sleepy neighborhood.

“I don’t get it,” Gabriel said after a few minutes, his hand drifting again to his hat. “I knew it was an illusion. How did it feel so real?”

“You’ve heard the phrase mind over matter?” she asked. “Well, that doesn’t apply here. When I recite, I give you whatever image I want, but I don’t have to convince you it’s real. Your own imagination does it for me. It’s a rare person who can overcome their own mind, and the better your brain works, the stronger the illusion.”

“Making the smartest person in the room the easiest one to fool.”

“Now you’re on the trolley.”

Gabriel just shook his head.

“What?” Corinne looked up at him.

“It’s bizarre. Poetry of all things.”

“Why not poetry? Makes perfect sense to me,” Corinne said. “When a reg quotes Lewis Carroll at you, what happens?”

“I think they’re off their rocker.”

“You might imagine the gyring and gimbling of the slivy toves or the mimsy borogoves, and as the poem progresses you might start to feel the Jabberwock coming closer, picture the vorpal blade in the hero’s hand.”

“I suppose.”

“When I quote Lewis Carroll at you, I can make you see so much more than that. I can make you see anything I want.”

His brow was wrinkled in concentration. Corinne imagined he probably tackled most problems in his life with that exact same expression.

“So Ada is a songsmith?” he asked.

“Probably the best in Boston. She’s the only reason we can pull off any con.”