Iron Cast(18)

“Why’s that?”

“I can make you see all the rabbits I want, but you said it yourself—I can’t make you trust me.”

Gabriel’s thoughtful frown deepened, but before he could formulate a question, they had reached their destination. Corinne led the way down a side street, away from the busiest thoroughfares. Ada was waiting for them in front of an empty storefront, buttoned into her navy blue coat and adjusting the satin lining in her cream-colored cloche. Her hair was styled into flat twists, protected against the dry winter. When she saw them, she replaced her hat and picked up her violin case from the sidewalk.

“How’s your mother?” Corinne asked.

“Angry that I disappeared for two weeks,” Ada said. “She yelled at me for ten minutes in Swahili, then another five in Portuguese. It was a lovely visit.”

She cast Gabriel a curious glance.

“He’s playing tourist,” Corinne said. “Johnny asked us to show him the ropes.”

“Well, have a seat,” Ada told him, pointing to a bench just across the street. “We don’t have a lot of time. Corinne—the jeweler will be here any minute.”

“I’m ready. You’re the one who hasn’t tuned yet.”

“Wait,” Gabriel said as Ada knelt to open the case and retrieve her instrument. “Are you two pulling a job right now?”

“We have to hit him today,” Corinne said. “He only carries cash every second Friday.”

“You might have told me,” Gabriel said.

“What, did you think this getup was all for you, Mr. Stone?” Corinne twirled to show off the flounce of her dress under her coat.

Gabriel glanced briefly heavenward. “It never occurred to me to assume anything about your wardrobe, Miss Wells.”

Ada laughed and plucked at the strings of her violin.

“Could you drop a few coins in there?” she asked Gabriel, nodding toward the case at her feet. “I’m trying to look like a busker.”

Gabriel obliged, though he was still watching them both warily.

“There he is,” Corinne said, whirling to face them. “Gabriel, go sit down. For cripes’ sake, you look about as inconspicuous as a smoking gun.”

Gabriel frowned at her, but Ada started playing, and he seemed to forget what he was going to say. He crossed the street and sat down on the bench. Corinne patted her hat down and then started to pace up and down the sidewalk. This street was emptier than most in the district, with only a few businesses and negligible traffic. Corinne had seen their mark turning the corner up ahead, his brimmed hat low over his ears, his chin tucked into his collar against the cold. There was no one else in sight. It was now or never.

“Help me out with a little tragedy, won’t you?” she murmured to Ada. “I’m no thespian.”

Ada obligingly sailed through a few minor chords. Corinne felt the wave of sorrow almost instantly. She had no trouble summoning tears after that. Provided they were focused, hemopaths could generally remain unaffected by other hemopaths, but if they were caught off guard—or wanted to be—they were just as susceptible as regs.

By the time the man had reached them, Corinne’s eyes were red and swollen. She paced more quickly, wringing her hands and making short, intermediate sobs. As the man tried to pass, she bumped into him and sprawled backward to the concrete.

“Sorry about that, miss,” the man said, tucking his newspaper under one arm and offering her a hand.

Corinne took it and immediately felt the iron of his ring, even through her glove. She jerked her hand away and made a show of dusting herself off. She hoped her weeping was enough to hide her wince.

“Oh,” she said, between gasps. “Oh, he’s going to be so angry.”

The man watched her for a moment, hesitant. Ada changed her tune, very slightly, and his expression changed with it.

“Is there something the matter?” he asked Corinne. He was a short man in a fine black suit, gripping a brown leather briefcase in his left hand.

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t want to trouble you, sir, only—only—I wonder if perhaps you could help me.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing past her down the street. Ada slowed her song to a leisurely pace, drawing out each note with ringing clarity. The man set down his briefcase.

“Perhaps I can,” he said to Corinne.

“I’ve lost a huge sum in a bet—nearly a year’s worth of savings! My beau is going to be furious with me. The money was set aside for when we’re married, and I promised him I wouldn’t gamble anymore—only I thought for sure that this would pay out.”

“Gambling is a terrible vice for a young lady,” the man said.

Corinne started sobbing again. “I know,” she wailed. “If he finds out, he’ll leave me. I know he will.”

The man was starting to look impatient again. “Miss, I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help.”

“That’s just it,” Corinne said. She grabbed his sleeve, careful to avoid the hand with the ring. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been in that pawn shop all morning trying to make the clerk see reason, but he doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m a . . . a . . . woman of the night.” She spoke the last in an exaggerated whisper.