Iron Cast(4)
Corinne eased the Ford, humming and juddering, along the dirt road until they reached the main roadway. She hit the gas, and the countryside whipped past. Behind them, the asylum receded into the distance. Ada told herself firmly that she was free, but there was still a tingling at the back of her neck, a certainty in her chest that it couldn’t be this easy. No one ever made it out of Haversham.
After a few minutes of silent driving, Ada made herself speak, if only to break free from her own twisting anxiety.
“What’s a declension, anyway?” she asked, because that was the first thing that popped into her head. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the rumbling wheels.
“How the hell should I know? I think I only attended one lecture that entire term.”
“What a waste of a good education.”
“That’s funny coming from someone who thinks Walt Whitman is a brand of chocolate bar.” Corinne fiddled with the mirror for a few seconds, looking at the dark, empty road behind them. “Besides, I spent that time learning the first three cantos of the Inferno in the original Italian. A couple lines of Dante serve a wordsmith better than a year’s worth of Latin conjugations.”
“Careful, Nurse Salem—we’re not far from your namesake. They’re probably still burning our type for being witches there.”
“Then you’d better be nice to me, or I’ll be tempted to drop you off.”
“What could they possibly want with me?” Ada made a show of straightening her head scarf. “I’m but a simple escaped convict. You’re the one taking the name of their beloved town in vain, as one of the most idiotic aliases in the history of crime.”
The familiar banter was like a tonic, keeping her exhaustion at bay. Haversham was retreating slowly from her thoughts as the aspirin eased the ache of her muscles.
“It wouldn’t have been nearly as transparent if you hadn’t started laughing like a fool.”
The car careened over a pothole, and Corinne had to hug the wheel to keep it steady. Ada braved a glance through the back window, but even in the moonlight, the road behind them disappeared almost immediately into darkness. Hidden behind hills and trees, Haversham wasn’t even a distant glimmer anymore.
“You come in there with a name like Nurse Salem, and you want me to keep a straight face?” Ada asked, looking forward again.
“It really does mean peace,” muttered Corinne.
Ada laughed for only the second time in two weeks, a reckless, helpless laugh that rang over the rumbling of the wheels and the roar of the engine. After a few seconds, Corinne laughed too. Her fair skin was flushed a rosy pink. She rolled down the window and yanked off her blond wig, revealing her short brown hair, plastered with sweat. The blond braid flapped wildly, then was rushed away by the wind. The January cold dipped into the window, nipping at Ada’s skin. She didn’t mind, though.
She was going home.
CHAPTER TWO
The Cast Iron was a club on the corner of Clarendon and Appleton Streets, too close to the South End to be high-class but too close to the theater district to be disreputable. The current owner, a Mr. John Dervish, enjoyed skirting the line between the two. The building stood proud and alone, with only empty storefronts for neighbors and an abandoned bakery at its rear. A garish red door led into a dim corridor lined with mirrors. The heavy wooden door at the other end opened into the club proper, which boasted a long bar and tables of all shapes and sizes scattered around the room.
When Corinne and Ada walked in, arm in arm, just before seven, business was gearing up for the evening. There were only a few patrons scattered among the tables, nursing drinks and swaying to the sinuous melody of a lone pianist onstage. Ada reassured herself that her coat was buttoned over her Haversham-issued smock, just in case.
“Heya, kiddos,” said the bartender, glancing up from the glass he was drying. He was tall and lean, with salty hair and cheeks covered in grizzled stubble.
“Heya back, Danny,” said Corinne, tossing the car key onto the bar. “Be an absolute peach and get Johnny’s car back to his garage?”
Danny looked down at the key, still polishing the glass with practiced flicks of his wrist. “I look like a chauffeur to you, Wells?”
Ada leaned across the bar and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll get you a cap, and you’ll look mighty fine,” she told him.
Danny raised an eyebrow, with the look of a man determined not to be moved. After a few seconds his face broke into a grin, revealing two gold teeth. “Ada Navarra, you incorrigible minx.”
“Five syllables, Danny? Where’d you learn that one?” Corinne asked, stretching over the counter beside Ada to nab a bottle of gin.
“Pain-in-the-ass girl I know,” he said. “Steals my alcohol and has apparently decided to take up nursing. By the way, that bottle’s going on your tab, not mine. If those teetotalers get their way, I’m going to need every penny for my early retirement.”
“America is the land of liberty, Danny dearest,” Corinne said. “She won’t stand for Prohibition, mark my words.”
Danny snorted and shook his head. “So you two dolls ever gonna tell me why the Cast Iron’s best musician mysteriously vanished for two weeks and now you’re both showing up looking like a couple of pawn shop mannequins?”