Iron Cast(70)

“You’re a pretentious ass,” Corinne said. “And that’s not an answer.”

Silas didn’t lay down his pen, but his eyes drifted upward, gauging her. Corinne couldn’t tell what his verdict was.

“I don’t care enough about Dervish to kill him,” he said. “And before you ask, I don’t care enough about Carson to drive him out of town either.”

“What do you mean?” Ada asked. “Carson’s gone?”

“Apparently he was turning over his own people to the HPA in exchange for a tidy little sum,” Silas said. He set down his pen and closed the journal. “His crew found out today, and from what I hear, he barely made it out of Boston in one piece.”

Corinne struggled to make sense of what Silas was telling her. Had what she’d said to Charlie about the agents at the club been that inflammatory? And if Carson was really gone, what did that mean for the Red Cat?

She dug her nails into her palms, hoping the pinch would clear her vision. The Red Cat wasn’t their concern.

“Do you know anything about the shooting at the docks?” she asked. “Anything that might help us figure out who killed Johnny?”

Silas leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

“I find it amusing that you think I would help you,” he said. “You only got in here because Gabriel knew the watchword. I have no interest in your feuds.”

Corinne slammed her hands onto his desk, both for effect and to steady herself.

“It’s not just our feud,” she said. “The Cast Iron and the Red Cat are the only other iron-free places in Boston. Ironmongers and now the HPA are snatching hemos off the street. Meanwhile, you’re tucked in your little office, theorizing about taking over the government or whatever it is you want. But that’s not going to help the people out there when the HPA gets even bolder, when there’s nowhere else for hemopaths to hide.”

Silas hadn’t flinched from her gaze. When she finished, he straightened in his chair, hands resting on the desk to mirror hers.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. His tone was silk. “Our work here is the only thing that can help us. ‘The ruling ideas of each age have ever been the ideas of its ruling class.’”

He tilted his head slightly and smiled at her. Corinne’s vision went black. For a moment, she thought the lights had gone out, but the darkness was absolute, and no one was saying anything. She stumbled backward, blinking wildly, but it made no difference.

“Cor, what’s wrong?” Ada’s voice by her ear made her jump. There were hands on her back.

“Stop it, Silas.” Gabriel’s voice came from her right. There was an edge to it.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your zeal, Stone.”

“I said stop it.”

Corinne’s sight flooded back, and she pressed her palms into her forehead, trying to orient herself. Silas still sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wood. He smiled at her again.

“Don’t take it too hard,” he said. “Marx isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Heat rushed down Corinne’s back, and she balled her hands into fists. Silas was a more skilled wordsmith than she’d thought. Before she could decide on a retort, the wail of police sirens trickled into the room. The sound was soft at first, but soon it was bouncing off the walls. Silas jumped to his feet and peered through the window, then wrenched the curtains closed.

“You did this,” Silas shouted at them.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Corinne shouted back.

“There’s a warrant out for me,” Ada said. “Why would we call the cops?”

“You made some kind of deal,” said Silas, rounding the desk toward Corinne.

“They didn’t do this.” Gabriel intercepted him and shoved him back.

“Please tell me you have an escape route,” Ada said to Silas.

“In the meeting room. There’s a cellar that connects to a sewer drain.”

They flew down the corridor, arriving in time to be the last people through the cellar door. It was pitch-black below, but someone had a flashlight. Overhead, footsteps and shouts echoed through the room. The cellar was lined with mostly empty shelves. There was barely enough floor space for everyone, and Corinne was pressed tightly between Ada and Gabriel. The trapdoor in the corner was painted to match the concrete, and the crowd thinned slowly as people dropped down one by one. No one said anything, and Silas was the last one through. He shut the trapdoor above them only seconds before they heard the cellar door burst open.

They all waited in breathless silence, listening to the muffled sound of trampling feet overhead.

“Go,” Silas said at last.

They followed the sewage drain in single file, hunched over and gagging. Corinne was woozy in the dank, putrid air and kept stumbling. She thought for sure she was going to pitch headfirst into whatever muck they were tramping through, but whoever was behind her kept her upright. She was certain it was Gabriel, but she didn’t want to turn and acknowledge his help. She knew the radical politics the Witchers harbored in their back rooms weren’t as violent and treasonous as headlines made them out to be, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. Gabriel had this whole secret life that he had never hinted at, even though she’d opened up to him about her family, about the debt she felt she owed Johnny.