Iron Cast(79)

“We’re going home,” said Mrs. Wells. “And we’ll never speak of this to anyone.”

She was gripping Corinne’s upper arm, her lips pursed tightly. Her fur coat gaped open in the front, revealing her silk dress from the party. Corinne was suddenly aware of her own pitiful state. The hem of her dress had dried from their tromp through the sewers, but there was a rip in it, past her knee. She’d been too distracted in the asylum to think much about it, but even in the fresh air the smell was appalling. And she still had the taste of vomit in her mouth.

Phillip was cranking the car, and Mrs. Wells herded Corinne into the backseat. She climbed in beside her. Corinne’s mind was reeling with the suddenness of everything. She barely felt the metal of the car around her. All she could think was that she was leaving Ada behind.

And Ada had made her do it.

The car roared to life, and before Corinne could decide what to do next, Phillip was steering them down the gravel driveway. The iron gates flew past with a fleeting ache, and then Haversham was lost in the distance. Corinne pressed her face into her hands, trying to shake the last vestiges of Ada’s melody from her head. Vaguely, she remembered Agent Wilkey in the lobby, while her brother was browbeating the desk nurse into opening the front gate. Wilkey had leaned against the wall beside the door, smiling. All trace of the damage from Ada’s song was gone from his features.

“Don’t worry,” he told her with a wink. “You’ll be back soon.”

Corinne drove her fingernails into her skin, trying to find control of her own fear. Ada wouldn’t have been able to manipulate her will so easily if a part of her hadn’t already wanted desperately to leave. Corinne hated herself for that.

“This is my fault,” her mother said. Her wavering voice was barely audible over the jolting wheels.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mother,” Phillip said. “Corinne got mixed up in bad company. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s all there is to it.”

Corinne looked up from her hands to see Phillip’s pointed glare in the mirror. He hadn’t so much as mentioned the word hemopath, but he must have figured it out by now. The HPA didn’t accidentally cart regs off to Haversham. That was why the iron test had been introduced in the first place.

“That’s all there is to it,” Corinne echoed, not sure what else Phillip wanted her to say.

She knew he’d seen what was happening in the basement. Even in the murky memory of the past ten minutes, the room full of corpses stood out sharply in her mind, turning her stomach. Phillip showed no signs of distress, though. He was his normal, mildly officious self.

Her mother was shaking her head with a mournful expression.

“I knew you were getting yourself into some kind of trouble when you showed up at the dinner with Gabriel Stone. I should have gone straight to your father. I just don’t even know how you met someone like him.”

“What are you talking about?” Corinne asked. “How do you know him?” And why had her family decided tonight of all nights to stop being unfailingly predictable?

Her mother faltered. She picked nervously at the furred cuff of her sleeve. “I . . . I’ve seen him at certain . . . meetings. On Down Street.”

Corinne’s mouth fell open slightly. “Are you . . . a socialist?”

The car swerved slightly as Phillip looked back in alarm. “Mother, what is she talking about?” he asked.

Mrs. Wells turned her face toward the window, where Boston’s outer edges rolled past. The tenements and scattered storefronts were dark, with only the silver of the moon to illuminate their icy rooftops.

“I’m not a socialist,” she said.

“A communist?” Corinne asked.

“No, Corinne, I’m— It started as curiosity, that’s all. You and Phillip were both off at school. A friend of a friend told me about these meetings, of people who just enjoyed sharing ideas. She said it was powerful.”

“So you went to one?”

Again her mother faltered. “I’ve been to several.”

The car swerved again. Mrs. Wells leaned forward to grasp her son’s shoulder. Her eyebrows were drawn together in consternation.

“Please, Phil, you have to believe that I would never do anything to hurt your campaign. I always stay in the back of the room so that no one will recognize me. When you announce your candidacy, I promise I’ll stop.”

Phillip didn’t say anything. His gaze remained locked resolutely on the road.

“Does Father know?” he asked at last.

Mrs. Wells sat back in her seat and nodded. “He doesn’t like it, but he’s never stopped me.”

Phillip shook his head in disbelief. Corinne laughed shortly.

“An arrest scandal and socialist propaganda,” she said. “My, how the mighty Wellses have fallen.”

“Don’t talk like that,” her mother said, grabbing her hand. “I don’t think Gabriel recognized me, but you can’t go near him again. I’m not a socialist, but I think that he must be.”

“I know.”

“You’re not listening to me, he’s— Wait.” Her mother reached out and turned Corinne’s chin, so that they were eye to eye. “You know?”

“It’s not as if he murders puppies or anything. Obviously you don’t find the ideas all that terrible, if you keep going back for more.”