Iron Cast

by Soria, Destiny;

  “They are getting away with it,” Corinne said. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen it.”

  The iron corridors, the glistening white tile, the draining blood—she didn’t think she would ever be able to stop seeing it.

  “What are you suggesting, then?” James asked.

  “We save Ada,” Corinne said. “And then . . . I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  “We have to get her out of Haversham tonight,” Saint said. “And I don’t think we can pull it off without you two.”

  Madeline and James looked at each other, their conversation a silent one.

  “I’ve always wanted to play a doctor,” James said.

  “The Mythic is in the red anyway,” Madeline said. “I don’t suppose some light felonies will do us any harm.”

  “Thank you,” Corinne said. She had never meant those two words so much. She glanced at Saint. “Thank you.”

  “Please tell me there is an actual plan in place,” Madeline said. “Or are we expected to come up with that as well?”

  “I think I have an idea,” Corinne said. “But we need a songsmith.”

  “Everyone who worked at the Cast Iron is gone,” Saint said. “I don’t know where to find them.”

  “Actually, I have someone else in mind,” Corinne said. “We need to make a stop at the Red Cat.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They stayed at the Mythic long enough for Madeline and James to get dressed and for Corinne to talk them through her plan. Then Corinne and Madeline set off for the Red Cat on foot, while James and Saint gathered the rest of what they needed from the theater.

  “Meet us with the car in two hours,” Madeline said as she and Corinne slipped into the alley. “Don’t be late.”

  “We’ll be there,” James said.

  “I’m serious. You two had better not waste any time canoodling. You’re a married man, James.”

  James shut the door on her, and Madeline laughed.

  The Red Cat was less than a mile away from the theater. The sky was heavy with the promise of more snow, and they both shivered in their coats as they walked.

  “You think this will work?” Madeline asked when they were almost there.

  “I’ve gotten into the Red Cat before,” Corinne said. “Their security isn’t as tight as they like to pretend.”

  “No, I mean everything. The whole plan.”

  “I don’t know,” Corinne said. “But I don’t see what other choice we have.”

  “And then what?” Madeline asked softly. “Are we even going to be able to stay in Boston?”

  Corinne was quiet for half a block. A taxi revved past them, its headlights momentarily blinding and then fading into the distance.

  “I don’t know, Maddy,” she said at last. “I guess I don’t really know anything right now.”

  “I gave up everything for that stupid theater,” Madeline said. “Everyone thought I was mad. My family barely acknowledges me anymore. You know what my father’s last words to me were? He told me he wished I had turned out better. Who says that on their deathbed?”

  “Someone who was disappointed in his own life and wants to take it out on you,” Corinne said.

  “No,” Madeline said. Her voice was faint, and Corinne could see her puffs of white breath as they passed under a streetlight. “Someone who really means it.”

  The Red Cat came into view. Its glittering sign still lit up the street, reflecting red and gold off the slick sidewalk. The doorman in his navy-blue uniform and cap was still standing watch, though there was no sound of music.

  “Now’s a good time for your brilliant plan,” Madeline said, giving no evidence of her fragility moments before.

  “You ever seen Eva Carson?”

  “A couple of times. The Carsons show up at the Mythic occasionally.”

  “Think you can pull her off?”

  Madeline considered, then nodded.

  “Perfect,” Corinne said. “Then we’ll just walk in like you own the place.”

  Madeline closed her eyes for a few seconds, tilting her head to the left, then the right. She chewed on her lips, shook her shoulders loose, and cleared her throat. It wasn’t an instant transformation. It was more like the pieces of Madeline that were most like Eva Carson—the big eyes, the puckered lower lip—became more like Eva. The parts of Madeline that were nothing like Eva became less and less important, gradually eclipsed until suddenly the exact image of Eva was standing in front of Corinne. She picked at one of her red manicured nails and looked over Corinne with a haughty eye.

  “Are we going to stand here all night then?” she asked. The voice wasn’t exactly right, but it was close enough.

  Corinne couldn’t help but smile.

  They went straight to the front door.

  “Excuse you,” Madeline said to the doorman, who blocked their way.

  “Mrs. Carson?” he said, blinking. “I didn’t see you go out.”

  “I was stealing a smoke,” Madeline said, patting his lapel in a dismissive gesture. “I found this little vagabond while I was out there. We’re going to have a chat inside.”

  The man looked between her and Corinne, his mouth gaping. “Mrs. Carson, if you want, I could—”

  “I’m bored with you now,” Madeline announced. She brushed past him, and Corinne followed, keeping her head low so that her smile wouldn’t be so obvious.

  They edged around the tables with the last sleepy patrons and ducked backstage. Somewhere along the way, Eva had vanished, and when they stood blinking in the dim backstage area, Madeline was standing beside Corinne again.

  “Do we even know if he’s here?” she whispered to Corinne.

  “They would have just finished their last set. He’s around here somewhere,” Corinne said, though she wasn’t as certain as she tried to sound.

  After opening a few doors to empty rooms, supply closets, and one couple passionately necking in the dark, they finally found the back room where the band gathered, cleaning their instruments. Charlie was just tucking his French horn into its case when he saw them. He jumped up.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice, crossing the room.

  “Damn, Charlie, my man,” said one of the musicians. “You get around, don’t you?”

  “Introduce us to your friends, Charlie,” said another.

  Madeline waved cheerily at them as Charlie herded them out of the room and slammed the door.

  “We’re not here to cause trouble,” Corinne told him.

  “Little late for that,” he said, glancing around them nervously. They were alone for now.

  “Ada’s been taken to Haversham,” Corinne said.

  He started at that. “How did—”

  “Listen to me, Charlie,” Corinne said. She was so desperate that her words spilled out almost faster than she could think them. “I know the only illegal thing you’ve ever done is play these shows for the Red Cat, but we need your help. I’ve got a plan to save Ada, and honestly there’s only a snowball’s chance in hell that it will work—”

  “That’s the first I’m hearing of those odds,” Madeline interjected.

  “—and Ada is going to murder me when she finds out I dragged you into this,” Corinne continued. “But I can’t think of any other way, and there’s no one else I can ask. Please—”

  “Corinne,” Charlie started.

  “Just listen to me,” Corinne insisted. “I know you haven’t even known her a year, but she’s my best friend in the entire world, and it’s her own fault she’s there alone right now, but I have to get her out. I’ll do anything.”

  “Corinne—”

  “Dammit, Charlie. Can’t you at least consider it for a few seconds before you say no?”

  Charlie raised his eyes heavenward and rubbed his finger across the bridge of his nose. “As soon as you’re done yammering, maybe we can leave,” he said.

  Corinne blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

  “If Ada’s in trouble,
of course I’m going to help her. I’ll meet you out back in five minutes,” he said. “Don’t be seen.”

  Eva Carson was waiting for Madeline and Corinne outside the stage door. Beneath her fur-lined coat she wore a green silk dress and black gloves. Her golden hair was twisted atop her head, with an impeccable curl falling on either side of her face. Her arms were crossed.

  “Damn,” Madeline said. “I didn’t do you justice, did I?”

  Corinne elbowed her. Eva smirked at them. In the shadows of the alley, without her thick-necked husband beside her, she looked sharper. More dangerous.

  “I never smoke after midnight,” she said. “I also don’t hire idiots.”

  “Good to know,” Corinne said. “We were just leaving.”

  “Charlie Lewis is a good boy,” Eva said, as if Corinne hadn’t spoken. “He’s been with us a long time.”

  Corinne waited for a threat, but it never came.

  “He’s got a shiner from one of the HPA agents your husband is in bed with,” Corinne said.

  Eva tossed her head and snorted. Somehow, she made it look like an elegant gesture. “Luke is no choirboy, but he would never work with the agency.”

  “I saw him take the bribe,” Corinne said. “Last night when I was here.”

  Madeline had grabbed her wrist, but Corinne refused to back down. Someone had to answer for Luke Carson’s crimes. It might as well be Eva. She was probably behind them all anyway.

  “What you saw was my husband trying to pay them to leave our boys alone,” Eva said. “But the HPA wouldn’t take the money. If I had to guess, I’d say they have a better arrangement with someone else.”

  “The bulls?”

  “Johnny Dervish.”

  Eva said it like a challenge. She was facing Corinne head-on. No more pouting smiles or tinkling laughs. Eva Carson was all business.

  “Why would Johnny have anything to do with the HPA?” Corinne asked.

  Eva shrugged without uncrossing her arms. “Maybe he was bargaining to keep the HPA away from the Cast Iron. Or maybe he knew that when enough of our crew disappeared, it would be Luke’s head on the chopping block. Or maybe he just needed the money.”

  “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Corinne said. “If you help me, then Luke will be able to come home.”

  For a moment she thought Eva was going to laugh. Instead, she let out a long sigh.

  “Luke was a good husband,” Eva said. “But he’s done all he can for me, and he knows it. The Red Cat is my club.”

  “Cold,” Madeline said.

  Eva shrugged again. “He knew the deal when we got married,” she said. “He’s got enough money for a new life. Maybe one day he’ll make his way back here. Until then, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  She pushed between Corinne and Madeline to open the stage door.

  “That’s it?” Corinne asked. “No burly men with guns to take us for a ride?”

  Eva did laugh this time. It was different than Corinne remembered—rich and full instead of twittering.

  “I meant it when I said I liked you, Corinne. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. And you’d better take care of Charlie.”

  The door clicked shut behind her, and Corinne exchanged a glance with Madeline.

  “I changed my mind about being an actress,” Madeline said. “I want to be her when I grow up.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ada wasn’t sure if hours or minutes had passed since Dr. Knox left. Her headache had faded—or rather, it had melted into her bloodstream so that her body held nothing but pain. The nausea came in waves, and she only barely managed to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.

  She wondered if the agents had arrived at the Cast Iron yet, and if Corinne had made it in time. She wondered how badly it would hurt to die, and if her mother would ever know what had happened to her.

  She wondered who at the Cast Iron had betrayed them.

  She couldn’t do anything but wonder, and that was worse than the steel on her skin.

  When the latch on the door slid open, Ada struggled to sit up straight, to effect some semblance of fortitude, but in the end she was too exhausted. She slouched back down as the door opened to admit Agent Wilkey, who looked much more composed than when she’d last seen him. He smiled at her and picked up the metal gag from the table.

  “Dr. Knox asked me to prep you for the second phase,” he said almost casually. “He doesn’t trust the nurses down here. Weak stomachs, you know.”

  Ada had thought that she was well past panic by now, but it reared in her throat again. Before she could attempt a desperate melody, Wilkey had fastened the gag in her mouth. Her headache flared again with renewed vigor, draining the little strength she had left. Wilkey half dragged, half carried her into the other room, past the rows of beds with white sheets covering the atrocities that had been committed underneath. The woman hooked up to the machine wasn’t screaming anymore. Her breath came in crackling, irregular gasps. Someone had pulled a sheet over the man in the bed beside her. Failed subjects, Dr. Knox had called them.

  At the far end of the room, near the door to the corridor, there was a wooden chair with dangling leather straps beside a table of metal instruments that blurred in Ada’s vision. She realized with distant mortification that she was crying, but she couldn’t stop the welling tears. Wilkey uncuffed her hands and pushed her into the chair.

  She tried to rise, more from instinct than from any real thought of escape, but her arms and legs felt disconnected from her body. She was nothing but her pulsing headache and her hot tears. Without her violin or her voice, what power did she have?

  Wilkey worked quickly, buckling the straps across her chest, arms, and ankles. Ada tried to remember the devastation she had wreaked on him, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She had never wanted to use her talent to hurt people. She wanted to be like Charlie, playing hope and joy into places where there had been none before. Now she would never get the chance.

  The thought of Charlie softened her headache somewhat but made the tears flow faster. He had told her that he loved her, and she’d given him nothing in return. Another chance lost.

  Wilkey pulled something off the table, cradling it with both hands. It was a brass cagelike apparatus, a dizzying conglomeration of rods, screws, and knobs.

  “I’ll confess I’m not entirely sure how this thing works,” Wilkey said conversationally. “Dr. Knox tells me that once it’s tightened over your head, it will guide in those metal spikes I mentioned earlier. Of course, we’ll have to drill the holes in your skull first.”

  He smiled at her again, an almost cherubic expression in his doughy features.

  Ada fought back her surging nausea and broke from his gaze. The door to the corridor opened, and Ada clamped her fingers around the arms of the chair, expecting Dr. Knox. Would they give her anesthesia first? Maybe she would just go to sleep and never wake up.

  When she first saw Johnny, she thought they must have already injected her with something. Johnny Dervish was dead. He couldn’t be striding through Haversham’s basement with the same confidence he’d once had in the Cast Iron.

  When he spoke, his voice was so real that Ada realized she must be dead too.

  “Wilkey, what the hell is going on here?” he asked, taking in the sight of Ada with a disturbed frown.

  “You’re not supposed to be down here,” Wilkey replied. He set the apparatus back on the table with the utmost care.

  “Dr. Knox owes me money.” Johnny glanced at Ada. “And an explanation as to why he’s taking my people.”

  “You’re dead, remember?” Wilkey said. “They aren’t your people anymore. And none of the other hemos you’ve given us survived the tests.”

  “That’s not my problem. I delivered on my end of the deal, and I want my money. Where’s Knox?”

  “Busy.”

  Ada’s head was pounding with every word they spoke. She thought about Stuart Delaney and th
e other Red Cat musicians Charlie said had gone missing. Her heart was stuttering as she looked down the length of the room at all the silent beds. Johnny had been selling hemos to the HPA? He’d been selling them into this hell?

  She was misunderstanding. She had to be. She coughed around the gag, desperate to speak.

  Johnny leaned over and loosened the straps behind her head, ignoring Wilkey’s objections. The gag fell into her lap, and she sucked in a breath.

  “Johnny”—but that was all she could manage. Her eyes were burning with tears again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Wilkey laughed shortly. “As amusing as your selective compassion is, Dervish, you’re not taking her anywhere. Dr. Knox has big plans for this one, and the other two you’ve been keeping all to yourself.”

  “They’re just kids,” Johnny snapped.

  “So were a lot of the others,” Wilkey said, gesturing toward the long line of beds. “And none of them were half as potent as this one. Dr. Knox isn’t going to—”

  The door flew open again. It was Dr. Knox this time, dragging Corinne by the arm. Ada wasn’t sure if she was relieved or furious to see her down here again. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw Johnny.

  “Johnny, you— I thought you were—” Corinne sputtered. She looked at Dr. Knox, then at Ada, but no explanation seemed forthcoming.

  “Knox, just what do you think you’re doing?” Johnny asked. His voice was low, dangerous.

  Dr. Knox licked his lips, opened his mouth, shut it again. He had dropped Corinne’s arm, but she didn’t move. She was still staring at Johnny, her features balled up in confusion.

  “My job,” Dr. Knox said at last.

  “We had a deal,” Johnny said. “I want my money.”

  “Right, right,” Dr. Knox said, bobbing his head. There was something wrong with him. He seemed bewildered. “Agent Wilkey, if you would be so kind as to—”

  But he cut himself off and frowned.

  Wilkey was shaking his head and chuckling. “Slagger bastard,” he said, drawing his gun. “You almost had me.”