“Trust me, Silas Witcher and Ada here are not the worst criminals you have to deal with,” Corinne said.
“We can keep the Witchers and Eva Carson in line,” Ada said. “Hemopaths can give more to Boston than they take. You just have to give us the chance.”
“And while you’re at it, you can tell your HPA lapdogs to lay off Gabriel Stone,” Corinne said, ignoring the sideways glance that Ada gave her. “He’s under the Cast Iron’s protection now.”
Councilman Turner put out his cigar again and dropped it in the ashtray. His hand was trembling a little in the firelight. No doubt he was thinking about his hard-won reputation going up in smoke if even one reporter decided to pay attention to what these two girls had to say.
“Fine,” he said. “It doesn’t matter anyway. When Prohibition takes effect, you’ll all be shut down for good.”
“Have a nice day, Councilman,” Corinne said. “You know, if politics is too stressful, you can always take your own advice and try to find someone desperate enough to marry you. I hear the quiet family life isn’t all bad.”
Before the councilman could manage a reply, they were both gone.
It was only Thursday night, but the club at the corner of Clarendon and Appleton Streets had a dance floor that was packed before the show had even begun. If the neighboring buildings hadn’t been deserted, there would have been noise complaints. Despite the two extra bartenders under his command, Danny was swamped, doling out cocktails almost faster than he could keep track of the tabs.
Corinne felt like every drop of her blood was singing with the magic of it. The lights in the Cast Iron blazed so brightly that her vision blurred at the edges. They had pulled out the best tablecloths and polished the dance floor until it sparkled. Corinne had ripped the photograph of Johnny off the wall and replaced it with one of Saint’s paintings. The bucolic scene that he’d given to Ada, with the sprawling tree shading emerald grass and wildflowers, wasn’t the Cast Iron’s usual aesthetic, but it was the only one of Saint’s paintings that the HPA agents had left alone, and it felt right for it to be hanging in a place of honor.
Corinne circulated through the room, glad-handing the patrons like she’d watched Johnny do a thousand times before. James had returned and was sitting at a corner table with Saint, nursing a drink. He even managed a halfhearted smile as Corinne passed. Eva Carson was here, sharing a table with the Witcher brothers. George, who was bearded and pudgy, in a simple brown suit with elbow patches, did not look at all pleased to be there. He glowered when he caught sight of her, but beside him Silas gave her a courteous nod, albeit begrudgingly. Eva was halfway through a Manhattan and wearing a gold dress that was probably designed solely to make men like George Witcher uncomfortable. She winked at Corinne when their eyes met.
Corinne smiled broadly at them, blew a kiss to George, and headed for the stage. Ada was already there, doing a last tune-up on her violin and laughing while Charlie whispered something in her ear. She was still using the violin that he had “borrowed” from the Red Cat. Corinne knew that Ada’s violin, the one Johnny had given her, was sitting in the basement. She hadn’t asked Ada about it, and Ada hadn’t brought it up.
Corinne took the steps two at a time and stole a gulp from one of the musician’s drinks. She went to the microphone and reveled in the way the room fell silent at her approach. Prohibition had been ratified. In a year, the iron-free clubs would be shut down, no longer a refuge for hemopaths trying to escape a world of iron, or for regs trying to lay their worries aside for a single night. Corinne didn’t want to think about that. She felt so alive right now. She felt like she’d been born to stand here.
“Welcome to the Cast Iron,” she said.
It was all that needed to be said. They couldn’t go back to the way things had been, but they could do better. Tonight was that promise.
Corinne glanced at Ada and nodded.
Ada pressed her bow to a string and sent a single, crystalline note into the air. No loss or nostalgia tonight. Only hope. Only paradise.
Corinne leaned into the microphone and began to recite.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE