Movement on the other side of the room caught her attention. Gabriel was standing in the doorway to the storage room, watching the cluster of cops around Corinne with visible unease. He was reaching for his gun when Ada caught his eye. She shook her head, careful not to drop any notes. He would be starting to feel the effects of her song now, though not with the same overwhelming intensity that she was aiming at the bulls. His hand drifted back to his side, and he blinked.
Corinne had almost finished whatever she was murmuring to her rapt audience. Ada could tell that she was building up to the big finish. Her brown eyes were bright with a triumph that Ada had learned to both relish and dread.
“Oh my stars,” Corinne cried, with a sudden Southern drawl that had Danny snickering behind the bar. The policemen didn’t seem to notice her abrupt theatrics.
“I think that bank down the street is on fire.” Corinne flung her arm in the direction of the front door. There weren’t any windows there, but the cops were falling over each other to stare at the blank wall.
“I don’t—”
“Wait, I see it, there’s smoke!”
“Let’s go.”
“And maybe just to be safe you shouldn’t come back,” Corinne called after them with a wave.
The door swung closed.
For a few seconds the Cast Iron was silent. Then Danny guffawed and hurled a dish towel at Corinne.
“Getting a little sloppy, don’t you think, kid?” he asked. “They’ll be back before long.”
“Not a chance. I made sure to explain in detail how thoroughly they had searched the place,” Corinne said. “Not a hemopath in sight. What a regrettable mistake.”
“Still,” Danny said with a shrug. “Better leave the acting to the thespians.”
Corinne put her hand to her heart as if wounded.
“Why must you hurt me, Danny? I’ve been practicing that fire gag for weeks.”
“What poem did you use?” Ada asked, hopping off the stage.
“ ‘That Nature Is a Heraclitean Fire,’” Corinne said. “Hopkins.”
“Appropriate.”
“Not really—the poem is a foray into questions of transience and immortality. Also clouds.”
Corinne grinned at her and lifted her hand, palm up, for their signature handshake. Ada knew it was the closest thing to gratitude Corinne would ever express, but she didn’t mind. The two simple taps of their fingertips together somehow held more significance than words ever could.
“That was a close one,” Ada said. “If they’d already been wearing their earplugs—”
“But they weren’t,” Corinne said. “Did you lay down some memory loss?”
“The past half hour should be a haze for them.”
“Then we’re in the clear.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange that they were plain old uniforms and not HPA agents?” Ada pressed. “Since when do the bulls deal with hemopaths? I think there must have been agents here we didn’t know about.”
“If there were agents here, then why did they let us fleece those cops?” Corinne picked her fingers through her hair, which was tangled and damp with sweat. “They probably just got bored with raiding hemo joints and decided to make the bulls do their dirty work.”
Ada wasn’t anywhere near appeased, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with Corinne, who was still reveling in their success. Ada couldn’t find the same exultation inside herself. Manipulating regs who weren’t paying for it always left her feeling hollow.
“I’m just sad that Danny-boy was the only one to witness our brilliance,” Corinne said.
Ada frowned and glanced toward the back door.
“What about—” But she cut herself short, because Gabriel was already gone.
Johnny’s office always seemed warmer than the rest of the basement, with two lamps that cast equal amounts of golden light and muddled shadow. There were overflowing file cabinets in three corners of the room, and a coat rack in the fourth that held a moth-eaten scarf and a fedora that Johnny had never worn.
Corinne felt at ease in the cramped space, even though half her time there was spent apologizing for whatever her most recent reckless stunt had been. Ada always managed to avoid the hot seat, which Corinne thought was unfair, considering she wouldn’t get into nearly as much trouble if she didn’t know Ada would be there to bail her out of it. She fidgeted in the chair that was facing Johnny’s desk while he shoved some paperwork into one of the overflowing file cabinets. There hadn’t been time to change out of her dress, which was ripped at the back seam and still smelled of Harry’s grime. She knew the black kohl lining her eyelids was smudged, and the cupid’s bow of her mouth had faded. It didn’t really matter in here, though. Johnny had seen her looking much worse.
“I’m not your headmaster,” he said at last, dropping heavily into his chair. “Frankly, I don’t feel like giving a lecture on how vital it is to keep our customers happy, and how important it is to not, say, purposely send them into a panic.”
“That’s good, then,” Corinne said. “Because it doesn’t sound like a lecture I’d pay much attention to anyway.”
Johnny’s expression betrayed some amusement at the quip, but mostly he just looked tired.
“The Cast Iron is losing money,” he said. “We can’t last on two or three shows a month, especially if they’re cut short like tonight. I have no idea how Carson is keeping the Red Cat open.”