At nine thirty, Ada was waiting in the common room, with her coat already buttoned and her hat firmly in place. Corinne and Gabriel were supposed to be back an hour ago, and telling herself not to worry wasn’t doing any good. Her heart was still clenched tightly, and nerves burned at the base of her throat. Saint was still in the armchair with his sketchbook. Occasionally he would squint toward the ceiling, trying to visualize, then hunch over again. The sound of pencil on paper was soothing, but not enough to ease the ache in her chest.
When the panel slid open and Corinne skipped down the stairs, Ada didn’t know whether to hug her or smack her.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
Corinne raised an eyebrow at her and headed for their room. She was barefoot and held a shoe in each hand. “Well, after the party we had to catch a show,” she said over her shoulder.
Ada heard some scrambling, and then Corinne reemerged wearing her ankle boots. More suitable for the weather, but not for the evening gown she still wore under her coat.
“Then we had to get a nightcap,” Corinne continued. “And of course there was some passionate necking in the back of the Ford.”
Saint looked up with a start, just becoming aware of their conversation.
“Wait, what?” he said, blinking.
Corinne laughed.
“If you’d been here earlier, you could have been my date,” she said. “You missed a night of champagne, caviar, and my relatives trying to outdo the Havershams in snobbery.”
Saint actually looked a little sick at the notion. “I honestly can’t think of a worse way to spend an evening,” he said.
“Me neither.”
“Aren’t you going to change?” Ada asked her. “And where’s Gabriel?”
“No time for that,” Corinne said. “Gabriel kept the car running. If we don’t make it to Down Street before ten, we won’t get in to see the Witchers. We need to know what they know about Johnny.”
Corinne motioned with both hands in an attempt to herd Ada up the stairs. Ada, who was just starting to realize that Corinne was a little drunk, paid her no heed.
“Are you okay here?” she asked Saint.
“Better than I would be out there,” he replied, returning to his sketchbook. “Call if you need me.”
Ada allowed herself to be tugged up the steps. They went through the bar and out the front door, where the Ford sat, puffing exhaust. Ada took the front seat and sneaked a few long looks at Gabriel. If there had been any truth in Corinne’s jab about passionate necking, Ada didn’t see any evidence in Gabriel’s demeanor. He was as poised and inscrutable as ever.
The saloon on Down Street didn’t have a true name, and Down Street wasn’t a true street, just a slanting alleyway in the heart of the West End. It wasn’t easy to find, but Gabriel seemed to know the way. He parked a block away, and they all climbed out of the car in silence. There weren’t many cars in the West End, or parties. The streets around them were dark and shivering with wind.
Ada kept an eye on Corinne as they walked. She seemed to be managing a straight line, which was a relief. No one had ever accused her of not being able to hold her liquor. Ada wished they’d had a chance to talk earlier. She knew there was no way to talk Corinne out of it, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of meeting the Witchers on their own turf, even in peace. Down Street was a different sort of place from the Red Cat, and Ada was glad that Gabriel had come. Even though the iron in his gun was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, it made her feel safer. Corinne didn’t like guns as much as she liked wit, but Ada had learned to appreciate how the presence of a weapon could make even the most hardened criminal think twice.
“What’s the plan here?” Ada asked Corinne.
They were across the street from the saloon now. There were lights in the windows, and a couple of men were stumbling out, popping their ratty coat collars against the cold.
“The usual, I suppose,” Corinne said. “You and I will be daring and clever. Gabriel will complain and be generally useless.”
Gabriel didn’t give any indication that he’d noticed the casual insult. His eyes were steady on the front door of the saloon. When they passed under a flickering streetlight, Ada could see the lines of a frown on his face.
“I meant how we’ll get in to talk to the Witchers,” Ada said. “They don’t have any reason to see us, or trust us.”
“I suppose we’ll start by asking,” Corinne said.
Ada grabbed a handful of Corinne’s coat and yanked her to a stop. Corinne stumbled backward but kept her feet. Her expression was peeved, but even in the dark Ada could see something harder that she didn’t like. It was less determined and more fatalistic. She leaned closer to Corinne.
“How much have you had to drink?” she whispered.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little liquid courage.”
“Maybe a little. But you’re drunk.”
“I suppose that makes me extra courageous then.”