“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.”
Her mother’s forehead creased, but she didn’t deny it. Corinne had never seen her mother in this light before. She had never thought of her as someone with ideas—other than ideas for the next dinner party. She also wasn’t particularly pleased with the notion of her mother under the same roof as Silas Witcher, perhaps even speaking with him or shaking his hand. But that was a concern for another day.
“What will people say if they find out?” Mrs. Wells said softly.
“They won’t,” Corinne said. “You said it yourself. We’ll never speak of this to anyone.”
“She’s right,” Phillip said.
Mrs. Wells looked between her two children and nodded to herself, relief settling visibly over her. “I’ll just be glad when we’re all home,” she said.
Corinne stared at the passing streetlights through the window. She recognized the neighborhood they were in.
“Unfortunately, the night’s not over for me yet,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phillip asked.
Corinne turned back to her mother and clasped her hand. “I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do. It’s the only way, and if you don’t want me to end up back in Haversham, you won’t call the cops.”
Her mother’s expression was disturbed. “Corinne, what are you—”
“But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course. . . .”
For a couple of seconds her mother only stared at her in confusion. Then a cow appeared in the middle of the road. Phillip cursed and threw on the brake. As soon as the car stopped, Corinne threw open the door and ran. She ducked through the side streets and alleys so that they couldn’t follow, angling her way in the direction of the Cast Iron.
She could hear her mother’s shouting, but it was soon drowned out by the rush of cold wind in her ears. She ran all the way to the club, sliding on the icy sidewalk at every corner. She fell only once, a block away, but picked herself up before her knees and palms could even start stinging. Her chest was heaving when the red front door finally came into sight. She ducked down the narrow passage between the Cast Iron and the empty store next door. She slowed her run when she saw Gabriel in the back alley, leaning against the brick wall beside the door. His left hand was shoved into his coat pocket, and he held a lit cigarette in his right.
When he saw her, he straightened up. His features were as cool and inscrutable as always, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his face the last time she had seen him, just before they took him away. Vulnerability wasn’t something she’d ever expected to see in Gabriel Stone.
“Is Saint downstairs?” she asked him, resting her hands on her knees to gasp in a few breaths.
He nodded, taking in her disheveled appearance without any clear indication of what he thought about it. “He’s asleep, I think. Are you okay?”
“Well, I’m not dead,” she said.
“Where’s Ada?”
“Being a noble idiot. You get out early for good behavior?”
“Turns out it’s not actually illegal to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They released everyone they took to the station. I’m guessing Haversham wasn’t so forgiving?”
Corinne’s mind flitted past the wooden door, down the dark steps, and across the iron floor. So many people dead and already forgotten. She wouldn’t let that happen to Ada.
“Ada’s still there,” she said. “The HPA agents are coming. We have to get Saint and get out of here.”
“Wait.” Gabriel grabbed her wrist before she could open the door. “I should have told you sooner that I knew the Witchers. I’m sorry.”
Corinne looked at him, unsure what to do with the sudden apology. He hadn’t changed out of his tuxedo yet, though he had unbuttoned his coat enough to loosen his tie. Corinne could see that the shoes and the cuffs of the trousers were ruined from Silas’s sorry excuse for an escape route.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said.
She expected him to protest with another apology, but she should have known better.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” he said. “How did you get out of the asylum?”
“Apparently my brother’s marrying into the Haversham family grants me some privileges.”
“So what makes you think they’re coming here?”
“It’s a long story.”
His hand was still around her wrist, and she wondered if he could feel the unsteady rhythm of her pulse. The chandeliers and champagne of the rehearsal dinner felt faraway now. The world had shrunken into this dark alleyway, crowded on all sides by the terror of the asylum and the ache of missing Ada already and the feeling that maybe she should say something more to Gabriel Stone, but she couldn’t think of what.