Free Iron Cast by Destiny; Soria

Corinne said. “When a reg quotes Lewis Carroll at you, what happens?”
    â€œI think they’re off their rocker.”
    â€œYou might imagine the gyring and gimbling of the slivy toves or the mimsy borogoves, and as the poem progresses you might start to feel the Jabberwock coming closer, picture the vorpal blade in the hero’s hand.”
    â€œI suppose.”
    â€œWhen I quote Lewis Carroll at you, I can make you see so much more than that. I can make you see anything I want.”
    His brow was wrinkled in concentration. Corinne imagined he probably tackled most problems in his life with that exact same expression.
    â€œSo Ada is a songsmith?” he asked.
    â€œProbably the best in Boston. She’s the only reason we can pull off any con.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI can make you see all the rabbits I want, but you said it yourself—I can’t make you trust me.”
    Gabriel’s thoughtful frown deepened, but before he could formulate a question, they had reached their destination. Corinne led the way down a side street, away from the busiest thoroughfares. Ada was waiting for them in front of an empty storefront, buttoned into her navy blue coat and adjusting the satin lining in her cream-colored cloche. Her hair was styled into flat twists, protected against the dry winter. When she saw them, she replaced her hat and picked up her violin case from the sidewalk.
    â€œHow’s your mother?” Corinne asked.
    â€œAngry that I disappeared for two weeks,” Ada said. “She yelled at me for ten minutes in Swahili, then another five in Portuguese. It was a lovely visit.”
    She cast Gabriel a curious glance.
    â€œHe’s playing tourist,” Corinne said. “Johnny asked us to show him the ropes.”
    â€œWell, have a seat,” Ada told him, pointing to a bench just across the street. “We don’t have a lot of time. Corinne—the jeweler will be here any minute.”
    â€œI’m ready. You’re the one who hasn’t tuned yet.”
    â€œWait,” Gabriel said as Ada knelt to open the case and retrieve her instrument. “Are you two pulling a job right now?”
    â€œWe have to hit him today,” Corinne said. “He only carries cash every second Friday.”
    â€œYou might have told me,” Gabriel said.
    â€œWhat, did you think this getup was all for you, Mr. Stone?” Corinne twirled to show off the flounce of her dress under her coat.
    Gabriel glanced briefly heavenward. “It never occurred to me to assume anything about your wardrobe, Miss Wells.”
    Ada laughed and plucked at the strings of her violin.
    â€œCould you drop a few coins in there?” she asked Gabriel, nodding toward the case at her feet. “I’m trying to look like a busker.”
    Gabriel obliged, though he was still watching them both warily.
    â€œThere he is,” Corinne said, whirling to face them. “Gabriel, go sit down. For cripes’ sake, you look about as inconspicuous as a smoking gun.”
    Gabriel frowned at her, but Ada started playing, and he seemed to forget what he was going to say. He crossed the street and sat down on the bench. Corinne patted her hat down and then started to pace up and down the sidewalk. This street was emptier than most in the district, with only a few businesses and negligible traffic. Corinne had seen their mark turning the corner up ahead, his brimmed hat low over his ears, his chin tucked into his collar against the cold. There was no one else in sight. It was now or never.
    â€œHelp me out with a little tragedy, won’t you?” she murmured to Ada. “I’m no thespian.”
    Ada obligingly sailed through a few minor chords. Corinne felt the wave of sorrow almost instantly. She had no trouble summoning tears after that. Provided they were focused, hemopaths could generally remain unaffected by other hemopaths, but if they were caught off