Free Iron Cast by Destiny; Soria Page A

guard—or wanted to be—they were just as susceptible as regs.
    By the time the man had reached them, Corinne’s eyes were red and swollen. She paced more quickly, wringing her hands and making short, intermediate sobs. As the man tried to pass, she bumped into him and sprawled backward to the concrete.
    â€œSorry about that, miss,” the man said, tucking his newspaper under one arm and offering her a hand.
    Corinne took it and immediately felt the iron of his ring, even through her glove. She jerked her hand away and made a show of dusting herself off. She hoped her weeping was enough to hide her wince.
    â€œOh,” she said, between gasps. “Oh, he’s going to be so
angry
.”
    The man watched her for a moment, hesitant. Ada changed her tune, very slightly, and his expression changed with it.
    â€œIs there something the matter?” he asked Corinne. He was a short man in a fine black suit, gripping a brown leather briefcase in his left hand.
    â€œOh,” she said. “I don’t want to trouble you, sir, only—only—I wonder if perhaps you could help me.”
    He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing past her down the street. Ada slowed her song to a leisurely pace, drawing out each note with ringing clarity. The man set down his briefcase.
    â€œPerhaps I can,” he said to Corinne.
    â€œI’ve lost a huge sum in a bet—nearly a year’s worth of savings! My beau is going to be furious with me. The money was set aside for when we’re married, and I promised him I wouldn’t gamble anymore—only I thought for sure that this would pay out.”
    â€œGambling is a terrible vice for a young lady,” the man said.
    Corinne started sobbing again. “I know,” she wailed. “If he finds out, he’ll leave me. I know he will.”
    The man was starting to look impatient again. “Miss, I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help.”
    â€œThat’s just it,” Corinne said. She grabbed his sleeve, careful to avoid the hand with the ring. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been in that pawn shop all morning trying to make the clerk see reason, but hedoesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m a . . . a . . . woman of the night.” She spoke the last in an exaggerated whisper.
    Ada sniggered and dropped a few notes but quickly righted herself.
    The man scratched his head beneath his hat, revealing a receding hairline.
    â€œI’m still not sure how I can help,” he said.
    â€œCan I tell you something first?” Corinne asked, her voice softer.
    The notes of Ada’s violin wafted above and around them. The man’s face was lax, and Corinne could see a familiar blurriness in his eyes. She had learned to recognize it a long time ago. Clear eyes were a warning sign—there were those rare few who weren’t as receptive to Ada’s gentle nudging.
    Corinne’s hand moved to his lapel, and she tugged him closer. She whispered in his ear for almost thirty seconds. When he stepped back, he blinked at her, expression even more dazed. She had opted for a few lines from a volume of poetry that Ada had given her a couple of years ago. Edna St. Vincent Millay hadn’t gained much renown yet, but Corinne was betting on a Pulitzer by the time she turned forty.
    â€œI’m not sure I catch your meaning, miss,” the man said, still blinking.
    If Ada hadn’t been churning out a healthy dose of trust mingled with confusion, he would no doubt have fled after the first couplet. Or garroted her with the thin iron chain she could see peeking out from beneath his collar. There was no truth in the belief that pure forged iron made the wearer immune to hemopathy, but it didn’t stop regs from paying through the nose for it.
    â€œLook at what I have here,” Corinne said, holding up her cupped hands. “Do you see it?”
    The man nodded