by Lyndsay Ely
Still, she reminded herself daily, a few dozen people were nothing like the real thing.
Halcyon must have thought so as well, because when he announced the next show, she wasn’t included in it. Not yet, he told her, but soon. There was no set schedule for the Theatre; instead, it was determined by Halcyon’s mood or whoever important happened to be in Cessation at the time.
Pity spent her second show behind the scenes with the other performers, in the spacious passages that ran beneath the stage and stands. There the roar of the crowd was muted, replaced by the frantic hustle of preparations. Trying to keep out of the way, she retreated to the bright alcove that functioned as Max’s work area during a show, where Clare Rousseau stood on a riser as he painted glittering fish scales onto her skin.
“I don’t know how you do that,” Pity said.
“Same way you shoot. Plenty of practice.” He dabbed on a last bit of blue. “Okay, that’s it. Stand still for a few minutes while you dry.” He wiped his hands on a rag and turned to Pity. “How’s the act coming?”
“Good, I guess.”
They went over to a wall of screens displaying various areas in the theatre. In the arena, a miniature ship of wood and satin sailed upon a sea of blue fog. It was manned by a pack of pirates, drawn closer and closer to an island by beautiful sirens, until the mock ship crashed upon the mock shore.
“Wait…” Pity spotted a familiar face in the crowd. She pointed to a screen. “I know her. That’s Maria Alton!”
“Who’s she?”
“The governor of my territory. Every time she visited the commune our mayor would trip over his own feet trying to impress her.”
Alton sat in one of the luxury boxes. Beside her, in a shirt opened enough to show a hint of collarbone, sat Garland. When he leaned over and whispered something in the governor’s ear, she flushed visibly and laughed.
For a moment, Pity imagined herself in the woman’s place. She quickly banished the thought. “Why would she visit a place like this?”
“Besides the obvious?” Max smirked. “Pity, half of Casimir’s clientele are CONA officials or corporate agents. More deals get made here than in the halls of Columbia.”
“And CONA is okay with that?” Pity watched Maria Alton. Though Garland massaged one of her hands in his, she spoke to another man beside her, the movements of their mouths furtive despite the din of the show.
“Not exactly. But what Selene offers, people want. There’s no need for forced propriety or moral smoke screens here. She keeps secrets, brokers connections, and isn’t beholden to anyone. In its way, Cessation is as powerful as Columbia.” His piercings twinkled in the screen’s light. “C’mon, I have something to show you.”
He led her to a workroom littered with mannequins and bolts of cloth.
“Wait here,” he said, features alight with eagerness. “And close your eyes.”
Pity put her hands on her hips but obeyed, content to submit to whatever game Max was playing. His footsteps moved away and returned.
“Okay, you can look.”
Pity opened her eyes.
The costume had a simple, striking elegance: a lavender blouse with a darker half corset laced over it, and fitted pants of a supple silvery gray material. Beside the mannequin wearing the outfit sat a pair of high black boots that matched the black leather of Pity’s new gun belt.
“I…” Stunned wonder gripped her. “I love it!” She hesitantly ran the tips of her fingers over the purple silk, afraid the slightest touch would mar it. “But how is it going to look on me?”
“Only one way to find out.” He gestured to a folding screen set in one corner.
Pity went behind it and shrugged out of her clothes. Acutely aware of her bareness and the thin partition that separated her and Max, she dressed quickly. The costume hugged every curve and angle of her body perfectly. And yet she couldn’t help but feel like an imposter, as if it couldn’t possibly be for her.
“Does it fit?” Max called.
She tightened her gun belt. “Yes.”
“And are you going to come out sometime tonight?”
Her flush turned to one of embarrassment. “I’m considering my options.”
“If you don’t want to let one person see you,” he said, “how are you going to let a thousand?”
“Exactly.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stepped out. “I’m not afraid. I’m just… not used to wearing costumes.”
Max grinned and set upon her immediately, fussing with the laces of the corset and adjusting the lay of her holsters on her hips. Pity went as rigid as the mannequin.
“The hem of the pants needs to come up a bit, but otherwise…” When he unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, so that more of her neck showed, a shiver raced from her throat to the bottoms of her heels. “There. Perfect. How does it feel?”
Pity took a welcome few steps away, drew her guns, and spun. “I’ll have to stand a bit straighter than I’m used to, but… I can work with this.”
“Excellent,” said Max. “Because Halcyon has already scheduled the next show, a week from now.” He paused. “And he wants you to debut.”
CHAPTER 15
The evening finally arrived and, with it, dismay. Pity was to go on after Scylla. From the staging area, she could hear the hoots and cries of the audience, feel the sensual charge in the air. A promise of beauty and the threat of death were Scylla’s trade—how could she follow that? She leaned against a wall, drawing one tight breath after another.
There had been no final, full rehearsal of her act. Halcyon had said he didn’t believe in such things. Still, Eva had worked Pity for extra hours each day, meeting her early, meeting her late, in whatever moments the Theatre had to spare.
Stare into the crowd. Make them think you’re looking at them.
Move your hips. Don’t be stiff.
Smile, but not too much.
The directions had come as rapid-fire as Pity’s shots.
As the days raced forward, each night brought a fresh onset of worry. Why did I ever think I could do this? she thought, staring into the darkness of her bedroom. I’m gonna fail and Selene is gonna put me out, and when that happens…
Her ruminations would go no further. The fear of Cessation was no longer a fear of the unknown. The few weeks she had spent in the city had taught her it wasn’t weapons or strength that kept you safe in the world; it was your associations. Your family, your friends, your gang—survival was about who stood beside you.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—return to the commune. Her mother and Finn were dead.
If Pity failed in the Theatre, she’d be left standing alone.
“Relax,” said Eva. “You need to be calm. Focused.”
“I’m trying.” Each time her heart began to slow, another round of cheers would sound, and the anxiety would come flooding back.
“You want something to help you relax?” Luster pulled out her silver tin.
“Put those away!” Max snapped. “Or she won’t be able to hit anything.”
“I’m trying to help. Look at how pale she is.”
Pity waved them both away. “I’m just nervous.” She rechecked the cylinders in her guns for the hundredth time. Full. She carried more ammo, but not as much as she would have liked. Every shot counted. Widmer knew how many bullets she had; he would keep track, and she wouldn’t run out… she hoped.
“Not to add to that nervousness”—Luster shifted from foot to foot, tiny ankles angling precariously in her high heels—“but so you know, Miss Selene is in the audience tonight.”
Pity’s gut twisted.
She’s come to judge.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
Backing out wasn’t an option. A new act in the Theatre Vespertine was no small event—Halcyon had made that very clear. Announcements had been made; the word spread through the city and its we
b of associations. There were hundreds of eager bodies above her head, enticed by Scylla but really waiting for her and for whatever she had to show them.
It’s not so hard. That’s what her mother had said to her, back in the days when Pity missed more shots than she landed. But handgun or rifle, whether they were aiming at practice targets or live game, her mother had always said the same thing: Stay calm. Sight your target.
Inhale, aim. Exhale, shoot.
Pity raised one of her guns and pressed the cold steel to her forehead. Momma, if you’re listening, help me shoot straight. She laughed nervously as she holstered the weapon.
“What?” said Eva.
“I was thinking about my mother. I doubt this is what she had in mind when she taught me how to handle a gun.” Then again, Pity thought, her own talent for it didn’t get her where she expected, either.
Widmer buzzed by them. “Saddle up,” he called. “Scylla is almost finished.”
“Good luck.” Luster gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be watching from the stands.” She ran off.
“And I’ll be watching from here,” said Max.
Pity took a deep breath and let it out, trying to exhale the apprehension smothering her from within. “What if I—”
Max took Pity’s hands in his. “This is nothing,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “This is everything. I’ve already lost that once. I don’t know if… if I can…” She trailed off, overcome by the truth of the words. She stared at her fingers entwined with Max’s. I don’t want to lose any more.
I don’t want to lose this.
“I mean that this is nothing for you. Remember when you took that second shot at me, when we found you? You were beat half to death. But when you raised that gun and I saw the look in your eyes, I thought, ‘This girl doesn’t miss twice.’”
“But I did miss.”
“Only because of Olivia. Even so, I felt the wind of that bullet on my cheek.” He gave her a loose hug. “You weren’t going to miss then, and you’re not going to miss tonight.”
A smile spread on her face, one she was powerless to stop. “Thank you, Max.”
As he released her, Widmer reappeared.
“Scylla is clear,” he said. “It’s time.”
With a final glance at Eva and Max, she followed the engineer into the dim tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the arena floor. Scylla sauntered by, a python hanging lazily about her bare shoulders. “Good luck,” she said in a way that sounded entirely contrary.
Widmer led Pity to a round platform. “Stand here,” he instructed. “Halcyon will do his introduction and—well, you know it by now.” He clapped a hand on her arm and ran off to get into his own position.
Halcyon’s voice rang out from above, his words muted but clear. “Now, a treat! Tell me, Cessation, do you want to see something new?”
The crowd cried out in assent.
“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic to me…”
Pity winced as the air shook with the applause that followed. That she could garner such a response filled her with disbelief.
“You’ve convinced me! You’ve convinced me!” Halcyon announced. “Our latest performer comes to us from far beyond the borders of our little hamlet, from the humblest of the humble CONA communes. No serpents for her, no! Instead, only cold, deadly steel. If you ever meet her on the plains, in a dark alley, or simply in passing, beware! She is peerless among sharpshooters, blessed with the lightning speed of a jackrabbit and the accuracy of a striking hawk!”
A striking hawk? Pity rolled her eyes.
“Welcome, all of you, Serendipity Jones—deadliest shot in the west!”
Her platform began to rise. A few feet away, another descended. Halcyon stood upon it. He winked at her. Then the tunnel was gone and the arena surrounded her. Pity blinked. The lights were warmer and brighter than she had expected, and the stands were packed to capacity. Her heart thumped against her ribs as she searched for familiar faces, but it was impossible—there were too many people in the shadowed stands.
She took another breath.
Win the crowd, Eva had said. Seduce them, excite them, or shock them, but win them.
She scanned the boxes. The one person it wasn’t hard to find was Selene, in the largest and most luxurious. She was seated between two men Pity didn’t recognize: one with coppery brown hair warmed by the cast of the stage lights, the other older and bald, with a midnight-dark beard and a grim set to his features. Never far, Beau and Adora sat behind them.
The applause slowed to a trickle.
Win the crowd, she thought. Win the crowd.
Pity drew both weapons, pointing the barrels toward her feet, and waited. The audience waited with her, voices hushed, breath held.
A moment later, she felt the low thrum of the barrier.
Win the crowd.
Pity raised one gun, pointed it at Selene, and fired.
With a speed that rivaled the shot, Beau was halfway out of his seat as three bullets exploded into blue sparks. Pity flinched at the look on his face. But in front of him, Selene showed no signs of disturbance, her expression placid.
The stands went dead quiet.
Sweat broke out on Pity’s brow as biting moments passed. No one spoke, no one even moved.
Then Selene raised her hands and clapped.
Applause erupted from the onlookers, but Pity didn’t waste another second to savor her dramatic gambit. Neither did Widmer. The glass globes launched—first to her right, then to her left. Each burst as her shots found them, showering the arena with a rainbow of detonations. The launchers were positioned throughout the stage; one popped up next to her, forcing her to skip backward to find her aim. Widmer was herding her, and she let herself be herded.
One, two, three… She counted her bullets with vigilant precision. When one gun emptied, she’d holster the other and reload, brandishing the weapon to the crowd with a huge smile on her face. They cheered, stamped their feet, and even laughed when Pity decided to play with them, emptying both guns into one section of the stands. I hope you’re keeping count, too, Widmer.
She fell into an energized rhythm.
Inhale, aim. Exhale, shoot.
Dance.
Flourish.
Pose.
Eva’s instruction came to her more easily than expected, bolstered by the cheers every time she hit her target. She only faltered once, her foot catching against the other so that she stumbled. Her shot went wide and a glass globe fell to the ground. Pity just smiled and shrugged dramatically. The audience rewarded her with good-natured laughter.
High above, a cluster of silver, birdlike gliders were released. Pity picked them off as they circled down toward her, reloaded, and then took out the spring-loaded discs that Widmer had rigged to fly up from the floor. Finally, for the apex of her act, nine silver rods descended from the ceiling. At the tip of each was a small golden ball, barely larger than an egg. Pity aimed. As she did, they began to move.
She inhaled sharply. In practice, they had remained stationary.
Dammit, Halcyon!
The rods spun in an ever-expanding circle, spreading outward toward the edge of the arena. Pity steadied herself. Much faster and she would never be able to hit them. It was now or never.
She aimed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One by one, the targets disappeared in a spray of sparks.
As they rained down, Pity sighted her final target: a larger orb that appeared above the center of the arena. When it shattered, she threw her arms victoriously into the air, the silver barrels of her guns sparkling as an eruption of golden flames enveloped her.
Applause ushered her back into the dark. Drenched in sweat, her heart raced. But now it was from elation. They had liked her. Hell, they had loved her. Even Miss Selene had stood for the ovation.
I don’t have to leave, she thought gleefully. There’s no way Selene would put me out after that.
When she
reached the floor of the tunnels, she found Halcyon waiting.
“Bravo, Serendipity, bravo!” He handed her a single purple rose.
“I-I can’t believe—” she said. “I mean, I didn’t think I could—”
“I never had a doubt.” He dipped his head and was gone again, off to introduce the next act.
She started down the tunnel, half drunk from euphoria and the heady scent of the flower. A male silhouette came toward her from the opposite end. Widmer, she thought, or even Max, come to congratulate her.
But when the figure stepped into one of the lights, it was Beau.
He said nothing as he lunged at her. His hand wrapped around her throat. The rose fell from her fingers as her head thumped against the concrete wall. Stars of pain winked in the edges of her vision. She tried to cry out, but only a faint croak escaped.
Beau jammed his gun under her chin.
“If you ever do anything like that again,” he hissed, pale eyes boring into her, “you won’t live to see the next sunrise. Do you understand me?” The wrath on his handsome features chilled Pity to her core. He pressed the gun so hard that it bit into her flesh. “Say it! I want you to say that you understand.”
He loosened his grip.
“What I understand,” Pity wheezed, “is that if you don’t point that away from me, we’re going to learn which of us can pull a trigger faster.”
His eyes narrowed and flickered down to see the barrel pointed at his gut. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Twelve shots, little girl. That’s all you’ve got. I counted. Right now you’re on empty.”
“Am I?” She held his gaze, jaw set. “I’ve had a couple of minutes. And I think you’d agree that a smart person keeps their piece loaded in a place like Cessation, right?”
Beau glared at her. Finally, he released her fully and stepped back. He lowered his weapon but made no move to put it away. “Remember what I said. A smart person also knows when not to press their luck.” He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving her slumped against the wall.
When he was far enough away that she knew he wasn’t coming back, she raised a trembling hand to her throat. Fear still coursed through her. Her skin was clammy, her muscles weak.