Gunslinger Girl

by Lyndsay Ely

  Halcyon’s face brightened. “I have just the thing. A moment’s preparation, please.” He beckoned a Tin Man and whispered to him. The man ran off.

  Meanwhile, Sheridan resumed conversing with a pair of the special guests. Earlier, he’d quietly offered Pity some of their names, but she’d promptly forgotten them. It was hard to focus on details like that. Or anything. Sheridan was still her charge, but it was Max who dominated her thoughts—his smile, the glint of his rings, the feeling of his body against hers. It was like a fog had settled upon her, a warm, early morning haze that left her feeling like there was nothing else in the world.

  Her cheeks warmed, followed by the rest of her. For days she and Max had spent every free hour together. Hours that passed like minutes, while the ones when they were parted stretched into eternities. Impatience gnawed at her. Even now, he might be in her room, waiting for Sheridan to discharge her from the tedious service. No one, save for Halcyon, had said more than a handful of words to her all afternoon; it was clear that she was regarded as little more than the entertainment.

  “Aha!” The Tin Man returned with whatever Halcyon had requested. “My dear, if you would take up your position once more?”

  Pity obeyed as he headed downrange, wondering what trick he had up his sleeve.

  “I’m sure you’ve all enjoyed Serendipity’s exhibition so far,” Halcyon announced, turning so that he faced her. “But what is any act by the Theatre Vespertine without a touch of danger?”

  With a dramatic flourish, he raised a pack of cards, fanned it out, and picked one.

  Nervous understanding stirred in Pity’s stomach as he held it up between his index and middle finger: the ace of spades.

  Too risky. She shook her head slightly, but Halcyon remained as he was, the card held less than a foot from his head. She turned to Selene.

  “That won’t do.” Selene stood and swept over to Halcyon. “Let’s show the people something they’ve never seen. Right, Pity?” She snatched the card. “It will be just like your first show.”

  The stirring turned to cold fear. Around them, the guests’ attention piqued, accented by whispers of disbelief as Selene raised the card in the same manner as Halcyon.

  “Selene, no.” Sheridan laughed. “I don’t think anyone needs more proof of Pity’s talents.”

  “Oh, it will be fun.”

  Beau marched over to her. “Absolutely not. I can’t let this—”

  Selene put up her other hand, cutting him off. “Go on, Pity. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  Pity couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Beau hovered near Selene, the clash of dissent versus deference clear on his face. But it wasn’t Beau’s approval that mattered. And unlike at Pity’s first show, Selene was giving her permission to shoot.

  Her hand tightened around her gun. The shot was challenging, but not impossible. No more than what she did every time she performed in the Theatre. But if she missed? A realization picked its way to the front of her mind—if she missed outright, Selene would think it was on purpose. Yet even if she tried her best, there was always the chance that Selene would end up short a finger or two… or worse.

  Selene waited, a patient smile on her lips.

  It’s a test. Another demonstration of submission. Beeks, the Finales, Sheridan… one trial after another, and there was only one path that would give Pity what she wanted.

  Obedience.

  She lifted her gun. Aimed.

  Numbness washed over her as Beau’s hand lifted. For a sliver of time, Pity anticipated a flash of black, followed by pain as his bullet pierced her. But his arm stopped mid-movement. His hand tightened into a fist and dropped to his side again.

  She hesitated, praying he would interfere.

  Knowing he wouldn’t.

  The ice of his stare pressed on her, as did the nervous anticipation of the onlookers, but she forced it all away, until only two things were left: Selene and the card. The spade centered in her vision; every grain of her concentration focused on it, raven-black in the sunlight.

  Pity took a breath and exhaled.

  Bang!

  The card bucked in Selene’s hand. Instinctively Pity knew she had made the shot the moment she pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t until Selene brandished the target triumphantly that her tension released. The guests applauded in delight.

  Selene glided back to Pity, Beau shadowing her, and held the card out. A neat hole pierced the spade. “See? Not so hard. Wasn’t that a good shot, Beau?”

  “It was an unnecessary shot.”

  Pity winced at his tone, though she didn’t think it was directed toward her.

  “Oh, I think it served its purpose.” Selene gestured at Sheridan, already entrenched in conversation again. “He seems satisfied, don’t you think?”

  “I certainly hope so, ma’am.”

  “As do I. But Casimir wouldn’t be what it is if I counted on hope to tell when a patron was pleased.” She handed Pity the card. “You’ve done well so far. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? No unpleasant distractions.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

  “The upcoming show. I’ve already spoken to Halcyon, and I think your talents are of better use where they are right now.” She smoothed her dress. “So let’s not be worried about any other performances, okay?”

  It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. No performance. Selene was releasing her from the Finale. Brilliant relief coursed through her. She fought the grin that rose to her face, losing momentarily before regaining her composure. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  “Well?” said Selene. “Back to work.”

  Pity obeyed, returning to Sheridan’s side. When he touched her shoulder affectionately, she looped her arm into his, smiling like a woman besotted.

  It wasn’t so hard to do, so long as she thought about Max while she did it.

  To her delight, Max was waiting for her when Selene’s party finally concluded, well after the velvet cloak of evening had descended. He jumped up from her bed as she entered the room, enveloping her in his arms.

  “I finished in the theatre hours ago. Where have you been?” There was a new vibrancy to his demeanor, as if a film of despair had been ripped off, leaving a fresh version of him behind. “He didn’t want to keep you any longer, did he? Did he treat you okay?”

  “Stop it.” Pity pushed him away so she could collapse on the bed. “He was so busy rubbing elbows he barely acknowledged I was there. Selene made me shoot her, though.”

  “Good… wait, what?”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you all about it. You were careful to make sure no one saw you come in, right?” Fiction or not, she was supposed to be with Sheridan. Rumors of Max in and out of her room at odd hours were the last thing she needed.

  “I can be as sneaky as you, y’know.”

  She felt her boots loosen and her socks disappear, and then Max’s hands were massaging her bare feet. It felt delicious, but she laughed. “You’re doing that at your own risk, y’know. I don’t know what’s filthier—my feet after standing around all day or your hands.”

  “Well, if we’re both so filthy,” he said suggestively, “maybe we should hop in the bath and clean up.”

  It was a welcome suggestion, but if Pity had to describe what went on after that, clean up would not have been the words she used.

  “Don’t go.” She yawned, eyes blinking. “It’s early.”

  “No, it’s not.” Max pulled on his shirt. “If I don’t stitch up those last backdrops this morning, Halcyon will pitch a fit.”

  She slid out after him, shrugging on her robe. “Let him.”

  Max embraced her, a gesture she felt she’d never tire of. It was like being wrapped in a favorite blanket.

  “Not all of us are big, shiny stars of the Theatre.” He released her. “I’m only a worker bee, and I do what the queen—or king, in this case—says.”

  He peeked out the door. Pity followed and grabbed his hand as he slipp
ed into the hall.

  “Fine,” she said, “but give me one more kiss before you go.”

  As his lips touched hers, Pity thought she saw a flash of pink over his shoulder. But when she looked again, the hallway was empty.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Oh, hey, you look familiar.” Luster peered closer. “Can’t quite place your face, though.”

  “Ha, ha.” Pity climbed onto the barstool beside her. Around them, the Gallery’s energy was sluggish, only a handful of the gambling tables occupied.

  “You look tired.” Luster sipped at a mug of coffee. “Funny, since you seem to be going to bed plenty early.”

  “Morning practices. That’s all.”

  “Really? Then why didn’t Halcyon deliver this himself?” She brandished a folded square of orange paper.

  Pity snatched it away.

  Serendipity, it read, despite your respite from tomorrow evening’s performance, please join me in the morning. I’ve had the most brilliant idea for your act! Devotedly yours, Halcyon.

  “Hmm, he must have forgotten.”

  “Serendipity Jones, you are the worst liar I’ve ever seen!” Luster leaned in conspiratorially. “And every time I’ve caught a glimpse of you lately, there’s been a big, silly smile on your face.” She cocked her head. “You know what? Come to think of it, someone else has been walking around with a fresh glow…”

  “Shh!” Pity’s cheeks blazed, fear coursing through her. She looked around, but no one was within earshot. “Keep your voice down! Okay, I admit it! Max and I… we…”

  Luster laughed, a great whooping cry. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

  “Be. Quiet,” Pity said through gritted teeth.

  Luster settled, with a grin so wide it nearly split her face. “It’s about damn time. Tell me everything. Well, not everything, but tell me what finally happened. And what about Sher—”

  She broke off.

  Pity followed her gaze. Adora stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

  “Miss Selene would like to see you,” she said. “Right now.”

  Adora led her to the suite’s elevator, snapping her fingers impatiently at the guards as they reached it.

  “Wakey, wakey, boys. Look sharp,” Adora snapped. “Or at least pretend. Pity? Guns. Leave them here.”

  “What?”

  “Leave your guns”—Adora accentuated each word—“here.”

  She’d never been barred from carrying her guns in front of Selene before. Fingers dumb with reluctance, Pity yanked at her belt strap. She removed it and handed it to one of the Tin Men.

  “Watch those,” Adora ordered, a little cat’s smile on her lips. “But don’t play with them. Pity doesn’t like it when you do that.” She motioned for Pity to enter the elevator.

  When it opened again, Selene stood before a window, her back to them. Adora cleared her throat and sat on a couch, eyes wide with expectation, something Pity had seen plenty of times before.

  It was the look of someone waiting for the show to start.

  A nervous sensation grew within her, as if a nest of ants had settled in her stomach.

  Selene’s voice, when it came, was low. “Have a seat.”

  Pity took a few steps forward, one eye trained on Adora. “Is something wrong?”

  Selene’s figure turned partway, so that the light of the noon sun glazed the edges of her form. “Sit,” she said again. It was not a request.

  Pity went down the stairs and obeyed.

  Selene moved closer so that she stood above them. “Sheridan. What did he tell you?”

  “About what?”

  “When is the last time you were with him?”

  “I… yesterday. At the party.”

  “You were supposed to stay with him.” A streak of red entered Selene’s voice. “To report back on whatever you observed.”

  “I did. I was there whenever he wanted me—”

  “And what about when others wanted you? From what Adora has told me, you’ve been spreading your attentions around.”

  Her skin prickled, a frost of fear blooming. “Miss Selene—”

  “I gave you a task,” Selene spat. “Play your part. Keep Sheridan content—and observed. Instead of doing that, you’re off with Max—Max, for goodness sake—and now Sheridan is leaving!”

  Pity stiffened. “What?”

  “He sent word this morning.” A vase of white flowers sat on a table nearby. Selene went over to it, plucked a dead leaf, and crumpled it in her fist. “He’s leaving and you’re carrying on however you please.”

  “That’s not true! I did exactly what you told me to do!”

  Selene tossed the ruined leaf away and snapped her fingers at Adora. “Look!”

  Adora pressed a button set into the arm of the sofa. A screen flickered to life on the wall, cleverly hidden among the paintings.

  “What—” Pity began. The sound was muted, but the headline scrolling beneath the picture of Sheridan was all the explanation she needed.

  DRAKOS-PRYCE ENDORSES DARK HORSE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE PATRICK SHERIDAN.

  “Do you understand now?” Selene demanded.

  “Yes,” Pity said quietly. This had nothing to do with Max. “Drakos-Pryce decided to back Sheridan. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

  “Drakos-Pryce didn’t decide anything. They would never give away support like that for nothing. Sheridan must have been hedging his bets from the beginning, dealing with them behind my back.” Her expression darkened. “Drakos-Pryce would never suffer a president indebted to us, so they indebted him first. Either way Sheridan gets what he wants. The minute he’s elected they’ll probably have CONA’s forces on our doorstep, ready to reduce the city to ash.”

  “He… wouldn’t…” She fixated on the broadcast again. Selene or Drakos-Pryce—if what he wanted was the presidency, what did it matter who handed it to him? Cold dread pierced her gut. Maybe Max had been right. What if Sheridan had told her only what he thought she wanted to hear?

  No. Sheridan had been a Patriot once; he wouldn’t turn on the people he’d fought with. And he knew the city’s power. He wouldn’t want to see it destroyed. “But Drakos-Pryce could back whoever they wanted and still get rid of Cessation. Why Sheridan? It doesn’t need currency. What else does he have to offer?”

  “That”—Selene signaled for Adora to turn off the broadcast—“is something I don’t know.”

  For the first time since coming to Cessation, Pity heard real fear in Selene’s voice. Anxiety pricked at her temples. Selene’s confidence had always seemed adamant, unshakable. And yet, in one move, Sheridan and Drakos-Pryce had undone her.

  “We can’t let him leave,” Selene continued. “Not yet. Your romance might have been an act, but he likes you. Trusts you. I need you to convince him to remain in the city while I figure this out.”

  “How? Hold him at gunpoint?” Pity’s blood burned with frustration. “And if what you’re saying is true, what happens if Drakos-Pryce—or CONA—gets wind of that?”

  Selene paced across the room, thinking. “You’re right. I may not be able to keep him here, but he’s president by my hand or not at all.” She stopped and turned back to Pity. “So you are going to leave with Sheridan. Once you’re in Columbia, find out how Drakos-Pryce got their claws into him. Then, when the opportunity presents itself, kill him.”

  Pity sucked in a breath. “What?”

  “Perhaps a lovers’ quarrel of some sort?” Adora offered.

  “Yes,” said Selene. “That will be believable, given the circumstances, and won’t be blamed on Cessation. Yes, that will work.”

  “No!” She stood. “I won’t do it.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “I can’t.” The thought of putting Sheridan in her sights made her whole body clench. “He might have betrayed you, but he didn’t betray me. Find another way.”

  Selene approached again. Her hand shot out, grabbing Pity by the chin. “He betrayed all of us.” Her voice was p
oison spread on silk. “Does he know about Max?”

  Pity shook her head.

  “Good. Then tell him whatever you have to—that you’re tired of the Theatre, that you’ve really fallen in love with him—I don’t care. Just make sure you are with him tomorrow when he goes. Or”—her grip tightened, fingers digging into flesh—“the next Finale will be yours to deal with.”

  Pity’s gut clenched.

  “And instead of Daneko, I’ll make Max its star.”

  The air went out of her lungs. No. “But he hasn’t done anything wrong…”

  “So?” Selene let her go. “Neither did the porter who hanged himself after Daneko tried to kill me. He wasn’t the one who helped the mercenaries into Casimir, but I knew word would get out, and a living, unidentified traitor is worse than a dead, known one.” An acid smile etched on her lips. “A piece of advice, Pity: Whatever your weaknesses are, don’t let them show. And if they do show, find a way to make them go away. As it will turn out, that poor boy’s death was a cover-up by the real conspirator: Max.”

  “Max isn’t a traitor!”

  “No, of course he’s not,” said Selene. “But if I put him in that arena and say he is, who is going to question it?”

  Pity’s hands dropped to her sides, but found only air instead of steel. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Do what you’re told and you won’t have to find out. And if you think you can get to Max first, forget about it. He’s already in the tombs, where he’ll stay until I’m sure Sheridan isn’t a problem anymore.”

  Pity gritted her teeth, her whole body petrified by anger. “How can you do this? I did everything you asked. I helped save your life!”

  Selene turned away. “My life is only worth something in Cessation. And if the city isn’t safe, none of us are.”

  “But… but…” Pity grasped for something, anything. “You said that Casimir is a family! Max is family!”

  “He is,” said Selene, “but this family is big. And I’ll do what I need to in order to protect it, including making sacrifices. Now go. And if you need inspiration to do whatever it is you need to do with Sheridan, just picture Max”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Pity—“in the spotlight, and how those soulful gray eyes will look the moment before you pull the trigger.”