Page 101 of Gunslinger Girl

“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?”