Page 56 of Gunslinger Girl
Selene noted the hesitance. “Wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?” With a sly smile, she slid the envelope over to Pity. “Your first wages. I always make it a point to deliver them myself. Go on.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Pity took the envelope and glanced inside. Her fingers stiffened, and for a brief moment she wondered if a mistake had been made. On the commune it would have taken her half a year of solid work to earn the same amount.
“Every cent deserved and then some.” Sheridan tore the corner off a pastry. “I wouldn’t mind having your eye for talent, Selene.”
“Oh, don’t be coy about your own aptitudes.” A playful smile spread on Selene’s lips. “Pity, Patrick here took next to nothing and spun it into one of the largest non-corporate fortunes on the continent.”
“A gift for facts, figures, and faces,” said Sheridan. “Little different from what you do here, I suspect.”
“If that’s the case,” said Selene, “maybe you should be coy. Most of my business isn’t exactly appropriate for the next president of the Confederation of North America to engage in.”
Pity nearly dropped the envelope. “Pardon?”
Sheridan laughed and leaned back in his seat. “A bit premature to announce that, don’t you think?”
“Not if I have my way,” said Selene. “And I usually do.”
So that’s Sheridan’s business with Selene. Pity had expected black market goods or services, maybe even weapons, but the presidency? How deep did Selene’s power run?
“Besides,” Selene continued, “it’s no secret back east that you’ve thrown your hat into that ring.”
“It might as well be. What little attention I’ve garnered hasn’t exactly been promising.” Frustration crept into Sheridan’s voice. “One would think two decades would be enough to make people forget which side of the war you were on.”
“You were a Patriot?” said Pity.
“Guilty as charged,” he replied. “Though barely. I wasn’t much older than you when the conflict ended, but… well, memories last longer than wars, don’t they?”
“That’s why it will be all the more satisfying when you win.” Selene sipped her coffee as if they were discussing a feat already accomplished. “CONA’s first former Patriot leader.”
“My mother was a Patriot.” Pity felt a pang of familiar grief. “My father never let her forget it, either. Or me, after she died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Sheridan.
“She was the one who taught Pity to shoot,” Selene explained. “And I think she’d be very proud to see what you’ve made of yourself.”
Pity slid the envelope of currency under the edge of her plate. I hope so.
“If there is one thing I’ve learned in life,” Selene continued, “it’s that there’s no circumstance that can’t be overcome. My family was from Singapore, a city completely destroyed in the Pacific Event. We were fortunate enough to be away when it occurred, but it was a mixed blessing; everything and everyone we had ever known was gone. My parents rebuilt a life for us here, piece by hard-won piece. And years later, I arrived in a chaotic, ailing city populated by thieves and predators, and I saw the potential in it.” She smirked and gestured around her. “What it offers today draws people from all over the world.”
“Okay, you’ve made your case,” Sheridan conceded with a chuckle. “But you’re right. For all that’s come before, what’s important remains in front of us. Speaking of which—Pity, what are you going to do with your newfound fortune?”
The fortune stared up at her. “I honestly have no idea,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to—”
Over Selene’s shoulder, a flash of movement caught her eye. A black orb plunked onto the balcony and rolled to a stop at the foot of the nearest guard.
Pity had just enough time to throw herself to the ground as a thunderous explosion consumed the morning.
CHAPTER 18
Pity was fast, but Beau was lightning. Before she hit the stone of the terrace, he tackled Selene, shielding her with his body. The bright morning disappeared, gone in a cloud of smoke.
Pity coughed and blinked away tears. Her ears rang as she pushed herself up, peripherally aware that little damage had been done. The small explosive was a common one, meant to disorient and disarm, not kill.
Except…
The Tin Man was gone, blown off the balcony. Three dull pops sounded behind her. When she twisted around, the other guard was on his knees, blood pouring from his chest. He collapsed as long black snakes of rope fell into view. She stumbled to her feet and looked up to see men in armor and helmets rappelling from the roof. As the first figure touched down on the terrace, she drew. Her shot caught him in the chest. He hit the edge of the railing and fell to the ground.
A few feet away, Sheridan was up, too, but dazed. Beau had his weapon drawn and an arm around Selene’s waist, supporting her. A thin line of blood ran down her face.
