Page 88 of Gunslinger Girl
The way she’d said special set Pity’s skin crawling.
“None of this goes beyond this room, do you understand?” Selene continued. “Friend or foe, I want whoever might be paying attention to Sheridan focused on his indulgences, the lovely young lady keeping him company, and nothing else.”
“What if no one is fooled?”
“Well,” Selene said, “you’ll have to play your part convincingly, won’t you?”
It was meant to be an order—or a warning—but there was something more, veiled beneath Selene’s unequivocal tone. Pity studied the woman more closely. The corners of her mouth were tight, her skin slightly flushed.
She’s worried, and she doesn’t like it. Why? “If you can’t get him the presidency, that’s all that Sheridan loses.” She hesitated. “What do you lose?”
At first, Selene’s gaze narrowed to an icicle point. Then it melted, and she laughed. “You are learning, aren’t you?” Her expression sobered. “I’m afraid it’s what we lose. When I took control of Cessation, CONA was still licking its wounds from the war, trying to keep its new, fragile society from breaking apart at every unfamiliar turn. Now? The core of CONA’s power grows stronger, creeps a little farther west with each passing day. And when they come up against an obstacle?” She let the question hang.
Pity thought of the battered dissident refugees. “They remove it. Or get someone like Drakos-Pryce to do it for them.”
Selene nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before they turn their gaze to Cessation.”
It isn’t that Selene wants a pet politician, Pity realized, it’s that she needs one. Threats like Daneko were nothing compared to CONA. “You want Sheridan to protect the city.”
“Yes. In a way I will never be able to. As it stands, we are tolerated. The deals made here, the desires indulged, the secrets kept—they help keep our enemies in the east at bay. But I’d be a fool to think that will last forever.” Selene stood, pressing her palms flat on the desk. “Cessation is no backwoods settlement, easily toppled by Drakos-Pryce’s little death squads. If threatened, it will fight.” She sighed. “And it will lose. But a military movement of that caliber would require approval by the president. My goal is to prevent that from ever happening. Fortunately, as rich and brilliant as Sheridan is, he doesn’t have the right associations to gain the presidency on his own.”
“Do you?”
Selene blinked at her. The room seemed to chill. Careful.
“Max said that only the Drakos-Pryce Corporation can guarantee something like that. And it’ll have nothing to do with Cessation.”
“Max stays well-informed.” Every syllable carried warning. “But Drakos-Pryce isn’t the only way to the presidency. There are many, many powerful people in CONA who owe me favors.”
Pity swallowed, hesitant. “What about Daneko?”
Selene smiled as if she had been waiting for the question. “I’ll get to him eventually. Your participation in that matter will depend on how otherwise engaged you are.”
There it was: the sugar to entice Pity to swallow the bitter. Agreeing to entertain Sheridan was more than a second chance to regain Selene’s favor; it was her way out of executing Daneko.
But he won’t be the last person to end up in the arena. Her hand twitched, trigger finger curling into a claw before relaxing again. Sooner or later someone else would cross the wrong line and Pity would be back in the same situation. I can’t stop the Finales, but…
“If I do this”—the words had risen to her lips, escaping before she could stop them—“I never want to perform another Finale.”
Selene’s face pinched in displeasure. Even Adora appeared taken aback by her boldness.
“You want Sheridan, and Sheridan wants me.” Pity wondered if she were digging her own grave, but bloodthirsty applause hissed in her ears, urging her onward. There was no going back now. “I’ll do what you want. But if I do it right, I don’t want to kill Daneko in the Finale or anyone else ever again.” She took a steadying breath. “Seems like a small price to pay in the pursuit of Cessation’s continued safety.”
Selene didn’t respond immediately. A line of sweat ran between Pity’s shoulder blades. She prayed her nervousness didn’t show on her face.
“Agreed.” The word clicked like a bullet entering a chamber. Selene sat back down in her chair, eyes flashing. “You certainly are bold when you want to be, Serendipity Jones. Let’s both hope the day never arrives when you wish you had simply pulled the trigger when you were told to.”
“Champagne?”
Sheridan served it himself, pouring until the honey-colored liquid nearly reached the brim of the glass. Pity kept her hands in her lap, fingers entwined, and watched the bubbles race to the surface. The festive buzz of the Gallery surrounded the booth they occupied. Its location was discreet enough that they wouldn’t be overheard, but it did little to shield them from the stares. Pity felt simmered by hundreds of tiny flames as all around the room people looked without looking, a skill widely mastered in Casimir. It was not unlike her first night in the Theatre, when the audience had been waiting for her show to start. Then, she had been terrified; now, she was irritated. She wasn’t doing any more than what half of them did—less, in fact—and it was at Selene’s order.
You knew there’d be curiosity. On the heels of her conversation with Selene, an invitation had arrived from Sheridan, asking her to join him that evening for dinner in the Gallery. She tugged the skirt of her dress over her knees, feeling foolish in it.
It’s only another costume, she told herself, the same way this is just another act.
“How many bottles?” said Sheridan.
“Hmm?” Pity roused to find him beaming a smile at her.
