Page 94 of Gunslinger Girl
CHAPTER 30
A different kind of act.
The words ran through her mind over and over as the spotlights swept around the arena, searing the edges of the audience. Though they followed the Rousseaus as they flew through the air, Pity felt as if they kept settling on her. She repositioned herself in her seat, doing her best not to draw any more attention. As it was, she felt as if thousands of eyes were trained on her instead of on the performance taking place.
Beside her, Sheridan leaned over. “I neglected to say you look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“So how does it feel to be on this side?”
This entire city is a stage, she wanted to say. There is no “this side.” Still, there was a distinct sense of wrongness she couldn’t shake. She watched as Christophe and Chrétien executed a synchronized set of aerial flips, her insides echoing the maneuver. I should be below, with Eva and Marius and—
Max.
—the others. I should be out there, in the arena.
“Different,” she replied. “It reminds me of the first time I saw the show.”
And my first Finale.
She startled as Sheridan placed a hand on her forearm and gave it a brief, affectionate squeeze.
Settle down. She forced out a soft smile for anyone who might be watching.
As the Rousseaus’ performance ended, the lights dimmed, casting the emptiness before them in a velvety gray glow. No music played. In the center of the stage a single spotlight remained, as if waiting for someone. Pity’s blood began to pulse in her ears. The pungent tang of fearful sweat filled the air. Though Santino had told her otherwise, she was sure that Daneko was about to appear, to rise out of the dark pit to meet Selene’s justice.
Ser-en-di-pi-ty! Ser-en-di-pi-ty! The wicked chorus played in her memory. Ser-en—
No. She gripped the arms of her seat. When Halcyon appeared to announce the next act, she relaxed. There was no Finale coming. Tonight, the beast would not be fed.
Pity’s hands ached by the time the final round of applause sounded. She obediently took the arm Sheridan offered as the audience quit the theatre for the Gallery. The crowd was thick and perpetually shifting, a maelstrom of glitter and smoke and flesh. She scanned the Gallery as they entered, spotting Luster at a gambling table, an arm around a patron. Garland and Duchess were entrenched in some kind of dice game, while Olivia worked the bar, slinging drinks to Flossie and Halcyon.
Max was nowhere to be seen.
Something akin to relief filled her as they navigated through the mess. After the failed trip through the city, it was better if Max kept his distance. The thought of him watching her all evening—judging every word or laugh she traded with Sheridan—scalded her with annoyance. He’d revealed a side of himself that baffled her no matter how she tried to fit it into her existing perception of him, as if he were a puzzle she’d thought she’d finished, but that was now missing crucial, clarifying pieces.
They settled into their private booth, already stocked with a plethora of fine food and drink, and attendants ready to fetch anything that might be missing. Pity accepted a glass of wine but left it untouched. Her head was already swimming uncomfortably, her veins humming with anxiety.
Smile. You’re still onstage.
She sought out Luster again, desperate for a friendly face, but as her gaze skimmed past the bar, a knot of patrons loosened to reveal a solitary figure.
His back was to her, but she knew him before he started to turn.
Max.
Their eyes snagged on each other’s.
Something was different.
Pity didn’t need to be close to see it—it was painted on him in the set of his shoulders, the curve of his mouth—but she couldn’t give it a clear name, either. He had a look like a bird halfway through molt, a serpent with its skin half shed. More of him seemed to fall away as they stared at each other, until she wasn’t sure who it was she was looking at anymore. The urge to shove her way through the crowd, to shake off whatever it was that was gripping him, nearly carried her to her feet.
“Pity?”
She turned back to find Sheridan watching her.
“Is something wrong?”
