CHAPTER 17

Pity woke the next morning to a pounding head and a rebelling stomach. Each beat of her heart brought a fresh stab of pain between her ears as she stumbled into the bathroom, where she threw up bile and scraps of last night’s dinner. Afterward, curled on the cool tile, the memories came rushing back, sour as the taste in her mouth.

I think you are in for a helluva morning, Serendipity Jones.

She drank some water and crawled back into bed, then woke for a second time tangled beneath the thick comforter, half suffocated by her pillow, heart pounding from a nightmare she couldn’t recall. She downed two more glasses of water and paged the kitchen.

“Hi, it’s Pity,” she said to the intercom, her tongue feeling like it was coated in pine tar. She always ate in the common dining area, but today—

Max might be there.

—she wasn’t sure she could make it.

“Can you send up coffee and”—her stomach gurgled menacingly—“plain toast, please?”

There was a good-natured laugh on the other end. “Popular order this morning.”

That done, she lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. So what are you going to do when you can’t avoid him anymore? It was an inevitability, but the aching embarrassment was still too fresh. Worse even than the night before—the way an injury hurt more once the initial shock had passed. Sooner or later she’d have to own up to her foolishness. The thought made her queasy in a way that had nothing to do with her hangover.

A sharp knock startled her from her ruminations. Moving slowly to favor her still-aching head, she went to the door, marveling at how quickly her food had arrived.

But when Pity opened it, Adora was on the other side.

She looked Pity over with acerbic amusement. “Looks like the champagne got the best of you last night.” She flicked a folded slip of paper at Pity.

Pity, it read. Please join me for breakfast tomorrow. It was signed with Selene’s neat script.

She didn’t need to be told the difference between an invitation and an order. “What’s this about?”

“Breakfast, I’d imagine.” Adora pushed a strand of pink hair back into place. “Someone will fetch you. Early. Don’t make her wait.”

But when someone arrived to get her the following morning, it wasn’t a porter, or even Adora.

It was a Tin Man.

Pity tensed, acutely aware of the weight of the guns against her hips. She had debated them as she dressed, Beau’s threat still fresh. Walking into Selene’s office armed probably wasn’t the smartest idea. Going in unarmed seemed a worse one. And it wasn’t as if she had been forbidden to carry her guns around Casimir.

Yet.

The Tin Man glanced at the weapons but didn’t say anything, only indicated for her to follow him. She obeyed, a sense of exposure overtaking her as she left her room for the first time since the night of the show. It had been easy enough to hide. Luster had peeked in on her the previous afternoon, but satisfied enough at finding Pity abed, she had promptly returned to her own. Apparently, the whole of Casimir was a little worse for wear following the revelry of Pity’s debut.

The Gallery was nearly deserted as they passed through it, only a few cleaning staff salvaging stray glasses and a patron snoozing in one of the booths.

And Sheridan, waiting near the elevator.

He smiled as she approached. “Hello again.”

“Good morning.” Pity struggled to recall his first name. Peter… no, Patrick. Patrick Sheridan.

“Wait here a moment, please.” The Tin Man went over to a display set in the wall.

Pity smoothed a hair behind her ear, wondering what Sheridan was doing here. “I should thank you again for the wine. It was the best thing I drank all night.”

“One thing among many, I’m sure.”

“Unfortunately.”

He chuckled—a sincere, disarming sound. “You were celebrating. And from what I can tell, a hangover is practically the morning uniform around here.”

But not for you. Sheridan’s crisp demeanor rivaled Beau’s. “Well, I’ve tried it on and I can’t say I like it.”

The Tin Man returned as the elevator door dinged open. “You can go up now.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Sheridan said as the doors closed, “but I was under the impression that I’d have Selene to myself this morning. Getting her alone is something of a challenge, it seems. She prefers to conduct business after dark, among her…distractions. I, however, do not.”

And what business is that, exactly? Pity wondered, recalling what Max had said about all the illicit dealings that took place at Casimir.

“Then again, now that your boyfriend isn’t here, maybe I’ll have a chance to hear your story.”

Pity tensed. “Max isn’t my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s only that he seemed quite defensive of you.”

“It’s all right,” she lied. A gut-sick feeling stirred in her. “Max is just a friend. And there’s not much to tell. We… I was headed for the eastern cities. Things turned out different.”

Selene was watering one of her potted trees as they stepped out of the elevator. “Ah, there you are.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Pity spied Adora, spinning lazily in Selene’s chair, and Beau, stone-still by the terrace door. “I hope we didn’t make you wait.”

“Not at all. It’s not too early, is it? Sometimes I forget that morning isn’t Casimir’s forte, but I’ve always been an early riser.”

“I’ll confess, Selene,” said Sheridan, reaching out to touch the broad, flat leaves of the tree. “All these plants, from all over the world. I don’t know how you keep them alive out here in the middle of this barren nothing.”

“It’s simple.” Selene’s words came out as ripe as the little fruits on the tree beside her. “Providing one knows what it takes to keep them thriving. Adora, have the meal sent out now, will you?”

Selene led them to the terrace, beyond where Beau stood, half cast in the morning light. He eyed Pity, waiting until Selene and Sheridan had passed before tapping the breast of his jacket. Pity brushed a thumb over the butt of one gun in response.

A pair of Tin Men were stationed outside, one at either end of the large, curved balcony. In the center sat a table set for three—three plates, three sets of utensils on linen napkins, and one white envelope. There was a faint breeze, carrying with it a melodious hum from the city below. Drawn by the sound, Pity went to the edge of the terrace. Below, a dense white mass billowed along the black road that led to Casimir. The Reformationists, she realized, in their pristine white robes, singing hymns. They gathered around the great fountain, their voices strengthening, though Pity still couldn’t pick out the words.

Sheridan came up beside her. “Looks like we’ll have a serenade. Did you arrange this, Selene?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, though not without a hint of playfulness. “But they’re almost pleasant from this distance, aren’t they?”

“I’m surprised you let them get that close.” He went to the table and pulled out Selene’s chair. “Seems like they could be bad for trade.”

“They’re harmless. A few good souls to help balance out the bad.”

Sheridan moved on to Pity’s seat. She slid into it.

“Thank you, Mr. Sheridan.”

“Patrick, please.”

Pity unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap, burying her hands in it as the food arrived. The others began serving themselves, but she waited, feeling like an extra body at the table. She might have earned her place in Casimir, but she hadn’t gotten the seat warm quite yet.

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.