The target exploded, sending a spray of violet powder into the air. As the wind took it, carrying it over the edge of Eden, the onlookers clapped. Pity took aim and sent three more to the same fate. More applause. By the time she obliterated the remaining setup, the far end of the makeshift range was a rainbow haze, drifting slowly to the city below.

“Marvelous!” A patron clapped Sheridan on the back. “You’d best stay on this one’s good side, Patrick.”

“I’m doing my best.” He shot her an enamored, effortlessly convincing smile.

It was supposed to be a party, though by Casimir’s standards Pity wouldn’t name it that. Barely a dozen people stood beneath the crisp, cloudless sky, lingering around tables set with refreshments or reclining on padded sofas. While numerous Tin Men did their best to blend in with the garden, Eden was otherwise closed off, the usual selection of Casimir’s workers excluded.

If it was a party, Pity figured, it was an intensely private one. But hope stirred. Whatever promises and pacts Selene was making on behalf of Sheridan, they seemed to be bearing fruit. There was an elite air to these particular guests, a flavor of confidence only exuded by those comfortable in their power.

“Yes, her talent is peerless!” Halcyon flitted about like a gigantic hummingbird, extolling the virtues of the Theatre to anyone who would listen. “Serendipity never fails to astound.”

“That’s nothing.” Pity set to reloading her spent weapons. “The targets aren’t even moving.”

“She’s right.” Nearby, Selene lounged beneath a trellis of bougainvillea, sunshine dappling her charcoal sundress so that she resembled some kind of wildcat. Adora sat beside her, doing nothing to hide her boredom, while Beau stood watch over them both. “Halcyon, why don’t you and Pity show everyone something a little more exciting.”

Halcyon’s face brightened. “I have just the thing. A moment’s preparation, please.” He beckoned a Tin Man and whispered to him. The man ran off.

Meanwhile, Sheridan resumed conversing with a pair of the special guests. Earlier, he’d quietly offered Pity some of their names, but she’d promptly forgotten them. It was hard to focus on details like that. Or anything. Sheridan was still her charge, but it was Max who dominated her thoughts—his smile, the glint of his rings, the feeling of his body against hers. It was like a fog had settled upon her, a warm, early morning haze that left her feeling like there was nothing else in the world.

Her cheeks warmed, followed by the rest of her. For days she and Max had spent every free hour together. Hours that passed like minutes, while the ones when they were parted stretched into eternities. Impatience gnawed at her. Even now, he might be in her room, waiting for Sheridan to discharge her from the tedious service. No one, save for Halcyon, had said more than a handful of words to her all afternoon; it was clear that she was regarded as little more than the entertainment.

“Aha!” The Tin Man returned with whatever Halcyon had requested. “My dear, if you would take up your position once more?”

Pity obeyed as he headed downrange, wondering what trick he had up his sleeve.

“I’m sure you’ve all enjoyed Serendipity’s exhibition so far,” Halcyon announced, turning so that he faced her. “But what is any act by the Theatre Vespertine without a touch of danger?”

With a dramatic flourish, he raised a pack of cards, fanned it out, and picked one.

Nervous understanding stirred in Pity’s stomach as he held it up between his index and middle finger: the ace of spades.

Too risky. She shook her head slightly, but Halcyon remained as he was, the card held less than a foot from his head. She turned to Selene.

“That won’t do.” Selene stood and swept over to Halcyon. “Let’s show the people something they’ve never seen. Right, Pity?” She snatched the card. “It will be just like your first show.”

The stirring turned to cold fear. Around them, the guests’ attention piqued, accented by whispers of disbelief as Selene raised the card in the same manner as Halcyon.

“Selene, no.” Sheridan laughed. “I don’t think anyone needs more proof of Pity’s talents.”

“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?”

“Stop it.” Pity pushed him away so she could collapse on the bed. “He was so busy rubbing elbows he barely acknowledged I was there. Selene made me shoot her, though.”

“Good… wait, what?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll tell you all about it. You were careful to make sure no one saw you come in, right?” Fiction or not, she was supposed to be with Sheridan. Rumors of Max in and out of her room at odd hours were the last thing she needed.

“I can be as sneaky as you, y’know.”

She felt her boots loosen and her socks disappear, and then Max’s hands were massaging her bare feet. It felt delicious, but she laughed. “You’re doing that at your own risk, y’know. I don’t know what’s filthier—my feet after standing around all day or your hands.”

“Well, if we’re both so filthy,” he said suggestively, “maybe we should hop in the bath and clean up.”

It was a welcome suggestion, but if Pity had to describe what went on after that, clean up would not have been the words she used.

“Don’t go.” She yawned, eyes blinking. “It’s early.”

“No, it’s not.” Max pulled on his shirt. “If I don’t stitch up those last backdrops this morning, Halcyon will pitch a fit.”

She slid out after him, shrugging on her robe. “Let him.”

Max embraced her, a gesture she felt she’d never tire of. It was like being wrapped in a favorite blanket.

“Not all of us are big, shiny stars of the Theatre.” He released her. “I’m only a worker bee, and I do what the queen—or king, in this case—says.”

He peeked out the door. Pity followed and grabbed his hand as he slipped into the hall.

“Fine,” she said, “but give me one more kiss before you go.”

As his lips touched hers, Pity thought she saw a flash of pink over his shoulder. But when she looked again, the hallway was empty.