“Please, Star,” she began, moving between them, holding his eyes, lifting her free hand to his face. “Just take me inside. I want to be inside, with you…”

Something was happening to his face, to his eyes. Something was kicking in, something that gave him a new, concentrated, rapacious look. His arm was curling around her shoulder now, his grip becoming gentler. He began to draw her toward the portico steps, holding the gun, rubbing the gun against her throat. Up the steps, all eight of them; under the cover of the canopy. He fumbled with his left hand, drew the keys out of his pocket, handed them to her.

“You open the door. Open the fucking door. Get the elevator quick…”

It’s all right, Gini thought. No one was moving, no one was near: it was just her and Star and this key; the world had narrowed to this tiny, fraught space. Her hands shook; she couldn’t stop her hands shaking. They were shaking so badly, she couldn’t insert the key into the lock. It scratched and jittered against the metal.

“Let me help you, Gini,” said a cool voice from right behind her, and she felt Pascal’s hand close over hers.

He guided the key at once into its slot.

Pascal could feel the shutters clicking in his mind. A series of fast, power-driven shots. The distinctive car, being driven erratically, accelerating fast, then braking sharply, just those few feet in front of them. One part of his mind was still listening to Marianne, and the birthday party she would be having, and the magician who could produce rabbits from hats, then he was also seeing the man get out from the passenger seat, and seeing the blood, then the glint of metal. And it was still—just—all right, because he had Marianne in his arms, was starting to turn, there was a doorway behind them less than five feet away, and the man, crazed, moving jerkily, like a marionette, did not seem even aware of their presence on the sidewalk. So there was still time to turn, shield Marianne, walk, not run, he thought—and then he heard Gini’s name and he did not turn or move away—which was simultaneously the one right thing in the world to do then, and the most terrible mistake.

She bought him time. He watched her do that in a moment that lasted less than ten seconds but felt a century long. She shielded them with her body, then she walked up the portico steps with the man and she bought him time to set Marianne back down on the sidewalk, push her back into the doorway beyond.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Wait until I’m in that building, with Gini and that man, and the door is closed. Then run back to Maman. Tell her to call the police—at once. Tell her what you saw. Where I am. You understand, Marianne?”