The Burn (7 page)

What she remembered didn't make sense. It couldn't, in any reasonable world, make sense. "Oh God," she said in horror. "What are you?"

"Your honored servant."

"No," she whispered. "You're something else. Something—"

He watched her, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Miranda swore under her breath and pushed away from him, ducking low in a quick dash for the door. It appeared so close, a breath away, almost there. The Necromancer grabbed her and she spun, kicking hard into his stomach. He grunted and she tore the dagger from its sheath.

The Necromancer hissed under his breath and pushed her off balance. She fell back against the warm metal. He came at her, pale eyes glowing.

She rolled back and slashed at him with the dagger. The blade cut through the flesh of his forearm, spilling blood across his tunic. He grabbed onto the dagger, forcing it from her hand.

Miranda punched him, her knuckles connecting sharply with his jaw. He growled and grabbed onto her wrist, now holding both her hands as she lay beneath him. She shook her head, screaming at him. "What do you want from me? You just want to hurt someone? Is that it? Is that what gets you off?"

"No one can hurt you, Miranda," he said through his teeth, the promise of some dark truth hidden in his tone. "And now you will remember why. Now you will remember everything."

* * *

Seth walked through the fading light along the playa. The desert had turned soft and dusky around him, the mountainous ridge in the distance gilded by the last bright rays of sunset. Human silhouettes drifted through cooling haze, bicycle riders circling and turning like schools of fish, laughter erupting between the camps. His RV appeared ahead, an eerie permanence implied by the thick layers of dust now covering its windows and tires, as if the thing had been sitting in the middle of the desert for a hundred years.

Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he reached for the door, only to find it open. It swung outward with the thin screech of metal. The interior of the RV was dark.

Seth frowned, stepping up into the shadows to flip on the cabin light. A petite blonde woman winced up at him from the couch. She was easily recognizable, with clear blue eyes and ringlet curls. It was the same blonde woman who had escorted Miranda around the playa all afternoon.

She looked shaken, her hair coming loose from its clasp, her eyes rimmed in red. She held her small hands in her lap, her fingers white and her expression strained.

"How did you get in here?" he asked.

"Your ex-girlfriend," the woman said, gesturing to an open envelope on the table. "Taped the keys to the door."

Seth looked down and picked up the envelope holding his spare set, reading the word 'asshole' written in florid handwriting and black marker along its surface.

He rolled his eyes.
Thank you, Cecilia.

"Please turn off the light," the woman whispered. "It would be easier to talk if you did."

"You think I'm interested in making things easier for you? Where is Miranda?"

"She's at the camp, please!" Her eyes glittered with tears.

Seth swore under his breath and flipped the light off. He climbed into the cabin, leaving the door open as he stood before her. "What's your name?"

"Julie."

"Why are you here, Julie?"

"She needs you."

"Now?"

"No, now she's—" Julie grimaced, swiping the tears from under her lashes angrily. "You have to come to the party tonight. The Necromancer has invited you to his private table. Miranda will be there. She needs you to be there too."

"She asked you to come here?"

Julie dropped her gaze. "No."

"He did? The Necromancer?"

"Yes, but it's not like that. You don't understand."

Seth shook his head, then paused, noticing the ominous speckled stain at the hem of her dress, splatters that appeared dark crimson in the half-light from the open door.

"Is that blood?" he asked, his heart taking a dive in his chest. "Are you hurt?"

"Not me?"

"Miranda?"

"She's fine," Julie replied haltingly. "They fought. It was the Necromancer who was wounded. He was trying to calm her down, but she was furious."

Seth felt his teeth grind. "Why?"

"They were talking. He was trying to help. He was just counseling her, but she's so angry, so full of war and wrath."

"Jesus. I'm going over there."

"No!" Julie shot up from the couch, rushing forward to grab onto his arm. "Don't. You can't. Not yet. She's not ready."

"Not ready?"

"She's meditating."

"She's what?"

Julie pressed her lips together, grimacing before her gaze darted away. Her lip trembled. "She's not like the others, you know? The other goddesses, the other Rathvam… They aren't human any more. There's only a few that can appear that way, you know, that can appear like us. Miranda was created to walk among humans, but she can't always handle it. So, when she's really upset, the Necromancer speaks to her, some kind of prayer or something. And then she slips into the divine state, where the rest of them are, a place above the limitations of the human mind. She can't hear or see anything now."

Seth shook his head, fighting a surreal sense of horror.

"It doesn't hurt her," Julie said quickly. "But this time, he's ordered her to remember everything when she comes back. And that'll be hard for her."

"What exactly is she going to remember?"

"Everything she was, everything that is now gone," Julie whispered, still looking away mournfully. "He had to do it. He had to force her to remember so that she would understand that fighting against it is pointless now."

"Fighting against what?"

"Against her destiny."

"What destiny?"

"You."

"Julie," he said sharply, grasping the woman's delicate chin between his fingers and turning her face back toward him. The glow from the open door cast her pale complexion in the rich colors of twilight, her eyes luminous and afraid.

"I'm losing patience. You have to help me here."

"I am helping you," she said, emotion clipping the words. "Can't you see that? Can't you see that I want you to succeed? Miranda came to protect us. I never wanted her to get hurt. You have to believe that. You have to bring her back, even if it is just for a little while. She chose you. She deserves you."

Seth drew in a harsh breath, trying to make sense of that.

"Please," she begged. "Come tonight. You are expected."

"Expected to do what?" he asked. "You're not telling me what I need to know. What has he done to her?"

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't say anything more. You wouldn't understand anyway. You have to see it for yourself. If you bring her back, you'll see it."

"Bring her back from where? See what?"

"You'll see it," Julie repeated, as if convincing herself with the words. "You'll come for her. I know you will."

He watched the woman for a moment, trying to decide how broken she was, how much of this she really believed.

She raised her slender hand, lightly touching his jaw with cool fingers. "Miranda chose the right man," she whispered.

She pulled out of his grasp and he let her go, allowing her to slip through the open door and out onto the playa. She walked away across the dust and disappeared between the tents, heading directly for the tents of the Divine Gate in the distance.

S
eth didn't arrive in costume. He walked past the blazing oil drum fires and into the Divine Gate camp dressed in nothing more than his boots, cowboy hat, jeans and a long drover jacket. He cut quickly through the lines of people in glittering costumes and masks at the entrance, scanning ahead for any sign of Miranda.

An arena had been prepared for the event, with scaffolding and bright lights that flooded the entire area with streams of vibrant color. A DJ was on the stage, positioned behind a wired semi-circle of turntables. He bobbed to the big rhythm grinding through the ten-foot speakers around the stage, his fingers nimble across the dials of a large mixer, his headphones askew with one ear covered and one exposed. Motioning to the crowd, he raised his hand as the pounding melted into an ethereal choir melody that seemed to float into the starlit sky.

Then the beat was on again, hard and fast, so loud it vibrated in Seth's chest. The crowd started jumping, whooping as the rhythm quickened. They were dancing in the sand, on platforms, writhing against each other. Blue and crimson light glinted from clothing, jewelry and slick skin. Flashes of neon glowed from light sticks and fiber optic costume pieces.

"Seth," Julie yelled his name.

He turned and she was there, her face painted like a Venetian mask, her ringlet curls giving her the appearance of a beautiful doll. She took his hand and led him through the crowd.

At the far end of the arena, out of the painful range of the music, two stages had been erected and decorated to look like gilded theater boxes. The stage on the left offered a long feasting table with large candelabras and tiered trays of fruit. Chairs had been placed around the table, occupied by costumed revelers in French aristocrat outfits.

The stage on the right had only one occupant. Miranda sat motionless in her golden throne, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression devoid of emotion.

He swore under his breath, surprised that he had recognized her. They had dressed her in a sari made from jet beads and black satin, crowned by a headdress of dark sequins and tassels. Her face was exotically painted, as if she were a character in a Chinese opera.

"This way," Julie called, leading him to the stage on the left, the stage he couldn't care less about.

He tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip.

"You must talk to him first," she explained. "Then you can go to her. The Necromancer wants to talk to you."

Seth glowered down at her. "Where is he?"

"Come. I'll take you."

She led him out of the pool of dancers to the VIP stage. They climbed the steps and ducked under a red and gold canopy, the colored glare of stage lights shining from heavy scaffolding overhead.

The feasting table stretched out before them, goblets of wine and champagne set next to silver trays of sugar coated fruit and lollipops. The guests seated at the table appeared drunk, flirting and laughing in exaggerated gestures, falling off their chairs with their wigs and costumes awry.

At the head of the table, a man with pale eyes and white blonde hair smiled, rising from his seat as Seth approached, showing himself to be almost as tall.

"Seth Romero," he said, his accent sharpening the Spanish pronunciation. "It is an honor to finally meet you properly."

Seth shook his head, anger burning raw in his chest. He recognized the trap he'd walked into. There could be no threats, no violence, as long as Miranda remained in a prisoner in plain view.

"And what do I call you?"

"Most call me Necromancer," the man said, offering the chair closest to him as he reclaimed his seat. "Please."

Seth reluctantly sat at the table, his hands closing into loose fists. "Necromancer. That a stage name, or general description, like 'kidnapper' or 'sadist'?"

The Necromancer smiled thinly. "Your skepticism is understandable, given what little you have seen."

"I've seen more than enough."

"Have you? Tell me then, where do you think the inspiration for your sculptures comes from?"

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't Julie tell you? I'm a great admirer of your work. I've added two pieces to my collection recently,
Clockwork
and
A Second's Worth
. They are magnificent, both of them, as precise as they are logical and elegant. And the rings; you may have noticed that I also appreciate them. It is obvious that metal speaks very strongly to you."

Seth stared at him, revulsion rising in his gut.

"Metal speaks to me as well," the Necromancer continued. "It has properties that are spiritual. More than rock or wood, it resonates. It resonates with energy and magnetism and memory. It can sing and whisper in a universe where subatomic vibration forms the fabric of reality itself. When properly formed and sculpted, certain metals can be made to resonate in such a way that they can bend reality itself. But perhaps you've always suspected that."

Seth made a harsh sound under his breath. "Is that what you tell these people? Part of your myth?"

"Such explanations are unnecessary. Humans revere metal. They cover their temples and their churches with it. They wear it as ornaments of power. They frequently place its value higher than human life. They do this for a reason, though they may only innately realize it. Their knowledge of the universe is instinctual. They sense elements of truth, but have no genuine understanding, no ability to integrate what they feel with the rudimentary technology they have developed. They work to battle, rather than to compose, with superior forces."

Seth narrowed his gaze. "Who
are
you?"

"A question with too many answers," the Necromancer replied smoothly, his gaze sliding to where Miranda sat on the opposite stage. "And none of them will help you. We both know that you did not come here for me."

Seth looked at the woman seated on the throne, her posture held perfectly erect, her slender hands clasping the armrests. She gazed back at him without recognition, the exotic paint around her eyes creating a dark and beautiful mask.

"What did you do to her?" he asked harshly.

"It was for her own protection. She cannot accept what she has become."

Seth glared at him. "Meaning what?"

The Necromancer sat back in his chair and signaled one of the servers, a woman dressed in a white wig and a pink satin corset. She approached swiftly and placed two silver goblets on the table. Lifting an ornate decanter, she poured a generous amount of red wine into each cup.

The Necromancer raised one of the goblets after she finished, gesturing that Seth should do the same. "Indulge me in this one act of civility, and I will tell you everything you need to know about Miranda."