The Burn Read online

  He pressed his lips together, his attention drawn to the staircase, the odd cast of light glowing along the steps.

  "Well?" Jenna prompted, a drunken impatience to her tone. "You gonna take your turn, or not?"

  Chapter Two

  Seth climbed into the first corridor, facing a long passage supported by iron bulkheads and heavy framework, its narrow path covered in thick grates. He focused on the closest wall, taking a moment to realize it was textured with ornate symbols, hundreds of slashed and curving marks floating in the deep silver grain, not stained, but somehow…

  He reached out to touch one, then drew his hand back, finding the surface warm and wet, its shine actually a slick layer of liquid. Rubbing his fingers together, he stared at the moist substance on his skin, its clear color tinged with a hint of coppery red.

  Voices echoed down the corridor. Laughter. Taunting.

  He followed the noise up another staircase, to a small chamber, its walls covered in the same dark shine. A four-sided metal column stood in the middle of the chamber. Its height had been segmented into three parts, with different symbols marking each of its polished facets.

  Beyond it, a woman sat on a metal throne, managing to look exactly like a goddess. Her body was slender and glowing in the candlelight, barely clothed in a gold mesh bikini with a veil-like skirt that shimmered against the cream of her skin. A fiery headdress held back the waves of her red hair, dripping layers of gold beads onto her shoulders. Her eyes were exotically penciled in dark liner and gold paint, her full lips left pale.

  She stared straight ahead, unblinking, giving no indication that she sensed anyone else in the room.

  Two male revelers had lined up before her throne, ready to try their luck at waking a goddess. The first was a tall kid, confident, standing in front of her with his hands spread in supplication.

  "Pul-ease," he teased. "Miss Goddess. Wake up. You're so beautiful, c'mon girl, wake up and we can go dancing, stop sittin' here in the dark."

  The woman remained expressionless.

  "C'mon, princess," he cajoled, taking off his coat and shirt and flexing his chest muscles for her approval. "You could have this, all to yourself. Can't turn it down, right? Good party, right here."

  Nothing.

  The guy shook his head, then gathered his clothes, shrugging it off with a grin as he left.

  The second reveler approached the throne, swaying heavily from foot to foot and laughing under his breath. His dark eyes were glazed, a flush of drunken lust caught in his expression.

  The goddess stared right through him.

  "You think I can't do this?" he asked her, as if she had challenged him. "You think you can just sit there?"

  Seth pressed his lips together, casting a searching glance toward the hallway. The corridor stood empty behind him, the distant thump of music reverberating in the air. There seemed to be no one watching them.

  "I'll tehh you what—" the drunk slurred, slumping to his knees in front of her. "You can't pretend for long."

  The woman didn't blink, didn't even seem to breathe, her green eyes fixed on the metal column in the center of the room. She was a statue, a cold, beautiful artifact.

  Seth pressed his lips together. What was she waiting for? Why didn't she end this? All she needed to do was break her silence, call for the bouncers, for him, for anyone to help her throw this guy out. She couldn't possibly be so committed to her act that she would allow this idiot to touch her.

  The drunk placed his hands on her knees, his palms covering the delicate curves of bone. He brushed aside the transparent gold fabric between her legs and splayed his fingers along the inside of her thighs.

  There was no reaction from her.

  Seth realized he was holding his breath, disbelief now replaced by alarm. There was something about her stillness that seemed impossible for a living being to imitate, something cold and lifeless, something that sent a chill under his skin.

  The drunk slid his hands higher, seeking the rounded curve of her hips. Grasping onto the straps of her bikini panties, he dragged them underneath her, trying to draw them down her legs.

  "C'mon," Seth urged. "That's enough."

  The man glared back at him. "Who are you?"

  "I'm asking you to stop. That's as far as it needs to go."

  The drunk swayed back, his eyes narrowing in anger. "The lady isn't asking me to stop."

  "That's kind of the problem, don't you think?"

  "No. This is Burning Man. This is all about challenging yourself, y-y-your morality and preconceived ideas. It's about surrendering to new experiences—"

  "I get that," Seth replied coolly. "But if you don't take your hands off her, I'm going to have to surrender to my preconceived intolerance for bullshit and throw you out."

  "Hey—"

  "The guy before you knew when to stop," Seth reminded him. "I'm just suggesting you follow his example."

  "I don't need examples."

  "You'd rather get knocked on your ass?"

  The drunk cocked his head, as if he hadn't heard the words correctly. "What the…you got a hell of a problem, don't ya? I'm gonna show you the damn door, is what I'm gonna do."

  He swung forward with both hands, reaching wildly for Seth's jacket. Seth stepped back and grabbed onto the man's shoulder, pulling him off balance. The drunk tripped over himself and Seth forced him to floor.

  The man wheezed and struggled under Seth's grip for a moment then let out a pained whine, his cheeks bulging against the metal grate.

  "Done?" Seth asked.

  "Yeah, okay, fuck you."

  Seth let him go and the drunk stumbled awkwardly to his feet, cursing as he headed for the corridor and disappeared without looking back.

  Seth released a tight breath through his teeth, cutting his gaze to the woman on the throne. If she had seen what he had done on her behalf, she gave no sign of it.

  He stood before her, fighting the sensation that she somehow wasn't real. She looked too perfect to be real, the rich jade color of her eyes, the curve of her pale lips, the cold translucence of her skin. She could have been made of porcelain, if not for the faintest blush of freckles along her shoulders, the fiery variation of copper reds in her hair.

  She was real. She had to be real.

  Seth dropped his gaze to the strap of her panties, still stretched across her thigh where the drunk had been interrupted.

  Most of the revelers he'd observed so far had seemed harmless and respectful enough, but there were always a few in any crowd like the idiot he'd thrown out and there seemed to be no security present to help her.

  Seth swore under his breath, approaching the throne against his better judgment. She didn't blink as he leaned down over her. She stared right past him, her exotic eyes fixed, their dark pupils not overly dilated or constricted. She didn't seem drugged, sick or off-balance. She was simply…still.

  Sliding the cowboy hat from his head, he knelt beside her, pressing his lips against her ear. "Are you okay?"

  He waited for a response from her and received none.

  She didn't move, didn't blink.

  Seth frowned, so close that he could feel the chill of her cheek against his, the strange coldness of her flesh.

  It was almost as if she were—

  Her lips parted, a hollow sound slipping under her breath.

  Seth turned his head toward the noise, only to feel the surprise touch of her mouth on his. She kissed him, the fragile press of her lips desperate, as if searching for warmth.

  For one instant, he thought he'd pull away, but the moment came and went with him still entwined. He drew her closer, finding himself caressing her with a slower, deeper touch, nudging her lips open for more. He kissed her longer than he expected to and lost his way somewhere in the middle of it, unable to hide the hint of hunger that came from tasting her.

  A tremor passed through her body.

  She broke the kiss and drew a deep, ragged breath. Coiling upward on the throne, sh
e arched her body, her head falling back with a spill of red hair and glittering beads. Her lips remained parted, the skin of her cheeks flush, her body warming from ivory to pale peach.

  He watched her, stunned beyond words.

  A cloaked figure appeared from behind her. He was tall, his presence dark, almost wraithlike. It seemed impossible that he had been there the entire time, but even less likely that he had been able to enter the chamber and walk completely around it without Seth having seen him.

  There were hidden doors in the walls, he realized.

  "We welcome the Goddess of War," the figure said, his voice deep and colored by an Eastern, perhaps Russian, accent. "Behold, my Angel of the Gate, your earthly champion."

  The woman opened her eyes, their jade green color sharpening as she focused on Seth. He saw surprise, confusion.

  "What's your name?" he asked her.

  She looked at him, shaking her head.

  "Your name?" he asked again.

  "Miranda," she answered clearly. "My name is Miranda."

  * * *

  Miranda breathed the words, her own name sounding foreign. She gazed into the hazel eyes of a stranger, her champion, an unexpected cowboy. He pressed his lips together, the angular lines of his face lending him a brooding intensity, his dark hair loose and shining against his tanned complexion. The warmth he had given her lingered in her blood. She felt powerful, alive.

  She wet her lips. "Who are you?"

  "Seth. I'm—"

  "What is this place?"

  He looked uncertain, as if he hadn't expected her to ask.

  A man in a cloak appeared from behind her, his face shadowed under its dark hood, his presence familiar. Around them, more cloaked figures appeared, filling the small room. Their hushed whispers were heavy with awe. Some held hands. Others began to weep.

  "The lock, Miranda," the cloaked man insisted. "It calls to you."

  The lock.

  Miranda looked past Seth, focusing on the metal column at the center of the room. It was somehow whispering. Rising from her seat, she stepped down, her bare feet padding along the warm metal floor. The pillar waited, its cryptic symbols chiming soft and ancient tones.

  They were mathematical, she realized.

  They were simple.

  They were out of order.

  Reaching out, she touched her fingers to the cold metal surface of the pillar. A hum reverberated through the floor.

  Cries issued from the gathering in the room.

  The pillar began to turn slowly, its facets catching the light. The metal segments spun, screeching as the old gears and sprockets within their framework turned in unison. The column ticked off positions like a clock, the symbols aligning, reading top to bottom along all four facets of the column. The correct sequence ground into place and stopped, a faint light shining through the metal panels in the wall.

  "What the hell was that?" Seth murmured.

  "You have done well," the cloaked man answered him. "Now you must leave. This camp is closed for the night."

  Miranda turned back, an ominous feeling overtaking her. The man terrified her, for reasons she didn't understand, couldn't remember.

  "Miranda.” Seth rose to his full height and squared his large shoulders, standing taller than any of them. “You want me to leave?"

  Glancing around the small chamber, she remembered nothing about where she was, or who she was beyond her name, or who the cloaked individuals were. She remembered only that they were dangerous and that no outsider would stand a chance against them.

  She was his only protection now.

  "Leave," she said, holding his gaze. "Now."

  He frowned, fitting his cowboy hat back on his head, nodding once to her as he left. She watched him disappear down the corridor, knowing in her heart that he had just entered a world he would never escape from.

  Chapter Three

  Seth walked out onto the dust of the playa, glancing back as crowd began to disperse. Cloaked figures were already dousing the oil drum fires along the area’s perimeter, casting the large structure in the center of the camp into darkness. Jenna was nowhere to be found, which didn't surprise him, since it seemed, in retrospect, that she had been part of it all.

  He grimaced, more confused by what he'd felt than what he'd seen. It could have passed for a game, an intentional challenge to his senses, a radical expression of art. The more he replayed it in his mind, however, the more it seemed like something else, something darker.

  Miranda.

  He could still feel that kiss, something about her, the energy that warmed her skin and her breath as they touched.

  It made her vulnerability, her apparent confusion about where she was, that much harder to walk away from. He wanted to go back. The urge to do so tore at him, promising that he would have no peace within himself until he did. And yet, she'd been very clear in asking him to leave, very clear and very coherent.

  He cursed under his breath.

  A submarine art car rolled slowly past him, its torpedo-shaped body emitting a soft pinging noise. Bulbous windows glowed blue along its sides, trailing watery light as it rolled into the darkness of the playa.

  Enough, Seth thought, enough for tonight.

  He turned at one of the streets, heading back to his RV.

  "Hey!" A man's voice called after him. "Hey there. Hold up, cowboy. Tall guy, aren't you?"

  Seth let a slow breath out through his teeth.

  "Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you," the man said. "My friend and I just wanted to know if you'd like a drink. We're older guys here, a little lost maybe, you know. We're hoping to find just one person in this dustbowl that won't try something funny. You know, a guy who can do a few shots without running his make-up."

  Seth rolled his eyes.

  The man jogged up beside him. Overweight and blonde, he cracked a good natured grin. He was wearing dark clothes and a fluffy hat. His friend was younger, angrier, and wore regular clothing, without party trim of any kind.

  "What do you say? You want to have a drink with a couple of normal Joes like us?" the older guy asked, wheezing as he continued to keep pace with Seth.

  "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really give a damn who you are or what you’re looking for," Seth said. "I'm not looking to start drinking right now."

  "Well, it sounds like you need a drink," the older guy replied, holding up a bottle. "Malt scotch, twelve years old. Tastes great after you've had your mind twisted into a pretzel by the Rathvam."

  Seth stopped short, his eyes narrowed. "The what?"

  "My name's Pete, and my friend here is Logan," the older man said. "We saw you coming out of their camp as they were shutting the place down. We figured you might have had something to do with the early closure. Wake the woman, did you?"

  Seth stared at him, feeling his anger rise. "Who are you?"

  "Ah, so now you give a damn?" Pete chuckled. "Don't worry, sport, we know it's been a rough night. Truth is, we're a lot more knowledgeable than we look. Maybe you want to have a drink with us in that ancient RV of yours and ask us whatever you want. I promise you the truth, as far as we know it."

  "You've been watching me?"

  "It's not sinister. C'mon Seth, have a drink with us. It's in your best interest at this point. We both know that you're not walking away from this, from her, just yet."

  "Jesus," Seth muttered.

  He considered the two men for a moment, noticing the way Pete was focused on him, while Logan scanned the camps and the moonlit road behind them.

  "You're cops," Seth concluded.

  "Yeah, well, something like that," Pete replied. "And do me a favor, will ya? Start smiling, because we aren't the only ones watching you."

  * * *

  They sat in the darkened cabin of his RV, the distant thump of techno music monotonous. Seth winced, swallowing a gulp of scotch from a plastic glass. It burned in his throat.

  "That's the stuff, huh?" Pete chuckled, leaning
back against the polyester couch cushions. "Can I smoke in here?"

  "No," Seth said, filling his glass again.

  "For a non-drinker, you sure get it on quick. You must still be shook up."

  Seth threw back another shot and glowered into the moonlight past the windshield. He could feel Logan watching him from the shadows, his expression disapproving.

  "Look, we're not cops, we're FBI," Pete said finally. "We've been watching these guys for a couple of years now. We were hoping you could tell us what happened tonight."

  "FBI," Seth repeated, shaking his head. "I heard you frequent counter-culture events, chasing terrorists with paintbrushes and bad lyrics?"

  "It's not like that. We're out to protect the weirdos, believe it or not."

  "Weirdos."

  "Yeah, look, this Rathvam group has been associated with kidnappings, torture and murder. You want that stuff here? You can say whatever you want about what this event stands for. Maybe it's art. Maybe it's sex. Maybe it's drug use, or self exploration, or whatever the kids call it these days, but the fact is that this is a vulnerable population. They wander around out here and they do things that they wouldn't normally do. They trust people they wouldn't normally trust. That attracts both the good and the bad, understand? We're not after the artists here, we're after the predators."

  Seth poured himself another scotch.

  "You live in the greatest country in the world," Pete said. "It's a country that allows you to dance around naked in the desert if you want, and to sling seditious gossip around a folding picnic table whenever you feel like it. And ultimately, it's a country that believes you shouldn't get tortured to death by a bunch of bloodthirsty cult freaks while you're at it."

  Seth flinched, feeling as if he'd been kicked in the gut. "Jesus, is that what you think they are?"

  "That's what we know they are. All that, and a helluva lot worse."

  "What could be worse?"

  Pete shook his head. "Why don't you just tell us what you saw tonight? Let's just start with that."

  "Start with what?"

  "You walking through the entrance. What'd you see?"

  "It's all metal," Seth said, irritated. "Like a tower, or a ship, with small corridors, small rooms. Everything's covered in symbols, and some things move, like a Rubik's Cube."