The Burn (2 page)

"You really think that's what I want?"

"I think you should at least try something while you're here."

"I'm about to try sleeping."

"You're an artist. This is a place for artists to be free."

"I've always been free."

"So you don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

"If you're tired, I could give you something. I have two tabs."

"Enjoy your night." He turned his back on her and walked toward the open playa. The giant statue of the Burning Man beckoned with a fiery neon glow in the distance. He headed in the direction of the RV, the wind whispering like sandpaper against his skin.

Footsteps padded after him.

"Hey, Cowboy." A woman's voice. Not Cecilia.

Jenna appeared at his side, struggling to keep pace, her breath coming in short little gasps. She giggled, a pair of cat ears askew in her hair. "C'mon, don't just disappear on me."

He shook his head, still walking. "I need some air."

"I noticed that, but there's something you have to see."

"Jenna—"

"No, really, you have to see this, Seth."

He slowed at the sound of his name, or perhaps just her tone as she said it. Looking back, he realized that she had stopped in the sand behind him, gasping air as if he'd forced her to run a marathon.

"They—They call it the 'Divine Gate'."

"Who's they?"

"It's an enormous sculpture, all metal. And they've got this woman on display. She hasn't moved in days. Really eerie, actually."

"Maybe tomorrow."

"But she may not be there tomorrow. The point is to wake her from her sleep, or mediation, or whatever, and everyone's trying. Trust me. You have to see it, right now…tonight."

He released a slow breath through his teeth, cutting his gaze to the starlit horizon. What real sense was there in trying to sleep anyway? The image of Cecilia swallowing both her pills, stumbling through camps with the kid in tow, was sure to tear at him for a good while, no matter how much he tried to put it out of his mind. And then there was the very real possibility that she would show up at the RV, drenched in sweat with her teeth chattering, expecting comfort or more.

He looked down a Jenna, gesturing that she should lead. "After you."

She giggled, offering a Cheshire grin in the moonlight.

* * *

He followed her through a dozen smaller camps before wandering into a large area at the edge of the playa, its sprawling perimeter marked by hot metal oil drums filled with burning wood. Crowds swirled through the red cast of light, bopping and stepping to house music. Drunken smiles flashed between spins of motion, expressions made cartoonish by over-sized sunglasses and furry hats. Women swayed in fishnets and boots, sweating despite the chill, their skin shining with the bright colors of the stage lights, their features painted with glitter. A lanky DJ hopped to the beat in his headphones, jabbing a finger fiercely at the crowd as he flipped switches on a mixer.

Jenna led him around a wide arena decorated with plaster columns and potted palm trees, ducking behind speakers that thumped a bass rhythm deep enough to rattle the ribs. She bounced on her toes and back-stepped every so often to move in time with the music, tilting her head from side to side to mimic the rise and fall of the synthesizer melody.

They passed through a maze of couches and bonfires, intruding on lovers, drinkers and smokers who paid no attention.

"There it is," Jenna whispered.

Seth looked past her, seeing the side of an enormous tent rising above a pair of dusty trailer trucks. It loomed against the horizon, reaching as high as a four-story building, its draping canvas covered in Byzantine emblems and brilliantly gilded borders. The entrance was a shadowed arch.

Jenna led him further, pulling him through the opening, tugging at his hand as haunting shapes coalesced from the darkness. It took a moment for him to make sense of it, a base of dull metal pillars, supporting a platform, then another, rising to brace an enormous tower with platforms, compartments and winding staircases. It was more extensive than anything he'd built, but it felt familiar, its vertical rise, the lines and the disks…above all the disks.

A circular channel ran down the center of the structure, housing seven of them, each positioned horizontally, each having both an inner and outer bearing race to form massive spinning collars. At the top of the channel, a sphere of connected rings caught the light of the lanterns, its arcs shining like pure gold.

He'd toyed with several versions of those rings in his career. It was perhaps the cleanest image he worked with, and the one that mystified him the most, the material whispering its shape under the hot sizzle of the welding torch, singing in the hard screech of the grinder.

"The rings are the thing." Jenna said. "Kind of like your work."

"Kind of," he agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"They claim the rings are locks."

"Locks?"

"Seven locks, guarded by seven goddesses. You wake up the goddess, she unlocks one part of the Gate. When all the locks are free, the Gate starts to turn. Like, this is where all that would happen, right? A complete carnival is where the world ends…or begins…or whatever."

"What?"

She looked up at him, then shook her head, grinning. "Sorry. Went a little off there. The point is to wake the goddess. If you do that, she unlocks part of the Gate and it moves. No one has been able to see it yet, because no one's been able to wake the goddess. You only get one try, one trip through the Gate. I've already been and nada…nothing. She's in there though, like right now, waiting."

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?"

S
eth 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, she 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.