The Burn (3 page)

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.

S
eth 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."

"Yeah," Pete remarked as if he knew. "The Divine Gate. It's a magic trick. All done to impress people, recruit people."

"It impressed me."

"Just some fancy metal work."

"Don't think so," Seth countered. "That's what I do for a living. This was something else."

Pete watched him for a moment. "Okay, so what happened in there?"

"There was a room with a throne, a woman sitting there and—" Seth searched for words.

Logan stepped out of the shadows from behind Pete, his dark eyes intense. "She was slender, with red hair? Green eyes?"

"Yeah. How did you—"

"She looked all right?"

"She was on a throne, staring into space. I thought it was an act."

Logan looked away from him, anger playing across his face. "What about physically? She looked okay?"

"She looked incredible."

"And what did you do?"

Seth glanced from one FBI agent to the other. "What does it matter what I did? I pulled some guy off of her and she kissed me. End of story."

Logan's eyes narrowed with rage. "She what?"

"She kissed me and I kissed her back, so what?"

"You son-of-a-bitch," Logan growled.

"Logan!" Pete snapped at his partner. "It was just a kiss! Have a drink, or better yet, go outside and remember what the fuck you're doing here, okay?"

Logan glared at them both, then swore, shoving the door open wide and striding out into the night.

"Sorry.” Pete rose from his seat to close the door quietly.

Seth shook his head. "What was that about?"

"Uh—" Pete seemed at a loss. “Well, the woman you were making out with…she isn’t one of them. She's one of us. She works for the FBI, though she's been missing for a year. And Logan, well, he's her ex-husband."

Seth stared at him for a moment, then downed the rest of the scotch, feeling it burn its way through his chest.

* * *

Miranda glanced around the chamber they insisted was hers, the gold metalwork of its walls forming intricate patterns, shining arcs and glittering swirls, a gilded cage. She'd been brought by several of them, a cult of mincing followers, believing her to be…something.
How long was I out?
She couldn't remember.

"You are so beautiful," the woman behind her commented, removing her dark cloak and smiling broadly. She was young, with a sincere face, bright blue eyes and a shower of tight blonde curls swept back against her neck.

"It's my honor to serve you," she continued. "My name is Julie. I'll attend to you for the time that you remain with us. The Necromancer has instructed me on what to do and the things that you'll need."

"The Necromancer?"

"He was there, guiding you as you awoke. I‘m one of his most devoted followers. It‘s my reward to be close to you. I’ll do anything for you, and for him."

Miranda shook her head, keeping her voice low. "Tell me what you know about me." She watched the raw emotion surface in the younger woman's face, the eagerness to please.

"You're the Goddess of War, an Angel of the Divine Gate."

"The Divine what?"

"The Divine Gate," the girl gestured at the walls, her voice acquiring a hushed tone of wonder. "It's the greatest gift ever given to mankind. When it opens, it will call forth the enlightenment of humanity."

"I don't understand."

"It has seven locks. Each of them has to be opened by a goddess like you, a goddess representing a singular facet of humanity. There’s Passion, Empathy, Creation, War, Tyranny, Impermanence and Excess. Once all the locks have been opened, the Divine Gate will achieve its full power, the power to bridge worlds. We‘ll open the door into Heaven. That’s the Enlightenment."

"The Enlightenment," Miranda repeated.

"Of course, you know this already," Julie said. "You're the exalted one. Of all the goddesses, you're the strongest. That's why the Necromancer chose you to walk in human form among us."

"That makes no sense."

Julie smiled. "You're a goddess, but you've taken human form. Most of what you know can't be contained in a human vessel. You'll experience confusion, disorientation, moments when you think you are human, maybe one human in particular. The Necromancer told me to expect this."

"What else did he tell you?"