The Burn (4 page)

She looked confused.

"Who is this guy, Julie? Who is the Necromancer?"

The younger woman blushed, dropping her gaze. "We aren't supposed to discuss our personal experiences with him. The Necromancer is not someone who can be explained, described or defined by someone like me."

"That's convenient."

Julie shook her head. "I get it now. You're testing me, aren't you? That's good. You'll see. There's no way to make me doubt him, or you."

"I want to leave."

"You can't," Julie replied, looking vaguely distressed. "No one here would let you. We'd rather suffer your wrath and die than lose you now. You would not survive in this world without us, without the Divine Gate. You have to rest now. Tomorrow, your lover is going to come for you and you have to be ready."

"What lover?"

"Seth, He looks amazing, perfect, everything I thought he would be. You should have seen his face when he first saw you. There were a lot of guys who tried to wake you, but he was the one. He was the one who knew what to do."

Miranda grimaced, trying not to think of the reassuring press of his body against hers. The effort proved impossible, the memory of that warmth far too alluring now that she was alone.
Who are you, Seth? How did you get dragged into this?

"I don't want to involve him," Miranda insisted.

"He’s involved. I can’t do anything about that. He wants you and you want him. It's been proven. We all witnessed it. It happened just the way the Necromancer said that it would. You can deny it now, because you're not quite yourself yet, but goddesses aren't burdened by shame. They're driven by emotion. It's their language. As your immortal power strengthens in this world, you'll shed the bias of your human body and you'll become perfect, a creature of pure emotion, pure honesty. You'll not be able to deny what you want and you won't try."

Enough.
”Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course," Julie said, bowing deferentially. The young woman turned and left, closing the golden door behind her.

"Shit," Miranda breathed, glancing around the metal room in panic. There was no way out. No windows. No air vents. Nothing. There was only a bed, which looked more like an altar, with pillows and draping veils.

It was cell.

Her breathing came up short. She sank down on knees against the floor, no longer able to support her own weight, and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.
Who the hell are these people?

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her own breathing for a moment, trying to ease the anxiety attack. There were certain things she knew, things no one had to tell her.

She knew that these people were dangerous, terrifyingly so, and that they were holding her here against her will. Her memory was gone. Her knowledge, her experiences, all of it was gone. But she had been in dangerous situations before, she felt that, knew that she’d been trained for it.

She pressed her lips together in thought.

This is a cult. Most of these people are victims, convinced to believe something that couldn't possibly be true, willing to sacrifice anything to prove it's true. No choice but to play along, define the environment, find out exactly who they are and what they hope to accomplish.

This was somehow her profession, her true mission, something she felt at her very core. Someone had hired her to do this, to listen, to think, to protect herself and others…

She was not now, nor had she ever been, helpless.

* * *

"Miranda is one of our best and brightest." Pete's voice was thoughtful in the shadowed darkness of the RV. "Real action hero material. She's saved a lot of lives, been part of some very big, very dangerous operations."

Seth listened to him talk, trying to ignore the memory of her whispered breath against his cheek, her body warming under his mouth as he kissed her.

"Two years ago, one of our agents in ‘Frisco began connecting West Coast missing persons reports with the Burning Man festival. In total, we know of six women, besides Miranda, that have been reported missing some time after the festival concluded. It's been difficult to tie these disappearances to the event, because the women were all free spirit types who were prone to going off on their own, no steady jobs, didn't keep close ties with their families. It took us a while to figure out that someone here is looking for girls exactly like that."

Pete leaned forward on the couch. "It was Miranda who tied them to the Rathvam, last year at Burning Man. She learned that each of the missing girls had been seen around the same group you discovered tonight, and that they had each expressed an interest in becoming members. She posed as an artist and infiltrated the group. She found out that they call themselves the 'Rathvam' and they claim some ancient origin, like most cults. She suspected that they used hypnosis, torture and brainwashing techniques to keep control of their members. And in cases where the brainwashing failed, she believed that they resorted to murder to silence dissenters."

Seth grimaced, dropping his gaze.

Pete sighed. "On the night of the burn, last year, we lost contact with her. We haven't seen her since. There was a letter sent to her father stating that she had 'seen the truth' and was leaving everything, her entire life, behind to join the Rathvam. There were charges on her credit card, activity on her bank accounts indicating that she was still alive, but we've been unable to make contact with her."

"You think she was brainwashed," Seth concluded.

"That's exactly what we believe."

"So why didn't you just go in there tonight and get her?"

"We haven't even been able to verify her presence until now, until you. We haven't seen her in a year. And now that we know she's here, well, it's not that simple."

"Jesus, why not?"

"Because we have to prove that she's been damaged. We have to prove that she's there against her will. And, if we can do all that, then we may just need to leave her in a little longer, because she's still our best shot at getting these guys."

Seth glared at him, not sure he understood. "What?"

"We've tried to re-infiltrate this group several times without success. We even got a warrant and searched their communal house in ‘Frisco. We found nothing. We monitor their communications and we hear nothing. We watch them and we see nothing. They know we're after them and they're smart enough to give us absolutely nothing to work with. Meanwhile, somewhere behind the scenes, we know that people are getting tortured and murdered by these guys. I don't want to bust in there, show our hand, and lose again. I don't want to take Miranda out, at this point. I want to bring her back into the fold."

"And
I'm
the son-of-a-bitch?"

"What?"

"You don't think she's been through enough?"

"Miranda went in there to save lives," Pete argued. "She's still in a position to do that. The Miranda I knew would never let that opportunity slip."

"Is she still the Miranda you knew?"

"Well now, that's the big question, isn't it? That's where you come in."

"Where
I
come in? No. I don't think so."

"What? You liked her enough to make out with her, but not enough to save her life? Help her to save the lives of others?"

Seth felt his jaw tighten. "You've just told me that she's been tortured and brainwashed for an entire year, and that you still want to use her, keep her there, maybe get her killed. And you want me to help? No. The answer is 'no'."

Pete flashed him an angry look. "Well, maybe you just need to think about it. Think hard and remember a few important things while you're at it. If Miranda has been subjected to conditioning, she probably has nothing more than a repressed memory of it at this point. If something, or someone, forces her to remember it without the help of a professional, the mental trauma may be irreversible. We're dealing with an extremely brave woman, who's a lot more delicate right now than she probably knows. She needs someone close to her, someone this group will accept, someone who is going to help her to come back to us. Without that person, we may lose her forever, mentally or physically."

Seth shook his head, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of him.

"So sleep tight, sport," Pete said, rising from the couch. "Maybe tomorrow, you'll have something more to tell me."

He walked to the door then paused, grinning. "Oh, and keep the scotch. You might need it when that skinny girlfriend of yours gets back. She's had quite a night. If I didn't know what you've been up to, I'd feel sorry for you."

H
e found Cecilia under the RV, sleeping soundly in the shade it provided. The sun had been up for hours, its heat baking into the pale desert, the sky warmed to a brilliant blue. People were everywhere, costumed and nude, walking together or sailing idly past on bicycles, kicking up dust on the playa.

Cecilia had lost her shoes. She was lying with her face tucked into the crutch of her arms, sand caked into her hair and dusting the delicate line of her eyelashes. Her angel wings had been crushed and now clung to her back by torn threads.

"Cecilia? You okay, baby girl?" he asked carefully, kneeling under the vehicle to reach her.

She groaned and smacked his hand away. "Piss off. I'm trying to sleep. Leave me alone."

Seth swore under his breath.

"Go away," she said.

"I was worried about you."

"What are you? My father?" she laughed. "Shit."

"Why didn't you come into the RV?"

She hesitated, turning her face away from him and snuggling against the soft sand. "I needed a shower."

Seth narrowed his gaze, knowing exactly what she meant by that. He also knew that he no right to complain. She had done whatever she had done, with whomever she had done it with. He could hardly be angry with her now.

He left her alone, choosing to focus on unpacking his welding equipment and raw material instead. It was the kind of physical labor he enjoyed, though he suspected it would grant him no peace at the moment.

Miranda was on his mind, and had been the entire night. He felt as if he'd spent every hour before sunrise with her demons, and now they somehow become his own.

It had always been unclear to him, what exactly constituted a relationship and what didn't. The timelines and the rules about how it happened, or when, or to what degree…the definitions that human minds, smart as they were, made up only to later deny or sabotage.

His connection to Miranda was real. It didn’t require definition. It didn’t have to be acceptable to her ex, to the FBI, or to anyone else. It was just there, something he couldn’t ignore. No matter how bad her situation was, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see it.

Exactly what he was going to do about it, however, was a different question. If everything that Pete had told him was true, she couldn’t simply be coaxed into the back of an RV and driven out of the desert. There were psychological land mines waiting to go off, injuries he couldn't see, problems he could only make worse.

And yet, working for the FBI didn't exactly fall within his comfort zone. He had a hard time trusting them, especially when they weren't making any sense.

So if he wasn't going to haul her off on his own, and he wasn't going to become an FBI informant, he had no choice but to try and reach her here, in this environment, while trying to appear to her captors as if that was the last thing on his mind. It all sounded great, as dumb ideas went, but promised to become tricky in practical application.

He clenched his teeth, heaving the steel tubing out of the RV's storage compartment and stacking individual lengths in the shimmering heat. He dragged out his welding rig and began organizing a space to work, setting up his tanks and a small sunshade, complete with a picnic table and plastic chairs.

Sweating in the heat, he shrugged off his shirt and covered his dark hair with his cowboy hat, catching an admiring glance from a girl in the neighboring camp. He pretended not to see it, figuring that he already had all the trouble he wanted.

Cecilia staggered out from under the RV and collapsed in one of the plastic chairs, wincing into the hot sunlight. Her eyeliner had run down her cheeks. Her hair, skin and clothes were covered in dust.

She grimaced, as if she were about to throw up.

"You okay?" he asked.

She gestured for him to be quiet.

He shook his head, drawing a bottle of water from the plastic cooler under the table and placing it in front of her. She looked at it in disgust.

"You came right back here, didn't you?" she asked.

He held her gaze without reply.

"And now you're judging me," she accused. "You think you know what I did last night, all the things I did, and you think you know the reasons. You see me like this, and you're… it's like you're disappointed."

"I'm not judging you."

"It's not like I'd expect you to understand. Burning Man is about exploration and freedom, and you're not free. You may be an artist, Seth, but you don't really know what its like to live as an artist, to push the limits, to free your mind and live like it's an adventure."

"You should really drink that water."

"See?" she asked, leveling a dark look. "I'm trying to explain something profound here and all you can think about is the fucking water."

"Excuse me," a young woman interrupted. She stood a few feet away, a short, blonde haired girl with tight ringlet curls and blue eyes. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I came here with an important message."

Cecilia's eyes narrowed. "What message?"

"The message is for him," the blonde gestured at Seth.

Seth looked at her.

"We respectfully request your presence," the blonde said. "To escort the goddess across the playa this afternoon, to be her champion for another day."

"The who?" Cecilia scowled. "Who the hell is this goddess?"

Seth frowned.

"Seth?" Cecilia demanded. "Who is she?"

He sighed. "She's the woman I was with last night."