by K J Morgan
Seth reached down and slid his fingers over her clit. She gasped as he rubbed the tender skin, his touch wet and warm, too much to bear. She came with harsh sound, her body shuddering. The feeling kept her in its grip, blinded, flush and gasping for air as he finished.
Seth growled softly, pushing hard into her with his own release, his hands spread over her hips. They remained locked together, drifting in sensation as the world cooled.
"Beautiful," he said softly, stroking his hand over her back, smoothing the damp hair from her cheek. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
She closed her eyes, his heartfelt murmur sinking like so many hollow words in her stomach. She could offer him nothing in return. She was nothing, a spirit trapped between worlds, a member of the 'middle species'.
He withdrew gently. Then he pulled her back into his arms and stretched out on the bed. Reaching up, he cracked the window open. The soft breeze of the desert slipped into the heat of the room, carrying the sound of music and laughter from the playa.
His breathing turned slow and even. He slept. She nestled into the crook of his arm and tried to shut out the whispers of the Gate, the promise that his destiny had already been written in blood, as a timeless symbol on a golden wall.
Chapter Ten
Miranda woke to the soft flutter of curtains. She drew a breath, splaying her fingers on Seth's chest. His face was turned away from her, his hair a dark halo on the pillow, one arm wrapped around her in sleep. Dust motes drifted through shafts of sunlight above the bed.
Lifting her hand, she turned her fingers toward the light until they glowed, staring at the shadow of bone hidden in the flesh. It only looked real. She only looked real. Her actual body, her actual bones, lay somewhere else.
Miranda closed her hand into a fist, a chill of warning seeping under her skin. The Gate called to her, ominous whispers threading tenderly on the breeze. Glancing up at the sunlight pouring through the windows, she pressed her lips together, recognizing the golden hue of afternoon. There wasn't much time.
She smoothed her fingers along Seth's skin, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under her hand, the strong rhythm of his heart. He had made her feel so much, his emotion, his hunger, his release and now this…this closeness.
For a moment, her heart ached with it.
"I can't let you stay," she whispered. "They want you too much… I want you too much."
He responded with a lazy stroke of his hand across her back, a soothing murmur from the softness of the bed.
"Miranda," he whispered sleepily. "You awake, baby girl?"
"You have to go now."
He opened his eyes, his gaze finding her beside him. His expression warmed. He seemed pleased by her nakedness, by the way her hair fell wild over her shoulders, glowing like bright copper in the sunlight. Catching a curling strand of it between his fingers, he smiled.
"You have to go," she reminded him.
He shook his head. "The only way to get me out of this desert is to come with me. It's not happening any other way."
She held his gaze, prepared for what she had to do, knowing that it was going devastate him. And yet, what choice did she have?
"I know," she heard herself say. "Take me out of here, Seth. Get me as far away as you can."
"With pleasure," he murmured. Pushing up from the bed, he cupped her chin in one hand and kissed her mouth, her temple, then her hair, whispering against the skin above her ear. "You made the right choice, Miranda. You won't regret trusting me, leaving with me."
No, she thought, shutting her eyes. I'll just regret what it will do to you.
* * *
The RV rumbled across the sand, climbing up onto the asphalt road with an exhausted surge of the engine. The vehicle then swayed out on the highway, rocking side to side and trailing a thick cloud of dust behind it. Seth kept his gaze on the road ahead, accelerating away from the Burning Man entrance gates and the costumed crowds, and the surreal city floating in the heat behind them.
Miranda sat in the passenger seat, clothed in one of his old t-shirts and a pair of ill-fitting jogging pants. She watched the sandy hills sail past the window, broken by lines of sage colored brush and rock gullies.
Her memories of coming to this desert were faded now, as dry and dreamlike as the landscape itself. She remembered a dust storm at the entrance gates and a sunrise that bathed the playa in pure gold. She remembered the hammering rhythm of the night parties, with glow of neon and fire, the laughter of people.
She remembered how focused she had been, how sure of her identity. She had been agent of the FBI, a military brat made good, a woman who had worked her ass off to earn the respect of her peers and please the single-parent father who had preserved all of her target sheets from the firing range as if they were crayon drawings intended for display on the refrigerator.
She'd been tough and sufficiently jaded, with the kind of easy arrogance that made it possible to slip into any role, in almost any situation. She had come prepared to find all kinds of horrors here, more of the insanity and abuse that had grown increasingly mundane over the years, to the extent that she couldn't now imagine a world without it, or relate to people who had no awareness or understanding of it.
Her religion could be neatly segmented into volumes of crime classifications and case studies, techniques used to pursue and stop the monsters, though stopping them never seemed to address the unfairness of what they'd done, or explain the merciless turn of fate that had selected their victims.
She'd expected more of the same, and proceeded without caution into a world of masters and servants, of golden chambers and whispered voices, a world that hummed with a power beyond imagination. The Gate had consumed her, and everything she thought she knew, as if it were nothing more than the brief spark of a match.
Miranda frowned, watching as the town of Gerlach appeared on the side of the highway, then slipped by in a matter of minutes, its old wooden buildings wind-worn and leaning, the painted concrete of its solitary gas station bleached with age.
Seth didn't stop, urging the RV to seventy as they passed out of the slow zones. The desert sky above had lost its vibrant blue, cooling quickly as the sun slipped toward the horizon. Miranda slid her gaze the rearview mirror, hoping there would be enough time to get at least an hour away before sunset. She could feel the Gate whispering in her blood, calling her back, calling her home.
"We'll stop in Reno," Seth said, glancing at her. "Maybe rest for the night."
She looked at him. "And then what?"
"Depends on what you want to do. You'll have some options. I'm hoping that you'll come with me to Sedona."
"Sedona?"
"My house there."
"For how long?"
"As long as you need," he said without hesitation. "I'll take care of you, Miranda. I mean it."
She considered him for a moment. He looked relaxed, driving with one hand resting on the steering wheel, dressed in old jeans and a faded t-shirt with the Celtic tattoo on his bicep just visible under the sleeve. His black hair was loose to his shoulders, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Who are you, Seth?" she asked softly.
He glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you don't even know me. What kind of a guy makes a commitment like that to a woman he doesn't know?"
"I've been getting to know you, don't you think?"
"C'mon. This is complicated. You're offering me everything, a place in your home and your life. Based on what? The things I've told you don't make sense to you. It must have crossed your mind that I might not be able to give anything back, that you might just be getting in over your head."
"Maybe I like getting in over my head."
"Are you serious?"
"You don't scare me," he said calmly. "Your situation, the fact that you need time, that it might not be comfortable, or easy at first, none of that scares me."
"Jesus. Why not? What kind of a man doesn't get scared by th
at?"
"What kind of a man does?" he countered. "You'll work your way out of this. All you need is a safe place, a little peace, a little understanding. Is it so hard to believe that I want to help you out with that?"
She stared at him.
"Look," he laughed under his breath. "My life is pretty easy. I'm not some stressed out workaholic trying to hold it together. When I get frustrated, I get to spend hours grinding out blocks of metal and bending steel tubing, and then weld it all together and sell it. I've had the good fortune to be able to do that, what I love, in a place I want to live. It's not perfect, but it's pretty centered, at this point. A little chaos isn't going to kill me, especially if it comes from you."
Miranda grimaced, trying hard not to be impressed and failing. It should have been easy to ignore what he was saying, to write it off as coming from a man who had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Unfortunately, every word out of his mouth, every relaxed gesture or reassuring smile, seemed to draw her deeper into a place she desperately wanted to be, maybe had always wanted to be.
"It's not that simple," she murmured.
"It might become simpler with time, baby girl."
"No, it won't. It will never become simpler, not for either one of us. You don't understand. As right as it feels between us, as much as you want to help, you can't. There's nothing you can do."
"I disagree. You being with me, on this road, right now, is compelling proof of that. I've earned enough of your trust to get this far."
"Christ. Trusting you is the easy part. You're not a difficult man to read. You're strong. You're solid. You're compassionate. And what you're offering me…." She closed her eyes, hoping to hide the raw emotion she felt. "Is beautiful."
His eyes narrowed on the horizon. "But?"
"You don't understand the situation. You think that I'm damaged in ways that I'm not, and you can't hear what I'm trying to tell you because of that."
"You're not dead, Miranda," he insisted gently.
"What would you do, if you found out I was?"
He looked at her, trying to gauge her seriousness.
"What would you do, if you found out that the world has more than one layer, more than one set of rules?" she asked.
He held her gaze for a moment before glancing back at the road. "I think everyone kind of believes that."
"Belief is one thing, but what if you had proof? What if you saw it with your own eyes? If, for one moment, it became abundantly clear that it was all true, that we aren't alone here and never have been?"
"As evidenced by the Gate? And the psychopathic killer who claims to have built it?"
"He didn't build it. It's not just him. It's not just one individual, or seven goddesses. There are thousands of souls that have become Rathvam, and I think most of them are still there, still part of the Gate itself, some of them recent and some ancient."
"That thing is not some relic. It's got rivets. It was put together in the modern era, and not as well as it could have been, in a lot of places."
"That's just the outer shell. It's has obviously been rebuilt, but the power comes from the center, from the rings. It's a kind of machine. As long as the walls constructed around it are made of metal, the center will resonate and the entire Gate becomes operational."
"Operational," he muttered. "Miranda—"
"The symbols are names. They're all names. And the power comes from them, from the souls, because they are innately inter-dimensional. They resonate. I didn't understand it before, but the more I listen, the more I realize that it's true, it's all true."
"Listen to what?"
"The Gate."
"The what?"
Miranda hesitated, realizing how much she had explained. Too much. "Look, I know how this sounds. I don't expect you to believe me right now, okay? But I need to tell you this, in case something happens."
"Something like what?" he asked, concerned.
"Something you don't expect."
He frowned, seemingly unsure of how to take that.
"My name is marked on one of those walls. And I can't escape it now, but maybe you can."
"Anyone can point to a symbol and tell you that it's your name, Miranda," he countered. "And normally, you'd be able to see that for the parlor trick it is, but this guy has you spun. He's drugged you, tormented you. He's told you that the damn thing speaks to you and so you hear it. He's told you that it has this power and so you feel it. He's told you that you can't leave and so you think it's true. I don't, for one minute, doubt the reality of what you're going through. I don't doubt you at all. The man who held you is very good at creating a convincing world, a world where he is the absolute authority and the people he attacks have been systematically torn apart and have no defense left against him."
"He took my life, Seth. He was able to subdue me out in the open, draw me into a trap when the Sheriff's deputies that were my backup were hindered by the crowds at last year's Burn. He cut into my veins and allowed me to bleed. When I was too weak to fight, he carried me back to the Gate and watched me die."
A harsh sound escaped under his breath.
"Julie was the bait," Miranda said, putting the truth into words for the first time. "She fit the profile that I believed he was looking for. She was young, creative, a little lost, had no steady job, kept her family at a distance. The missing girls from previous festival years could all be described in the exact same way. The Necromancer knew I was on the playa, watching their camp. He made sure that I saw Julie often enough and that I observed the attention he paid to her. It was a trap and it worked. I thought she was going to be the next victim and I walked directly into harm's way that night in order to save her. I followed her away from the crowd, into an isolated area where he was waiting."
Seth glowered through the windshield. He glanced at her, anger darkening his gaze. "Did she know? Did she understand what she was doing?"
"I don't know. But even if she did, she couldn't have understood the consequences, if that makes it any better. The others who went missing…he somehow merged them with the Gate. He never intended for them to take human form again, so there was no body to find, no evidence of murder, nothing but their resonance in the metal. And it's not like she could ask too many questions. The Necromancer's a dominating lover and you can be sure that she's not permitted opinions of her own"
Seth swore under his breath, looking away from her.
"It was my fault, my mistake."
"Your mistake? You were trying to save her life."
"I should have seen that he was using her. He was using her. And now he's using me."
Seth glanced at her. "Using you how?"
"Using me to get to you. This time, I'm the bait."
He shook his head, not following.
"Seth," she said softly. "Your name is also on one of those walls."
* * *
Seth drew a tense breath through his teeth, trying to ignore the sickening feeling that settled in his gut. Hearing her version of events cut him to the core, not because of some ridiculous threat against his life, but because she believed it with such conviction. She believed that the Necromancer had cut her, though she had no scars. She believed that she had died, though she sat in the chair next him. There seemed to be no question in her mind that all of this had happened, that the Gate was real.
He knew that it was wrong to expect anything different. They'd put a grand total of about sixty-five miles between themselves and the Burning Man entrance booths. It was far too soon to be looking for signs of recovery.
He hadn't planned on discussing any of this with her until he was sure that she was ready, until there were other people involved who could assure him that she was. She looked strong, spoke with authority, but he considered her fragile anyway. Logic demanded that he do so.
He'd planned on simply listening to whatever she had to say and accepting that some things were literal and other things were not. It had been a good plan. So why was he working so hard to fuck
it up? Why was he pointing out that the Gate had rivets, for Christ's sake?
He shook his head, sparing a moment from the road to look at her. She was leaning back in the passenger seat, one knee drawn up close to her chest, her arm resting thoughtfully over it. She wasn't cowering, or crying, though neither of those things could have possibly been held against her.
She was calm, her gaze narrowed on the rearview mirror, on the bands of color melting along the horizon. In that moment, she didn't look fragile at all. She didn't look lost. She didn't look confused. Quite the opposite, she looked focused, a beautiful sentinel on watch, her red hair wild and glowing in the light of sunset.
"You tricked me," he said. "You asked me to get you away from the Black Rock Desert because you're trying to save my life, not your own."
She met his gaze. "You got me."
"You're not planning on making it to Reno. Much less Sedona."
She looked away from him. "Sedona sounds too good to be true. I think maybe I've always wanted to go there."
He pressed his lips together, the phrasing of her answer not lost on him. I'll get you there, sweetheart. No matter what it takes.
She looked down at her hands, then glanced out the window, focusing on a narrow dirt road that appeared ahead. "Can we pull over here for a minute? I need some air."
He followed her gaze to the dusty turnoff. The idea of a break suited him, even though it probably could have waited. The intensity of the discussion now hung between them, thick and raw, something a little air might help.
Slowing the RV, he turned onto a narrow dirt road, feeling the vehicle sway and rumble off the asphalt. They drove along the shallow floor of the valley, floating on a billowing cloud of dust, surrounded by scattered boulders and dry brush. The sun was a hot glimmer above the mountains in the distance.
Seth drove until he could no longer see the highway, until it was safe to assume that they hadn't been followed. Then he rolled the RV to a stop and cut the engine.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Not much time now," she breathed, closing her eyes as if listening to the sound of distant music.