askew with one ear covered and one exposed. Motioning to the crowd, he raised his hand as the pounding melted into an ethereal choir melody that seemed to float into the starlit sky.
Then the beat was on again, hard and fast, so loud it vibrated in Seth's chest. The crowd started jumping, whooping as the rhythm quickened. They were dancing in the sand, on platforms, writhing against each other. Blue and crimson light glinted from clothing, jewelry and slick skin. Flashes of neon glowed from light sticks and fiber optic costume pieces.
"Seth," Julie yelled his name.
He turned and she was there, her face painted like a Venetian mask, her ringlet curls giving her the appearance of a beautiful doll. She took his hand and led him through the crowd.
At the far end of the arena, out of the painful range of the music, two stages had been erected and decorated to look like gilded theater boxes. The stage on the left offered a long feasting table with large candelabras and tiered trays of fruit. Chairs had been placed around the table, occupied by costumed revelers in French aristocrat outfits.
The stage on the right had only one occupant. Miranda sat motionless in her golden throne, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression devoid of emotion.
He swore under his breath, surprised that he had recognized her. They had dressed her in a sari made from jet beads and black satin, crowned by a headdress of dark sequins and tassels. Her face was exotically painted, as if she were a character in a Chinese opera.
"This way," Julie called, leading him to the stage on the left, the stage he couldn't care less about.
He tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip.
"You must talk to him first," she explained. "Then you can go to her. The Necromancer wants to talk to you."
Seth glowered down at her. "Where is he?"
"Come. I'll take you."
She led him out of the pool of dancers to the VIP stage. They climbed the steps and ducked under a red and gold canopy, the colored glare of stage lights shining from heavy scaffolding overhead.
The feasting table stretched out before them, goblets of wine and champagne set next to silver trays of sugar coated fruit and lollipops. The guests seated at the table appeared drunk, flirting and laughing in exaggerated gestures, falling off their chairs with their wigs and costumes awry.
At the head of the table, a man with pale eyes and white blonde hair smiled, rising from his seat as Seth approached, showing himself to be almost as tall.
"Seth Romero," he said, his accent sharpening the Spanish pronunciation. "It is an honor to finally meet you properly."
Seth shook his head, anger burning raw in his chest. He recognized the trap he'd walked into. There could be no threats, no violence, as long as Miranda remained in a prisoner in plain view.
"And what do I call you?"
"Most call me Necromancer," the man said, offering the chair closest to him as he reclaimed his seat. "Please."
Seth reluctantly sat at the table, his hands closing into loose fists. "Necromancer. That a stage name, or general description, like 'kidnapper' or 'sadist'?"
The Necromancer smiled thinly. "Your skepticism is understandable, given what little you have seen."
"I've seen more than enough."
"Have you? Tell me then, where do you think the inspiration for your sculptures comes from?"
"Excuse me?"
"Didn't Julie tell you? I'm a great admirer of your work. I've added two pieces to my collection recently, Clockwork and A Second's Worth . They are magnificent, both of them, as precise as they are logical and elegant. And the rings; you may have noticed that I also appreciate them. It is obvious that metal speaks very strongly to you."
Seth stared at him, revulsion rising in his gut.
"Metal speaks to me as well," the Necromancer continued. "It has properties that are spiritual. More than rock or wood, it resonates. It resonates with energy and magnetism and memory. It can sing and whisper in a universe where subatomic
Then the beat was on again, hard and fast, so loud it vibrated in Seth's chest. The crowd started jumping, whooping as the rhythm quickened. They were dancing in the sand, on platforms, writhing against each other. Blue and crimson light glinted from clothing, jewelry and slick skin. Flashes of neon glowed from light sticks and fiber optic costume pieces.
"Seth," Julie yelled his name.
He turned and she was there, her face painted like a Venetian mask, her ringlet curls giving her the appearance of a beautiful doll. She took his hand and led him through the crowd.
At the far end of the arena, out of the painful range of the music, two stages had been erected and decorated to look like gilded theater boxes. The stage on the left offered a long feasting table with large candelabras and tiered trays of fruit. Chairs had been placed around the table, occupied by costumed revelers in French aristocrat outfits.
The stage on the right had only one occupant. Miranda sat motionless in her golden throne, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression devoid of emotion.
He swore under his breath, surprised that he had recognized her. They had dressed her in a sari made from jet beads and black satin, crowned by a headdress of dark sequins and tassels. Her face was exotically painted, as if she were a character in a Chinese opera.
"This way," Julie called, leading him to the stage on the left, the stage he couldn't care less about.
He tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip.
"You must talk to him first," she explained. "Then you can go to her. The Necromancer wants to talk to you."
Seth glowered down at her. "Where is he?"
"Come. I'll take you."
She led him out of the pool of dancers to the VIP stage. They climbed the steps and ducked under a red and gold canopy, the colored glare of stage lights shining from heavy scaffolding overhead.
The feasting table stretched out before them, goblets of wine and champagne set next to silver trays of sugar coated fruit and lollipops. The guests seated at the table appeared drunk, flirting and laughing in exaggerated gestures, falling off their chairs with their wigs and costumes awry.
At the head of the table, a man with pale eyes and white blonde hair smiled, rising from his seat as Seth approached, showing himself to be almost as tall.
"Seth Romero," he said, his accent sharpening the Spanish pronunciation. "It is an honor to finally meet you properly."
Seth shook his head, anger burning raw in his chest. He recognized the trap he'd walked into. There could be no threats, no violence, as long as Miranda remained in a prisoner in plain view.
"And what do I call you?"
"Most call me Necromancer," the man said, offering the chair closest to him as he reclaimed his seat. "Please."
Seth reluctantly sat at the table, his hands closing into loose fists. "Necromancer. That a stage name, or general description, like 'kidnapper' or 'sadist'?"
The Necromancer smiled thinly. "Your skepticism is understandable, given what little you have seen."
"I've seen more than enough."
"Have you? Tell me then, where do you think the inspiration for your sculptures comes from?"
"Excuse me?"
"Didn't Julie tell you? I'm a great admirer of your work. I've added two pieces to my collection recently, Clockwork and A Second's Worth . They are magnificent, both of them, as precise as they are logical and elegant. And the rings; you may have noticed that I also appreciate them. It is obvious that metal speaks very strongly to you."
Seth stared at him, revulsion rising in his gut.
"Metal speaks to me as well," the Necromancer continued. "It has properties that are spiritual. More than rock or wood, it resonates. It resonates with energy and magnetism and memory. It can sing and whisper in a universe where subatomic
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