Dylan smith's Arc

Chapter 5 of 12

Belinda walked up the path with the pizza box still balanced on her belly. Voracia stepped past Dylan and pointed at a tall stone pillar near the foot of the stage. Etched symbols spiraled around it from base to top. "Wait there until I call you," Voracia said. Belinda set the box down on the grass and leaned a shoulder against the pillar. A thin metal chain hung low across her hips, jeweled links catching the sun. Dylan noticed it. So did Voracia. Voracia walked to a flat rise behind the stage and snapped her fingers. A throne grew up out of the dirt, crystal arms, glowing fungus at the base. She sat. "Begin," she said. "I watch. He chooses. I keep the floor." Dylan climbed onto the stage. Belinda followed without being called. She held up one finger, pulled a can of soda from somewhere behind her, and drank it in one long pull. Dylan watched her throat work. She lowered the can, set it on her belly like a coaster, and let out a burp that rolled deep and loud across the field. She did not cover her mouth. She did not apologize. Another came right after, shorter, sharper. Dylan felt his face heat. He kept his hands at his sides. Belinda looked at him. Her eyes moved from his face to her own belly and back. "You like that," she said. It was not a question. Dylan said nothing. The chain across her hips shifted as she breathed. She caught him looking at the curve of her stomach and tapped it once with two fingers. "You can touch it. If you want." Dylan looked past her at the throne. Voracia sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin on her fist. She watched him for a long second. Then she gave one slow nod. Dylan stepped forward. He laid his palm flat on Belinda's belly, low, where the skin was warm and tight. She burped again, smaller this time, and he felt it move under his hand. He thought about pressure, the way a tire told you what it needed if you were patient. Belinda's mouth curled. "Good hands," she said. She did not move away. Voracia rose from the throne and crossed to the stage. She did not look angry. She looked like a woman pricing something. "She stays," Voracia said. "First of the year. The contract holds." She turned to Belinda. "You come back tomorrow. You bring your own food. You do not touch his collar." Belinda burped once in answer and picked up her pizza box. Dylan lowered his hand. One was chosen. The stage was still empty behind her, and the path past the pillar was not. More were coming. He could hear them.