I clutched Justice’s shoulders. Wrapped my legs around him. “Should we go?”
He nodded and carried me, following the women into the street. While the crowd was thinner, it was still moving swiftly enough to push us along. A woman cartwheeled past, and another, wearing white flower garlands, belted out a sweet song. A man handed us two pipes and said, “You’ll like this.”
Justice tried it, and when his eyes widened in delight, I shrugged and joined him. It tasted like bubblegum and filled me with a buoyant helium-balloon lightness. It was better than the desserts. Better than anything.
The cloudlights dimmed, and Justice’s eyes sparkled mossy-green and happy. It was getting hot, so I pulled off my coat and dropped it to the stone road. Justice juggled me and his pipe and slipped his off too. Then it was even hotter, so I slipped off my top, leaving only my bra and pants. Justice pulled free his T-shirt. His shoulders were freckled, but the rest of him was covered in tattoos. Swirls, slashes, spears, and knives. I clamped the pipe in my teeth, breathing in the bubblegum-flavored steam, and traced his tattoos with the lacy flower petals.
There were lights ahead, and a giant stone arena lit with hundreds of gas lanterns. The fire danced and glowed, drawing us in like moths to a flame.
The arena was as big as the Colosseum but more beautiful. Stone columns lined every entrance, and bas-relief carvings decorated the walls. Everywhere I looked, artwork adorned the façade. There were no somber or stately statues; there was only pleasure and passion.
“It’s beautiful.”
I dragged my hand over the cold stone, touching the stone lips of two people kissing. The crowd thickened as we were funneled into a narrower path leading into the arena. The walls arched over us, and voices and footsteps echoed on the stone.
I smiled as the jasmine scent thickened. I was hot again. I squirmed, wanting to push off my jeans. We weren’t the only ones stripping down. Lots of people had shed clothes. What was the need for modesty? If clothing made you unhappy or uncomfortable, you should take it off.
I kicked off my shoes, and then Justice laughed as I wriggled out of my jeans.
“This is the life,” I said. I’d dropped the pipe along the path, but the flowers were still in my arms. They whispered against my bare skin, tickling my chest. The pollen coated me in a white, silvery dusting.
Justice made a happy noise in his throat. “We should’ve tossed ourselves into a Den years ago. No Jagger. No pain. No fear. Just . . . this.”
Justice boosted me higher against his chest, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We’d reached the end of the tunnel, and the giant arena opened before us. I blinked at the light flooding the center field. It was grassy, covered in white flowers, and as large as a football field. Stone benches rose around the field, enough to seat thousands. The stadium was full of people, and the hum and roar of them echoed around us.
The festival atmosphere had continued, with music, food, and drink. Some people kissed; others groped but most people drank and stared at the field—waiting, I suppose, for the festivities to start.
“Let’s sit down,” Justice said, starting toward the upper level of the bleachers.
A short man shoved against us. He was dressed like a clown. One side of his silk outfit was white, the other banana-yellow. Lace ringed his throat, and there was a bright red ball on his nose. His face was painted white, with yellow tears dripping from his eyes.
“Top row, sixth seat to the left. Look under it,” he said in a guttural whisper. He slipped through the crowd, climbing the steps.
“Was he talking to us?” I frowned after him.
Justice nodded. “Think so.”
“Should we?” I motioned to the top row.
“Never trust a clown.” Justice shook his head.
“Yes . . . but . . . everyone’s been really nice here.”
So Justice climbed to the top row, carrying me hundreds of steps up, and then dropped me onto the stone bench. The row was empty. It seemed most of the people wanted to be closer to the arena. He crouched and looked under the bench.
“Huh. It’s a . . . What is it?”
He held out a small bottle. It was full of green liquid. On the stopper, there was a string, and on the string, there was a small paper label.
“‘One drop for heaven, two drops for hell,’” I read.
Justice shook his head. “No. Not a chance. I’ve spent enough of my life in hell.”
The clown popped out from behind the column, and I shrieked and dropped the bottle. It clattered against the stone, and the clown dropped to knees, scrambling after it.
“Idiot! Fool! What’s wrong with you?” He cradled the bottle to his chest and glared at me. “Can’t you read?”
“What?” I raised my eyebrows.
