Chapter 10

She wrapped a scarf around her mouth and nose, but the material was too thin. The smell of rotten flesh and spoiled meat filled Nicholas' apartment and seeped through. She'd do her best to get what she needed and get out, even if she wasn't exactly sure what it was she needed. If she found something to answer even one of the hundreds of questions she'd had over the years, the foul-smelling visit would be worthwhile. Even though Nicholas' body was no longer physically in the room, the weight of his stench hovered over her like spoiled mist.

Dear Alexandra, what you search for is already within you, he'd say if he were there watching her rummage through his belongings, and even the thought of the man's voice caused tension throughout her body. Her shoulders scrunched and her head pounded. The buzzing in her ears started again. Dammit.

She thought death had freed her from Nicholas' control, but instead it seemed to allow him to be everywhere at once. She pictured his smug face reading her thoughts now. She recited the digits, but even those reminded her of Nicholas' teachings. His words. His rules. His power. The only way she could disconnect from the bit of control that still remained was to visualize his head removed from his body. His bulging eyes that no longer could blink. She pictured that and it brought her peace. The buzzing in her ears steadied, and she continued on through his library.

She flipped through books upon books. Nicholas was a hoarder when it came to publications of old, and rarely did he ever share the good ones. The ones she could have used to enhance her gifts. Books on history, books on psychology, books on telepathy and the invisible sciences. She set aside a pile for herself and stopped at a large leather tome of a thing. She opened the cover to find the book itself had been hollowed out. Her mind went straight to the Hollowings.

Had Nicholas been responsible for the town rituals and emptying bodies?She had always assumed it was Mikhail and his remaining animalistic instincts that kept madness in its every form right at the tip of his brain. She ran her fingers along the roughly cut pages that left an empty space in the book. What did Nicholas hide in here? She frantically flipped open each and every book in Nicholas' entire collection. A storm of paper and board flew through the library, but none of the others held a compartment within them.

When he was alive, Nicholas had always invaded her space, and for the first time she felt as though she could return the torture. Being inside his room in the tower was like being inside his head. But even then, she found only the things he wanted her to find. How could one man keep so many secrets?

She counted the digits. The Flaring Discipline helped her to hone into what she needed. Patience, dear Alexandra, she could almost hear Nicholas say as her eyes landed on his workspace. She hated his lessons in patience that felt like lessons in torture.

She walked over to his mess of a desk, where he wrote letters and reviewed the needs of the Pilgrims, but the contents held nothing more than written prayers. She stopped reading the letters of the people decades ago. Why Nicholas still bothered to read and reply to them was beyond her. The single solution to all of the problems within the city could be solved by the culmination of the Evolution. Not everything was complicated.

A plea for more rations. Wild pigs outside of town, no plea or prayer, just a letter of useless information. Of course there were wild pigs outside of town. There were wild animals, wild Cranks, wild everything outside. She threw the letters back on the desk but from within the center of the stack fell out a page in Nicholas' handwriting. One of his unsent replies. She held the letter in her hands. She started to open it, but as she did, pain surrounded her. Her ears started to buzz. Her head vibrated with noise.

Was Nicholas torturing her from beyond with these headaches and buzzing?She almost hoped for it, because if it wasn't him influencing her now, she was surely going mad. The buzzing grew louder and she lowered herself to the floor. She couldn't allow any more of his words into her head. Whatever advice he had written to the Pilgrims, she didn't need it. She opened the center desk drawer from the floor and shoved Nicholas' letter into it, slamming it shut. And as if the drawer talked back to her, it bounced off its track, collapsed onto the chair, and emptied its contents on the floor.

"You're a mess of a God!" Alexandra screamed, as if Nicholas were standing right there. She sifted through the pile of pens, envelopes, rubber bands, for something—anything of value—but it was clear to her that Nicholas had gotten caught up with the day-to-day of power and lost clear sight of the greater picture. How did he still call himself a God with such lost focus?

Nicholas may have had the time to respond to all the people to silence their fears, but Alexandra refused to be a Goddess who held the hands of her people—she would be a Goddess who taught her people how to hold their own. Under her, the people could rise. They'd be stronger, and smarter, and not send in weekly written complaints. The people of Alaska would be the opposite of victims, become the problem solvers of the world.

On her hands and knees, Alexandra shoved the rest of the clutter back into the desk, but once she did so, felt a false bottom to the drawer. Dear Nicholas, always the secret keeper. Under the lining of the drawer she pulled the wood free to reveal a small, pathetic, folded piece of paper. She didn't expect riches or gold, but surely more than a simple note. She carefully unfolded the aged parchment and despite her gentle effort the paper nearly ripped in half. How old was this thing? Every fold went so deep into the paper that she could only see the creases within the document until her eyes focused on the picture as a whole. Could it be?

A map to the Villa.

The mythical place Nicholas often referred to but never breathed a word more. He brought the Villa to her, he'd say. She half-expected the Villa to be some private room beyond his library with a secret passage. She looked closer at the map and the placement of the secret location. She never imagined it to be on the most remote island of Alaska. In fact, whenever she searched her mind of ever-expanding knowledge, she sometimes pictured the Villa along the California coast. Sometimes she pictured it within the city limits of Crank Palace in Colorado. But never did she picture it in Alaska.

On St. Matthews Island.

Marked with an X.

How quaint.