Page 12 of The Godhead Complex
But that’s not what Mikhail meant and she knew it. His eyes followed her as she walked to the red-leather case, disengaged the locks, and swung it open. He knew all her power moves. He knew she couldn’t help but dangle that vial of Newt’s blood in front of him and drone on and on about the Evolution. He inhaled. Held his breath. Exhaled. Three seconds each.
She traced the vial with her fingers as if to taunt Mikhail. “You can do this with me, you know. We can do this together.”
“I’ll never be like you.” He walked closer to her, close enough to smash the vial in a moment’s rage if he so chose.Would he choose?Would he let the crazed part of his brain win? The part that urged him to show the outside world all the chaos he felt within? “You don’t understand the process and all of the . . .” He paused, waiting for the train of his thoughts to pick up the passengers of his words. “The . . .”
Alexandra never showed patience. “Faith in fate will always come to be.” She taunted the principle as if she’d made it up, as if her manipulations could be called fate.
“And what’ll you do with those who don’t qualify for your advancements? What about those who qualify but change for the worse?” He’d tried for years to prove to Alexandra thathershift after receiving the DNA upgrade had changed her in a bad way. The sequencing or whatever it was of Newt’s blood gave her an arrogance that entered any room before she did. She might refer to them as her gifts, but to Mikhail they were a curse. A lust for power not unlike those scientists of old.
She didn’t appear fazed. “Everyone’s gifts are different. Just because your gift is—”
He yelled at her. “Lifeis a gift!I got my life back.What you’re doing . . . is selfish. You’ll leave half the population behind, and . . .”
He paused as Alexandra lifted the vial out of the case. She dangled it between her fingers like a child with a toy. Except . . .
Except there wassomething elseabout that vial. Something he didn’t quite understand but understood perfectly at the same time. His thoughts lifted then emptied out of his brain as if an awakening had taken place. He pivoted to the door and avoided her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m losing it. Grieving for Nicholas. I’ll . . . I’ll go on a pilgrimage to process it all and we’ll talk when I get back.”
“Pilgrimage. Is that what you call it when you disappear for weeks at a time?” She placed the small container back in the Coffin, perhaps even with a smirk. But for once, her smug look didn’t bother him. Mikhail had just found out how littleshe knewwithout her even knowing.
“Nicholas was a good man who saved my life and I’ll honor him in my own way.” He lifted the hood of his robe. “You’ll address the people?”
“Don’t I always?” Alexandra quickly snapped back.
The people of New Petersburg loved this woman. Trusted her. Worshipped her. But they were fools, all of them. She wasn’t as in control as she thought. He looked back, just briefly, to the red-leather case that held the vial with Newt’s name sprawled across it, but the number . . . the number belonged to another. A4.
A4 wasdear Chuck,as Nicholas called him.
A4 wasn’t The Cure.
Alexandra didn’t know what she didn’t know.
CHAPTERSIX
The Fire Goes Out
The closer they got to the coast, retracing the steps of theMaze Cutter, the more anxiety she felt and the less she slept, grass mat or not. She rolled over and the full moon illuminated Old Man Frypan placing sticks on the dying fire. Usually a half inch of wood could burn up to one hour, but the skinny stuff they found closer to the coast was all brush and fizzled out much quicker. She was thankful to see Frypan awake, not just for the warmth of additional fuel to the flames, but the questions running through her mind were the kind that only he could answer.
She stood up as quietly as she could and walked over to join him. “You don’t sleep much, do you?” she whispered.
“When you get to be my age, sleep doesn’t matter much. I’m closer to the Great Sleep and I suppose I’ll get some rest then.” When he turned away from the fire to grab more brush, she could see part of the tattoo from WICKED on his neck.
“My grandma had the same mark. Well, not the same number . . . but you know what I mean.” At least Sonya had long hair that covered her neck, but Old Man Frypan just had his subject number out in the open, like a twisted version of a smile. A constant reminder to anyone and everyone of where he’d been. Sadina took a deep breath. “I never understood all you went through. I still don’t, but I have a better idea.” The lame attempt at gratitude didn’t do her thoughts justice. Until now, all that history she’d been taught had seemed so stale and banal, in a weird way almost made up. But the Cranks and the death were all too real. And although she wasn’t being poked and prodded, she already felt like a test subject.
“You think they’ll put me through any . . .” She couldn’t find the right word for what she was afraid of.Trialsandtestsdidn’t seem to cover her concerns.
“Nah, they’ll just take your blood. They’ll get all the vials they need and that’ll be done.”
“They took your blood way back then?”
“They took a lot of things.” His frown hid a thousand thoughts and feelings, she was sure.
Sadina let the heaviness of it all sink into her bones and there fell a silence between them. The shadow of a figure appeared from the left.
“You two having fun without me?” Trish sleepily walked over to join them.
“The moon’s too bright, kept waking me up,” Sadina lied. It seemed like she couldn’t take a deep breath without Trish asking her what was wrong. She reached for Trish’s hand and squeezed. She loved Trish, she really did. So much. But she wished things could be as easy as life on the island, when the worst thing that happened was getting chastised by the elders for swimming too far out. Out here, death seemed to lurk at every corner and ever since getting kidnapped, it felt like Trish was just waiting for the next bad thing to happen. Almost as if she wanted to get it over with.
“Sorry if we woke you,” Old Man Frypan said to Trish.
