[The Tempest trilogy: Book 3] After the fateful battle for Bifröst, Zoya lost everything, including her will to fight. However, the war with Nightingale and the Yeomen is not over yet and Zoya soon realizes she has what it takes to settle them for g...
I ride to the centre of the estate where he apparently lives. It seems I'll have to get through an army of bureaucrats to get to the owner - but in the end, it actually turns out to be useful.
After stating my request, one of the secretaries smiles at me. "I can do it for you," she says. "There's no need to bother Mr. Frederikson. Please, state the name of the person you're looking for. I'll check if they have been relocated here after the battle."
I tell her the name and, after I specify who I'm looking for a little, the girl in a pant suit gives me one more smile. "Yes, she's here," she announces and gives me an address.
Cheerful, I hop on the motorcycle again. This time, the journey is short. However, I'm a little let down that the address I received involves a basic, boring block of flats good enough for welfare trash with no real ambitions. I take a deep breath and step in, expecting the worst.
I take the elevator to the sixth floor. Then I knock on the door which apparently belong to her and wait. I wait for a long time. Maybe she's not at home?
But it's more possible that...
After I bang on the door two more times, something finally starts to move inside. I hear shuffling of feet on the carpet, then the door open and I see what I was afraid I'll see.
When sober, this tall, elegant girl has an upright, proud stance. Now she's leaning against a wall of the hallway, dressed only in a stained tank top and panties. As she is leaning forward, her pendant shaped like a cross dangles on her neck, almost like it's supposed to represent the God giving up on this woman.
Her curly black hair fall over her dark eyes as she's trying to focus her vision. The pigment scars on her face and body seem even darker than they used to be. "You...?" Maria babbles and the putrid smell of alcohol coming from her mouth is like a punch on the face.
"Yeah, me," I reply, not knowing if I should be angry or compassionate.
And after all... why not both?
Before she manages to say more, I enter the flat and close the door. "I know I've said this before, so this time for real," I utter. "I'm gonna help ya, no matter what."
At that moment, Maria falls to her knees and bursts into hysterical crying. "You can't help me! Nobody can!" she wails, her voice slurred due to the alcohol intoxication. "God has abandoned us. There is no help. No savior. Only suffering. The end is here..."
Well, it seems I'll have quite a work to do. I just hope it's not too late for her.
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I recover from the Fix in Mr. Havel's house. He lives in a part of Prague called "Malá strana" which roughly translates to "Little side", as my step-father told me. In his car, we had to cross the Vltava river and navigate between lovely old buildings including numerous churches and magnificent palace-like complexes.
