River took a turn for the worse.
Winter stared at him Tuesday morning, his patient file in hand, half-listening to the nurse explain that he was coughing up blood again and his skin had gone deathly pale and sometimes he seemed to be hallucinating—
“We followed the treatment schedule perfectly?” Winter finally cut her off, unable to listen any longer.
“Of course!” the nurse exclaimed. She frowned. “You know this happens sometimes. We saw this just last week with that woman—”
“You’re right. My apologies.” Winter sucked in a deep breath. River was going down the same path as those other unusual red plague patients.
No. He was going to recover. He had to. “Keep his Red-X dose the same, but double that new medicine I added.” Winter handed the file to the nurse. “I’m going to check on my other patients.”
She tried to stay focused as she finished her rounds, but it was difficult to care about anyone besides River. Information on other red plague patients rolled through her mind, patients who had seemed to be getting better before abruptly dying. She’d assumed before that the Plague Saint had killed them, but maybe there was more to it.
Rounds finally finished, Winter entered her office. Phoebe had mentioned rumors of a new plague, and Winter had dismissed the idea. But Phoebe had said her uncle had told her about it and—
Oh. God.
That meant the Plague Saint believed there was a white plague.
Winter threw the staff down on her desk with more force than she’d intended. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Phoebe jump.
“Plague Saint?” Phoebe asked cautiously. “Is something—wrong?”
Winter rested a gloved hand on the edge of the desk and leaned against it. “What all have you heard about white plague?”
“Uh, just rumors,” Phoebe said. “I would think you’d know more than me.”
“Didn’t you say your uncle thought it might exist?”
Phoebe frowned. “When did I tell you that?”
Damn it. She hadn’t told the Plague Saint, she’d told Winter. “I…don’t remember, exactly. Last week, maybe?” Oh god, had Phoebe even said anything about her uncle to the Plague Saint? “Maybe Winter mentioned him to me. She was concerned about her brother and asked me if I thought the white plague was real.”
There. That was reasonable, right?
Phoebe’s expression didn’t reveal whether or not she believed Winter. Still, she nodded. “Uh, well, he didn’t tell me much about it. Just that he thinks it’s basically a worse version of red plague. Much worse.”
Well, that might explain why white plague hadn’t been identified at first, but surely the other doctors would have realized it was separate from red by now, right? Had it only developed recently? A strain evolved from red plague?
That wasn’t important right now. And, as anxious as she had been about it all day, neither was the fact that Winter hadn’t heard anything about Gordon’s death yet. What she really needed to know was whether the Plague Saint had developed any form of treatment for white plague. She’d been through the entire Plague Bible, all of the notes he’d left in his office and lab, every last scrap of paper. There was no mention of it. And if it was in the coded journal, well, she was screwed.
Or maybe not. There was one upside to the Plague Saint being Marcus, and Marcus being alive. Now that Winter knew his identity, she had new places to look for information. Those journals in his nightstand, for a start, although that would involve breaking into Phoebe’s apartment. Phoebe was here now, and Winter had learned at dinner that both parents worked. But what did Marcus do all day?
Winter could consider a breaking-and-entering plan later. Her first stop would still be the lab Marcus had worked in.
Phoebe was still looking at her with an expression somewhere between confused and worried. Winter straightened up. “I’m leaving to get lunch. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Oh. Okay.” Phoebe’s gaze lingered a moment longer before she returned to her work.
Winter changed in a hospital bathroom so that she could stop by River’s room before she left. She also brought along the staff. It barely fit into her bag, squeezed awkwardly between the two sides and stretching it oddly. But it fit, and the black material prevented it from being too noticeable.
River was fast asleep and running a high fever. Winter didn’t stay long. With grim determination, she left the hospital and retraced the path she and Phoebe had taken to the lab.
It looked just as they’d left it. At first, anyway. It didn’t take long for Winter’s eyes to trace new paths in the dust that hadn’t been there when she and Phoebe left. She circled the room, wondering if Marcus had come by. Had he been the one to clear it out, or was there a third party after his research, after all?
Winter knelt by the counter she’d found the pen under. That little detail was still bothering her. The pen had looked familiar, and—
Something shiny on the dark floor caught her eye and stopped her train of thought. Winter picked up the scalpel and nearly dropped it again when she saw the drops of blood on the metal. It was dry, but it still took her a moment to steady her hand enough to pick it up again.
This definitely hadn’t been here before. But there had been scalpels in both of the Saint’s labs at the hospital, which had struck Winter as odd. She’d never needed one to treat plague patients.
If this was one of the Saint’s scalpels, why was it here? And how had it been taken from the hospital without her notice in the few days since she and Phoebe had been here? And why had the pen—?
Wait, she’d seen a pen like the one she’d found here earlier that morning. At the hospital. There were a variety of pens scattered around the Saint’s quarters, including gold-banded black ones. In fact, Winter was fairly sure she’d left one with the coded notebook that had disappeared.
She stood up slowly, suddenly unsettled. Deeply unsettled. The notebook had been stolen while she was just upstairs. Marcus was the most likely suspect now, and that meant he must have been watching her before he stole it. And probably after. How many times had she been wrong when she thought she was alone? She shuddered.
Winter moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, orienting herself. If the hospital was north of here, that put the wall opposite the door closest to it.
She looked over the counter spanning the wall. After nearly ten minutes of running her hands over every surface and finding nothing, she was almost ready to give up. Then she remembered River lying unconscious in his hospital bed. She took a step back and stared at the wall. Her vision blurred. Something. There has to be something.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it would take her a hundred years to find what she was looking for. Maybe she wasn’t even looking in the right place.
Winter wiped away the tears stinging her eyes with her arm. Anger took control, making her fists tighten and her jaw clench. She let out a cry of frustration and kicked the counter.
Something inside the cupboard—the cupboard that was supposed to be empty—made a clink. Distracted from the pain shooting through her foot, Winter dropped to her knees and opened the cupboard. The light caught something shiny. A loose screw. She frowned. The screw didn’t appear to be doing anything useful. Then again, she wasn’t an engineer.
She grabbed it. It twisted in her fingers, and the back of the cupboard clicked and slid back an inch. Winter gave it a push, and it swung open.
The opening was definitely large enough for Marcus to squeeze through, and it opened into a taller passage. Winter backed out of the cupboard and grabbed her bag off the floor. The smart thing to do would be to wait and come back when she knew Marcus was at home, to ensure she didn’t run into him. But River might not have that long.
Winter entered the passage.
The flickering light bulbs in the ceiling were few and far between. Winter stumbled through one stretch of darkness so long she began to fear she’d never see day again. Then, finally, there was a new source of light, a bright white pouring out from the bottom of a door. Winter hurried forward, grabbed the handle, threw the door open—
—and was greeted by the sight of Marcus Blackburn standing in the middle of the secret lab.
Winter spun around as the door slammed shut behind her. From this side, it was simply a section of wall that blended seamlessly into the rest.
“It’s much harder open from in here,” Marcus said. “You’d never figure it out on your own.”
Winter frantically unzipped her bag and pulled out the staff.
Marcus chuckled. “There’s no need for that, I just want to talk.”
Winter yanked the blade free. She pointed it at him. “Talk, then. How did you know I’d come this way?”
He held up his hands, but the cold smile on his face didn’t fade. “Really, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished, actually,” he said. When Winter jabbed the sword at him again, he continued. “I knew Phoebe stole the key. I let her go because I’d already cleared the lab out. After your visit, it was a pretty reasonable guess that you’d take the key for yourself.
“I couldn’t be entirely sure you’d go back,” he added with a slight shrug. “Or that you’d find the passage. But if you didn’t show up through that door, I knew you’d come back the other way eventually.” Marcus’s gaze drifted around the lab. “You figured things out pretty quickly. But you don’t know nearly as much as you think.”
Winter’s eyes narrowed. “What about the white plague?”
“How long did that take you to figure out?” Marcus asked, his eyes snapping back to her. Amusement danced in his expression, provoking her rage, tipping the balance between her anger and her fear.
“I didn’t want to believe it, at first,” she said, jaw clenching. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to save my brother.”
“Oh, yes, Phoebe mentioned him when she was telling me about you. River, right?”
Winter’s grip on the sword’s handle tightened. “If you lay even a finger on him, I’ll kill you. And you know I can do it.”
“Really?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Because you failed the first time.”
“This time, I’ll make sure you’re not breathing,” Winter hissed.
Marcus chuckled. “Don’t worry, I haven’t done anything to your brother. But I’m afraid his chances aren’t good. White plague is the worst of them all.”
“Well, do you have a cure?” Winter hated the way her voice cracked, hated the way her desperation crept in. “You knew about it before everyone else. And you made better treatments for the others.”
“I said I was impressed by you, not that I liked what you were doing,” Marcus replied. “Why would I help you when you’ve made my friends your enemies?”
“Your friends?” Winter asked. “Like Adams? And Mayor Atherton? The people who want to let us all die?”
“They don’t want everyone to die. Obviously, they need people to work.” Marcus folded his arms. “But making medicine costs money. They run the city, they put themselves first. Why should they just hand treatment out to people who won’t provide anything in return?”
“You could have saved so many people. Do you have any idea how many lives I saved in just a few weeks?” Winter’s arm ached, but she didn’t dare lower her weapon. “And we have no reason to go after our patients for money they don’t have! The taxes coming in and payments from those who can afford it are more than enough. I’ve seen the financial records.”
“I didn’t have anything personal against most of those people I let die,” Marcus said. “I was just doing what the man signing my paychecks asked. He hired me to do a job.”
“So, this was all about money to you?”
“No.” Marcus shook his head. “The money’s nice. But I’m working toward something bigger. And if you think I’m going to let a teenage girl stop me, I have some bad news for you.” His hand moved behind his back. A heartbeat later, he had a revolver pointed at Winter.
Her blood froze, her heart stopped, her eyes were glued to the end of the gun. Marcus said something, and she didn’t hear it.
“Wh—what?” Winter stammered. Her hands were numb. She was barely aware of the blade in her hand, useless now.
“I don’t need the Plague Saint persona anymore,” Marcus said. “I created it to get into the hospital so that I could use their machines and experiment with patients. But now I have all the information I need.”
“Need for what?”
“You think I would just tell you my plans? Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.” Marcus took a step forward. Light glinted off the gun’s barrel. “Now, if you don’t want me to shoot you, you’re going to do exactly what I say. You can keep playing doctor, but I want every last notebook of mine back. Plague Bible included.”
Winter lowered her blade, arm unable to take the strain anymore. It wasn’t doing her any good, anyway. “You think I don’t have copies of your treatment recipes?” She didn’t. Why hadn’t she thought of making copies?
She’d never thought she was in danger of having her notes stolen.
“Even if you do, you couldn’t possibly have saved enough information to treat your patients as well as you are now,” Marcus said. “Let’s see how you handle yourself without my years of research and experience.” He gestured to Winter’s bag with the gun. “Put on the costume. Bring back my notes, or I’ll tell Phoebe who you really are.”
Two could play at that game. “Do that, and I’ll tell her the truth about you.”
“And if I denied it, do you think she’d take your word over mine?” Marcus asked.
“Do you really want to find out?” Winter retorted.
“Only one way to be sure.”
Either way, Winter couldn’t say no to the gun. She told herself she didn’t care what Phoebe thought either, but that was harder to believe.
She picked up her bag and walked to the door. Maybe she was being overly optimistic, but Marcus didn’t seem too serious about shooting her, or he wouldn’t be letting her leave alone. The real threat was having her identity exposed.
Winter paused at the door to the upper lab. “Before I grab those,” She began, glancing back. “I’ll admit it was stupid of me to not make sure you were dead. But even if you were breathing, I thought there was no way you’d survive the river.”
“I regained consciousness while you were moving me,” Marcus told her. He lowered the gun as he spoke, putting her further at ease regarding his desire to shoot her. “But I was weak from the blow, so I decided feigning my death and crawling out of the river downstream was my best option. But it was cold. And painful. You can’t blame me for harboring some resentment.”
“Right. Sure. And you didn’t do anything wrong,” Winter muttered. It did make her feel a little better to know he’d decided going into the water was a better option than fighting her. “Were—were you going to poison me? Or was that really plain water you gave me?”
“It was tainted with a combination of plague samples and something that would knock you out quickly,” Marcus admitted. “But I just wanted time to come up with a plan. You wouldn’t have died, necessarily.”
“But I could have.” Despite his claim he only wanted more time, she doubted he would have put much effort into treating her.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Just go already. Before I change my mind about letting you live. You have five minutes, or I come out behind you.”