Winter stumbled into the hospital, struggling to keep a near-unconscious Phoebe upright at her side. The lobby was empty except for the receptionist, which wasn’t unusual for four-thirty in the morning.
“I need a room. Now,” Winter told the woman working.
“Plague Saint? What are you doing here this early?” The woman looked at Phoebe. “Let me call one of the doctors—”
“I’m a doctor, and my assistant is sick. Get me a bed and send down any nurse that’s available.”
“Of course.” She leaned over and pressed a button on the radio sitting on her desk. “We need a team in the lobby immediately, we have a—” Her hesitant gaze darted up to where Winter’s eyes were hidden behind the mask. “Code red?”
“Code white.”
Her eyes widened. “Code white. We need a room right away. Thank you.”
A team of nurses showed up within minutes and moved Phoebe onto a rolling bed. Winter followed them to the tower, barking orders. “Get her hydrated. I need the IV bag prepped as fast as possible. I have medicine for her. Make sure she’s closely monitored. I don’t want her alone for more than ten minutes at a time.” Winter didn’t want her left alone at all, but that simply wasn’t possible.
As soon as the IV bag was ready, Winter added the cure herself, ignoring the watchful eyes of the nurses.
Finally, Phoebe was settled, but Winter didn’t feel any relief. She was completely out of it now and had a high fever.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, then,” the last nurse said before leaving. He paused by the door. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
Winter nodded. “Yes. Good. Do that.”
“Will you still be here?”
Would she? She had other things to deal with. “Probably not,” she told him.
The nurse disappeared into the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.
Winter had given the rest of the cure she’d made to Phoebe. Hopefully it would be enough. But Phoebe was Marcus’s niece, after all. He’d probably be happy to spare some cure to save her. Hypocrite.
It was River that Winter should be worrying about now. She had enough leftover ingredients to mix together a little more cure for him, but it would take hours, and she was expected to start working on the big batch for the city council—
The door opened. Winter turned around, expecting a nurse.
Marcus Blackburn entered the room.
Winter stumbled back a few steps. Her back hit the wall. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the new hospital director, remember?”
He certainly looked the part, now. He was dressed in a white suit, his hair had been slicked back, and he appeared to have covered up the worst of his bruises and scratches with makeup.
“Adams never hung out here at four in the morning, as far as I know,” Winter said.
“Adams wasn’t dealing with what I’m dealing with.” Marcus drew his revolver. “I warned you, Winter. I gave you a chance.” He gestured with the gun. “Take the mask off.”
Winter did as he asked. The piece that covered her eyes, then the beak. Clutching the two parts in her hands, she asked, “Are you going to kill me?”
“I’m not letting you off that easy. Everyone’s going to know who you are and what you’ve done. Come on.” He nodded toward the door.
Winter shoved the mask into the bag, removed the hat to throw it in too, and crossed the room. “There’s not a lot of people here right now,” she said. “If you’re so set on exposing me, you should wait—”
“Oh, word will spread,” Marcus cut her off. “But I appreciate the concern. Now move. I don’t want you dead, but I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the foot.”
Winter reached the door. Turned the handle. Paused. “How are you going to make enough cure for your friends?”
“I’ll just have to take the time to teach someone else to do it. I’ve brought quite a few people into my employment this week.”
“You’re going to save Phoebe, right?”
“Stop trying to buy yourself time. Of course I am.” Marcus snapped. “And set the bag down by the door. You don’t need it anymore.”
Winter glanced at the bag she held in one hand. At the door she held open with the other. Now or never. She bent over, acting as if she were going to set the bag down and stepping through the door as she did.
At the last possible second, she yanked the bag up and slammed the door shut.
The gunshot echoed through the hallway. The bullet that left a hole in the door missed Winter by several feet. Idiot. Half the hospital would have heard the sound.
Then again, it might benefit Marcus to have people come rushing over here. Regardless, Winter had to act fast. She stepped back from the door while plunging a hand into the bag to fish around for the staff. The door handle turned.
She wrapped both hands tight around the staff, letting the bag fall to the ground. As soon as the gap between the door and the wall was wide enough, she swung in an overhead arc.
The staff connected with the side of Marcus’s face. Not as solid a blow as she’d wanted, but she supposed it was pretty good, considering the circumstances. It was enough to throw him off balance for a few moments. That was all she needed.
Winter grabbed the door to keep it from closing and swung again, this time hitting the hand holding the gun. It clattered to the floor. She bent down to scoop it up with her free hand.
Marcus grabbed her arm as she straightened up. Winter struggled, but she didn’t have a chance of breaking free from his iron grip. His other hand moved to grab the gun back. Winter stomped on his foot. He hissed in pain but didn’t relent.
Winter’s thumb found the button on the top of the staff. There was a click, and then the end was sliding off, freeing the blade. Winter slashed blindly.
The blade sliced through Marcus’s pristine white suit jacket and left a gash in his upper arm. He didn’t let go entirely, but his grip loosened enough for Winter to yank her arm free. She staggered backwards and pointed the gun at him.
Marcus held up his hands. “Have you ever even fired a gun?”
Winter didn’t respond, but her shaking hand gave her away. She didn’t have a prayer of hitting anything she aimed at. And the first gunshot had already drawn attention, if the distant yelling and approaching footsteps from every direction were anything to go by.
The mask was off, but the rest of the uniform was still very clearly the Plague Saint’s. Anyone who saw her would know she was the Saint. Would that be a bad thing? Marcus could easily twist her into the bad guy, maybe even blame her for the deaths he’d caused. Or he could tell part of the truth and reveal she’d tried to kill him, the real Saint.
Best not to let anyone see her.
Winter kept the gun pointed at Marcus as she backed away, eyes darting around for some path of escape. A door to her left opened into a narrow hallway that, according to a sign overhead, led to a pair of elevators.
As Winter moved to the door, Marcus lowered his hands. “You can’t run forever, Winter. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Whatever you say, asshole,” Winter growled. She slipped into the hallway and sprinted toward the elevators. They waited on the left about halfway down the hall. Past them, at the far end of the corridor, was a stairwell.
As Winter passed the elevators, she slammed the up button. The ding of the doors opening echoed down the hall, undoubtedly loud enough for Marcus to hear. Winter kept going and flew into the stairwell.
She dared to slow her pace as she moved up the stairs, trying to find a balance between speed and silence. She was halfway up the first flight when she heard another ding from the elevators below. Marcus thought he was following her.
Winter emerged from the stairwell on the second floor and sprinted to the elevators. She hit the up button here, too. The second elevator’s door opened. She hit the button again to ensure Marcus’s elevator would stop before stepping into the other elevator and pressing the button for River’s floor. As her elevator’s door closed, she heard the other elevator opening.
She wouldn’t have long. She shoved the gun into the bag and realized that she’d left the scabbard for the staff-slash-sword on the floor outside Phoebe’s room. Well, nothing she could do about that now.
The elevator came to a jerky stop. The moment the door was open wide enough to let her through, she shot out and raced to River’s room.
Someone was inside with him. Fear coursed through Winter when she heard the unfamiliar voice, but when she flung the door open, it was just a nurse talking to River.
“Winter!” River exclaimed. “Did you hear that gunshot? At least, that’s what we think it was—”
“No time!” Winter gasped.
The nurse looked Winter up and down, her brow furrowing. “Why are you wearing the Saint’s uniform?”
River frowned. “Hey, yeah, what—?”
“I said there’s no time! River, can you walk?”
“Yeah, I feel great!” River replied, his enthusiasm returning. “The nurse was just saying I could probably check out this morning—”
“River, I love you, but you need to shut up and get out of here.” Winter darted to the window and yanked it open.
“Uh, Winter?” River climbed out of bed. He looked a little weak, but not bad otherwise.
“Get on the fire escape,” Winter ordered. She looked at the nurse. “Could you please go tell the hospital director that Phoebe Blackburn needs immediate attention? He’s on his way here.”
“I can’t just take orders from visitors,” the nurse protested. “And Phoebe Blackburn should have her own nurses—”
Winter held up the sword. “Go. Stop. Blackburn. Please.”
Wide-eyed, the nurse nodded and hurried out of the room.
“Winter?” River’s voice was soft, now. Almost scared. That was a terrifying thing to hear. “What’s happening?”
“I’m sorry.” Winter swallowed and blinked back the tears that had taken her by surprise. “You’re in danger and it’s my fault. I need you to go home and tell Mom and Dad that you all have to stay hidden.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll—I’ll come to you as soon as I can.” Winter told him. “And explain everything. I swear. Just trust me. And if Marcus Blackburn tries to tell you anything about me, he’s lying.” She gestured out the window. “Now go!”
River nodded and climbed out onto the fire escape. Winter slammed the window shut and stormed to the door.
She stepped out of the room. A hand grabbed her arm. She swung with the sword but missed. Light glinted off a second blade. A smaller blade.
Marcus swiped across her stomach with his knife.
Winter cried out. He released his hold on her, and she staggered away from him, pressing a hand to the wound. While blood spilled over her fingers, Marcus stepped into River’s room.
“Too late!” Despite the pain, Winter laughed. It was a welcome distraction. “He’s long gone. Checked out hours ago.”
Marcus stepped out of the room and threw the door shut behind him. “I’ll find him. And your parents. Everyone you tried to protect will die to save this city.” Blood still trickled from the gash Winter had left on his arm, but he wasn’t letting his pain show on his face.
Winter backed away from him. The leather of the uniform had done a pretty good job of protecting her, she realized. The wound hurt, but she could still walk. Hopefully she could run, too.
“You’re not saving Devil’s Pass.” Winter held up her weapon. She kept her other hand pressed to her stomach. Blackburn stalked toward her. She didn’t have a prayer of overpowering him. And her chances of outrunning him for long were slim.
Maybe she could use his own move against him.
No, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for that. At least, not for long. But if she could make him think she was dead, she could buy herself some time. Enough time.
But it wouldn’t work if she couldn’t get out of here, first.
Winter lifted the sword and charged Marcus, screaming. He halted and lifted his knife in defense. At the last second, Winter veered to the left and dropped the blade. She swung and grazed his shin. He grunted in pain but swung in retaliation anyway. In her attempt to dodge, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
The sword clattered across the floor. She pushed herself up, grabbed it, and risked a glance back.
Marcus was on one knee, assessing the slice across his leg. “Go ahead, take your head start,” he hissed. “I’ll catch up.”
Winter didn’t doubt that. She didn’t want to risk waiting for an elevator, nor did she want to take the stairs and find Marcus waiting at the bottom. So, she ran past both of them and headed for the second stairwell on the other side of the tower.
She stumbled down the stairs two at a time. At the first floor, she took a right and flew through the double doors labeled “Trauma Ward.” A doctor in the hall on the other side watched her run past, mouth agape. Winter ignored him.
“Miss, you’re bleeding!” he yelled.
“I’m well aware!” she shouted back. As she rounded the next corner, there was more yelling behind her. She swore she heard the words “Director Blackburn” leave the mouth of the doctor she’d just passed.
Winter staggered to the right and used the wall to support herself as she stumbled down the hall, eyes on a massive metal door up ahead. She reached it, twisted the handle, and pushed the door open with a grunt.
A wave of cold air washed over her. Blood storage.
“You can’t hide forever!” Blackburn called. He was catching up. “I worked here for years. I know this place inside and out. You don’t stand a chance!”
Winter limped across the room. She grabbed a bag of blood off a shelf as she passed, popped open the front of her coat, and shoved the bag into an inner pocket. It was near impossible to redo the buttons with one hand, but she managed. Her other hand tightened around the sword’s handle.
On the other side of the frigid storage room, Winter pushed another door open. She could hear Blackburn entering as she pulled it shut.
She looked down at the blood dripping from her wound onto the white floor. An easy trail to follow. How far was the bridge from here? A five-minute walk from where she’d dumped Marcus’s body, maybe?
Better move fast.
Winter broke into a run. She couldn’t stop herself from letting out a cry of pain, but it didn’t matter. Blackburn would follow her trail of blood, anyway, and she needed him to see her die.
She was painfully aware of Blackburn getting closer every inch of the forest she stumbled through. It wasn’t far to the river itself, but finding the bridge took so long she truly feared she wouldn’t make it. And she’d been stupid enough to let Marcus chase her into the woods, with no one around to save her. At least in the hospital, she could have called for help.
And then ended up in prison after Marcus told everyone what you did.
This was her best shot.
And there was the bridge. Winter paused at the edge. The damn thing looked like it would collapse under the slightest breeze. She set one foot on it. Then another. Rustling behind her told her Marcus was moments away. She moved to the center, where she pulled herself up onto the bridge’s railing.
“Winter!” Blackburn was almost to the edge of the bridge.
“Don’t come any closer,” Winter warned. She pointed the blade at him, though it wasn’t much of a threat in the condition she was in.
Blackburn slowed, to her relief, and stopped at the edge of the bridge. “What are you doing?”
“You want me dead? Well, I’m going to save you the trouble. You’re welcome.”
She held the blade up to her chest and pressed it to the edge of the bag of blood she’d stolen. “Kill them all. See what I care. But you know what will happen when you destroy the people beneath you?” she asked. “The chain of command will shift. Leave only people with power, and they’ll fight for what power is left. Once you’ve killed the people you’ve deemed useless, you’ll see it’s your elite who are the useless ones. And Devil’s Pass will rot away.”
“I’m not stupid, Winter.” Marcus scowled. “I know the difference between valuable lower-class workers and the people who are poor because they do nothing. I know who to save and who to kill.”
Winter didn’t have the time nor the words to explain that no one wanted to be useless. No one was poor for lack of trying. How could Marcus not see that, with his family struggling?
She was running out of time. “You could save all of them, you—” She swayed, and frantically waved an arm to keep her balance. “—you greedy rat. But you won’t. And I’m not sticking around to watch them die.” The blade sank in, slicing through the coat. “I’d rather go out on my terms than yours, anyway.”
The bag burst, and blood spilled. Winter pulled her hand away and held it up, feigning a dazed expression. More dazed than she really felt, anyway. At the edge of her vision, she could see Blackburn watching the blood spray from her body. Far more blood than any person could survive losing.
And now came the worst part. Winter swayed again. This was going to hurt. Like. Hell. And it might actually kill her.
She closed her eyes and fell from the bridge.