Marcus Blackburn did not exist in the hospital records. Not the official ones, not in the debt reports, and not in the Plague Saint’s notebooks. Either there had been some sort of mistake, Winter had missed something, or Phoebe was lying.
That last option was hard to believe. Phoebe had never struck Winter as anything more than a hardworking—and sometimes naïve—assistant. So, Winter set aside the thought for now. She could reassess after the visit to Blackburn’s lab. Phoebe had called earlier that morning, and they were going to visit the lab the next day—Saturday.
At least, that was the plan. Winter had been at the hospital for nearly an hour, and there was no sign of Phoebe.
She ventured down to the secret lab and decoded a few more sentences from the journal. I’ve been able to isolate strands of DNA from samples. I believe I’ve identified bacteria responsible for blue and yellow plagues. I will test the colonies I’m replicating to be sure.
Isolating DNA? That required technology Winter hadn’t seen at the hospital. She only had the vaguest idea of how that sort of stuff worked, and that knowledge was based on brief notes the Saint had made elsewhere. Where were the machines he’d used for this?
Winter glanced around at the emptied shelves. They must have been in this lab at some point. Had someone been sneaking in here while she wasn’t around? And if the Plague Saint had been able to get his hands on advanced enough technology to work with DNA, would it have killed him to install some security cameras, too?
She sighed. It was time to do her rounds. Deciphering the text was a frustratingly slow process, and as much as she wanted to keep going, a break to clear her head would be good. She set the notebook in its usual place on the counter and left the lab.
Phoebe was in the office when Winter returned, digging through a drawer in the filing cabinet.
“Where have you been?” Winter asked.
“I’m so sorry!” Phoebe spun around. “I had a—a family emergency. But it’s all sorted out now. Sort of.”
“Oh.” Winter awkwardly picked up her bag and staff from her desk. “Okay. I’m off to do rounds.”
She started in the tower, checking in on two new patients in critical condition before moving on to her brother. River was recovering as fast as could be expected. It would still be a few days before he’d be able to walk around at all, but he was doing as well as Winter had dared to hope.
She’d just left the tower and was headed for a batch of green plagues when a man called to her from behind. “Plague Saint!”
Winter paused in the middle of the hallway, trying to place the familiar voice before she turned around. Her eyes went wide under the mask. “Mayor Atherton?” She could barely keep the surprise from her voice. “What brings you here?”
“You, of course,” Atherton said as he approached.
He wore a similar dark red suit to the one he’d worn at the church yesterday. The pale red shirt underneath wasn’t far off in shade from his flushed skin. And Winter swore that under the hospital lights, there was a hint of red in his neatly gelled dark brown hair, too. Maybe he wore the suit to bring it out.
“It’s been some time since I last saw you,” Atherton continued. “We’ve never really had a chance to talk one-on-one, have we?”
“No, we haven’t.” Thankfully, it sounded like Winter wouldn’t have to figure out what kind of conversations the mayor and Saint had been having before his death. “I am rather busy, after all. In fact—”
“Oh, I assure you, this won’t take much of your time. I’m only here to extend an invitation. We can have a real discussion later.” Atherton lowered his voice. “I’m holding a general assembly meeting Sunday night at St. Andrew’s.”
General assembly meeting? The hell was that? Some sort of city council thing?
“With the unfortunate passing of Director Adams, we thought it would be wise to ask you to join us,” Atherton went on, oblivious to Winter’s confusion. “We have some very important decisions to make regarding the hospital, of course, and Adams spoke highly of you.”
The mayor—and possibly his council of politicians who ran the city—thought Winter was the man who saved their friends and killed their enemies.
“Of course,” Winter said as smoothly as she could manage. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock. It’ll be a pleasure to have you.” Atherton extended his hand.
Winter shook it. “I look forward to it.”
She finished her rounds, returned to her office, and ventured back down to the secret lab.
The notebook she’d left sitting on the table was gone.
Shit.
Winter raced back up to her office. Once she’d regained her breath, she forced a casual tone. “Phoebe, have you been in here all morning?”
“Uh, yes?” Phoebe didn’t look up from the drawer she was organizing.
“And no one else has come through here? Gone into the lab?”
“Nope.” Phoebe slid a folder into place. “Why? Something wrong?”
Two options. Phoebe was lying, or there was another entrance. Phoebe wasn’t a liar. Then again, this was the second thing she’d said that was a little suspect.
Still, Winter searched for other possibilities. If there was another way into the basement lab, who else could possibly know about it?
“Plague Saint?” Phoebe was looking up now, nervous gaze on Winter.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. Just checking.” Winter grabbed her staff. “I have to run some time-sensitive tests, so I’ll be in the lab for a while. I’d prefer not to be disturbed.”
“Understood.” After one last concerned glance, Phoebe returned to her work.
Back down to the lab. Winter moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, scanning for anything out of place, anything strange, anything that might be a way in.
A metallic clang came from her right. Winter’s gaze snapped to the wall in time with her heart’s skipped beat. She lifted the staff and fought to keep her hand steady. Another clang, this time farther up.
Was there something in the wall?
Someone?
A thud came from the ceiling. Winter grabbed the closest chair and dragged it in the direction of the sound. She stopped underneath a vent, hopped onto the seat, and pointed the staff toward the opening.
“Someone up there?” Winter hoped she sounded intimidating. The voice modifier could only do so much when fear was making every inch of her tremble.
Another thud, right over the vent. Winter jabbed up with the staff. The vent opening was loose, to her surprise, and the grate lifted and banged against the inside of the vent shaft. There was a squeak, and then a blur of white flying at Winter’s face.
She yelped and swung with the staff. It collided with something solid before she could build up much speed and sent whatever it was crashing to the floor.
Winter whirled toward the spot where the white thing had landed. A clattering sound distracted her; the collision seemed to have loosened something inside the staff. Frowning, she held it up and pushed her thumb against the very tip.
It clicked. A new section of staff sprang up above the wings—a handle. The rest of the staff’s outer shell slid off entirely and clattered to the floor.
Underneath was a blade. A narrow sword.
Movement on the floor made Winter jump. She hopped off the chair and pointed the blade at the—rat?
A white rat sat on the floor, dazed by the fall but seemingly unharmed otherwise. Winter took a step toward it and knelt down. She slowly extended a gloved hand. The rat cautiously approached and sniffed her fingers before stepping into her palm.
Winter rose to her feet. “Sorry about hitting you, little guy,” she muttered. “You scared me.” She turned around, and her eyes fell on the empty cages. Was this what had been in them? Rats? And if so, where were the rest of them?
After deciding the rat was fine, Winter put it back in the vent shaft. She had no idea what else to do with it, no way of feeding it or taking care of it, and a dozen far more pressing matters to deal with.