Winter had warned Phoebe in advance that she would not be leaving her home until the sun was out. Phoebe had laughed but agreed they could meet after sunrise. Winter told her parents she’d picked up an extra shift at the station.
When Winter hopped off the trolley at the stop they’d arranged to meet at, Phoebe was already waiting.
“Good morning!” she said brightly.
Winter rubbed one of her eyes, still fending off the last clutches of sleep. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” She wasn’t late, but she would still feel bad if Phoebe had been standing around in the cold for more than a couple of minutes.
“Not long at all,” Phoebe replied as they started walking. “The lab’s pretty close to my house.”
“Have you been there before?”
“Uh, sort of. I’ve been outside of the building to meet my uncle when he was done working, after my classes. He never took me inside, though.” Phoebe paused. “Oh, shoot! I forgot I need to drop off an assignment before my professor marks it late.”
“Oh.” Winter paused. “Right now?”
Phoebe nodded. “I’m so sorry. I swear it won’t take long. I just have to drop it in a box outside the classroom.”
“Sure, no worries. I’ll just…follow you.” Walking to the college and back would only delay them, what, twenty minutes? Twenty-five? Winter forced herself to take a deep breath. No need to rush. There was nothing to get worked up over.
They made the walk to the college in just under ten minutes. Phoebe led the way to one of the many brick buildings, and Winter anxiously followed her inside. She had to remind herself that it didn’t matter that it wasn’t a student, and that she was with Phoebe, and that no one cared about some random girl walking the halls. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone they passed knew she didn’t belong.
The corridors they walked through smelled like old books. Posters and diagrams Winter didn’t understand covered the walls, along with portraits of people who looked a lot smarter than her.
“Here we are.” Phoebe stopped in front of a door and drew a bundle of papers from her bag. “I spent all night on this essay. I’d hate to get docked for being late.” As she slid it into the metal box hanging next to the door, she chuckled. “Maybe if I’d gotten some more sleep, I would have remembered to drop it off before coming to meet you.”
“What’s the essay on?” Winter asked.
“Oh, it’s for a history class,” Phoebe explained as they began walking again. “Stuff about politics when Devil’s Pass was founded. Here, let’s go down this hall, it’ll put us out closer to the lab.”
Winter followed her until they were almost out the doors. A massive painting, much larger than any of the other portraits they had passed, made her stop. She stepped back to take in the woman’s cold face, the sword in her hands, the blood dripping from the blade.
“Who’s that?” Winter asked.
“Huh?” Phoebe was almost to the door. She turned around and glanced at the painting. “Oh. Saint Minerva.” Winter swore there was a hint of disdain in her voice.
“That’s Saint Minerva? She looks like she just killed someone!”
“Because she did.” Phoebe closed the distance between herself and Winter. “I don’t know why they made the War Saint the school’s patron—well, I do know, I just think it’s a bad choice.”
Winter shot her a sideways glance. “Why did they, then?”
“Something about knowledge being our best weapon against our enemies.” Phoebe gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Devil’s Pass has enemies?”
“We did when the school was founded, in the early days of the city. Different communities were fighting over resources in these mountains. Still, you’d think they’d have taken this down at some point.” Phoebe turned away from the painting. “I just think it’s a bit much. You ready to go check out the lab?”
Winter nodded. “Let’s go.” As they reached the exit door, she asked, “How did the War Saint die again? It was in battle, right?”
“Yeah. The last battle Devil’s Pass fought, over a century ago. Saint Minerva led her army to victory, but the last enemy soldier killed her before dying from their wounds.”
They left the campus behind and walked the city streets for nearly fifteen minutes before Phoebe stopped. “This is the place.” She gestured to the plain stone building in front of them. “It also houses some offices. My uncle’s lab is in the basement.” She held up a key. “And this is for an entrance in that alley over there.”
Winter followed her to the side of the building. “We’re pretty close to the hospital,” she noted.
“Yup. He worked with them a little. Requested samples and whatnot.” Phoebe walked up to the only door in the alley, inserted and turned the key, and attempted to push it open with a grunt. It didn’t budge. “Stupid thing,” she muttered.
“Here, let me try.” Winter took a step forward and a deep breath. With one swift movement, she shoved the side of her body against the door, shoulder first. It gave way and opened with a groan.
“Wow.” Phoebe folded her arms. “Uh, thanks.”
Winter gestured to the open doorway, hiding the pain shooting through her upper body. “After you.”
Phoebe stepped into the darkness. “There must be a switch around here somewhere—aha!” There was a click, followed by a dim light flickering on up ahead.
Phoebe led Winter through a narrow hall and down a flight of stairs. Winter pressed a gloved hand to the wall at her right. She wasn’t ordinarily one to get nervous in places like this, but the tight space was making her claustrophobic. The flickering, exposed light bulbs weren’t helping.
The hallway led them directly to the lab. And disappointment. Any equipment or supplies the space once held were gone.
Winter examined a dust-covered table near the entrance. “This place looks pretty empty.”
“There has to be something.” Phoebe strolled in and began trying cupboards. “Keep looking.”
Winter wasn’t optimistic. Still, she dropped to the floor, tried not to focus on how dirty it was, and peered under the counter wrapping around the lab. Her eyes caught a clear path through the dust. She reached out, and her hand found something. A gold-banded black pen. Not terribly notable.
“This is all I’ve got.” Winter rose to her feet and held up the pen for Phoebe to see.
Phoebe threw a drawer shut with surprising force. “Why would he clean it out?” she muttered.
“Well, he had to have taken it all somewhere, right?” Winter tried. “Do you know of any other places he might have kept his things?”
Phoebe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll just have to ask him again.”
It was a whisper, barely audible, but Winter heard it all the same. She took a hesitant step toward Phoebe. “What was that?”
Phoebe’s eyes flew open. “Okay, I lied. I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to, but—” She brushed a piece of hair out of her face. “I just—didn’t want you thinking I was crazy for thinking he was still alive. But I knew he was.”
“Your uncle?” Winter asked, brow furrowing.
Phoebe nodded. “He didn’t die in the hospital. He went missing. I thought maybe it had to do with his research, but I was sure he wasn’t dead. And then the other night he showed up at our apartment.”
“Where was he, then?”
Uneasiness settled over Winter.
“He hasn’t told us much. All he said was that someone was after his research, and he’d been in hiding.” Phoebe was pacing now. “And he won’t answer my questions. It was this killer. It has to be. There’s some sort of conspiracy with the plague cures, or—”
This didn’t make any sense. Winter could account for every death. They were all either her, or the real Saint. Was someone else after the cures? Maybe the incident with Marcus Blackburn was completely unrelated to what was happening at the hospital, even if he’d gone missing from there.
Wait. Maybe the Plague Saint had gone after Blackburn. If Blackburn’s research was leading him to promising cures, the Saint might have decided he needed to be eliminated. It was just…odd that he’d never mentioned the man in his journals. But not impossible.
“My uncle doesn’t know I came here,” Phoebe continued as Winter tuned back in to her rambling. “I found the lab key last in his bedroom last week, but I put off coming here because I was scared. But I need answers. He could still be in danger, and people are dying.” Her eyes found Winter’s. “I need your help.”
“Me?” Winter sputtered. “I don’t know how I could be of any help—”
“I think you’re right about people trying to hide the plague cures.”
Winter’s desire to remove herself from this mess entirely was at war with her burning curiosity about Blackburn’s research. She sighed and shook her head. “What can we even do about it, though?”
“We have to persuade my uncle to tell us what he knows,” Phoebe said. “And I think you can help with that. Since you work at the guard station, you can get information about the investigation into Adams’s death, right?”
“It doesn’t really work like that,” Winter said. “I just organize—”
“There has to be something you can do,” Phoebe interrupted, pleading. Desperate. “Anything.”
There was something. But that would be a job for the Plague Saint, not Winter Pierce. “I’ll see what I can do. I have a shift tomorrow night.”
Phoebe’s face lit up. “Thank you. I’m going to talk to my uncle. Maybe you could come over for dinner Monday night and tell him what you find out about the investigation. And I can bring files from the hospital—”
“That would be illegal,” Winter told her.
“Fine. I’ll look at some files and bring the information I learn in my brain. That work?”
That was still a violation of hospital conduct, but Winter wasn’t exactly one to lecture Phoebe on following the rules. “Sure. Sounds great.” She looked around the dusty lab as the lights overhead flickered. “Can we get out of here? This place is creeping me out.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Phoebe said. “Let’s go.”
A minute later, they were stepping out into the alley. Winter breathed in deeply, taking in cold air that held the scent of cooking meat from a nearby restaurant. Chatter from the streets nearby washed over her.
“What are you up to after this?” Phoebe asked.
“Hm?” Winter held up a hand to shield her face from the blinding sun. She supposed she should have been happy to see it so bright out, but it felt like a lie with the biting cold, like the weather was mocking her—
She shook off her thoughts and processed Phoebe’s question. “I’m going to visit my brother in the hospital,” she answered as they made their way toward a trolley stop at the end of the block.
Phoebe shot her a wide-eyed glance. “Your brother’s in the hospital? Is he—?”
“He’s got red plague,” Winter replied. “But he’s recovering. As long as he rests, he should be fine. Eventually.”
“Well, that’s good!” And just like that, Phoebe’s overly cheerful demeanor was back.
“You two would get along great,” Winter muttered.
“I’m headed to the hospital, too, actually,” Phoebe said. She slowed, then halted next to the sign marking where the trolley would arrive. “Plague Saint won’t be dropping by until later today, but I don’t like letting new patient reports pile up. The workload always gets crazy on weekends.”
Winter stopped next to her. She had forgotten that she’d told Phoebe she’d be coming in for a little bit today. Part of her regretted not taking the day off, as she usually did on weekends, but she was eager to decode more of the Saint’s notebook.
Assuming she could find it, Winter reminded herself. The book’s disappearance from the secret lab was deeply unsettling.
An idea crossed Winter’s mind as the trolley approached the stop. “Say, do you by chance have any work to do that doesn’t involve sensitive information on patients?”
“Ugh, where do I begin?” Phoebe began counting off on her fingers. “Orders for chemicals and tools need to be filled out and sent to factories, stock records need to be organized, finance reports need to be added up and checked for accuracy…”
“Could any of that be done while, say, sitting in bed?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
A small smile found its way onto Winter’s face. “I think I know someone who would be more than happy to help you with your workload, if you want it.”
They stepped onto the trolley as Winter explained her idea. Phoebe nodded eagerly. “That would be a huge help. I’d have more time for my schoolwork.” She hesitated. “Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?”
“Of course,” Winter told her. “River’s bored out of his mind. And if he knows he’s helping someone out, he’ll be all the more eager to do it.”
The trolley jerked forward. Winter grabbed onto a pole, and Phoebe’s hand found a hold below hers.
“You know, I was thinking about that trolley problem thing,” Winter began. “Does the problem say anything about the people involved?”
Phoebe frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like, are they good people? Bad people?”
“Well, that would affect your decision, wouldn’t it?”
“Exactly. Like, if the five are all ordinary people, and the lone one is, I don’t know, a serial killer…it’s an easy choice, right? You flip the switch.” Winter’s hand tightened around the pole. “Hypothetically, of course.”
Phoebe hesitated. “I mean, sure. There are versions where you swap in criminals or even people you know, but the basic version is just…people. If you just stumble across the tracks and see this situation, not knowing anyone involved, what would you do?”
Winter turned her head to stare at the city passing by outside the trolley, the people on the sidewalk, the brief glimpses of her reflection in dark windows. “Hm.”
“But hey, let’s consider your situation,” Phoebe said. “The one is a bad person, the five are good.” Under her breath, she added, “Subjective as that may be.”
Winter glanced at her. “Would you flip the switch?”
“Do you think that’s the right thing to do?” Phoebe asked.
Winter shifted, growing uncomfortable in the tight space of the trolley. “Well, if you’re keeping good in the world and getting rid of some bad…” She let the implication hang in the air, not sure how to finish the sentence.
“It’s a fair thought.” Phoebe tipped her head back to stare at the trolley ceiling. “You know, I work as a church maiden, and I hear those passages they read every morning. There’s a lot of talk about how killing is bad, no matter what.”
“So, the right thing to do is let the five die, because choosing to kill the one is a bad thing for you to do? Even if they go on to kill other people?” Winter asked. “Do you really believe that?”
“Not saying I believe it. That’s just what the books say.” Phoebe shrugged. “I guess killing—even bad people—is interfering with things you shouldn’t.”
Interfering with what? Some divine plan? Winter stared at Phoebe, watching the way her dark eyes swept the trolley ceiling. “Maybe the right thing is to do the wrong thing.”
“Huh?” Phoebe lowered her head to look at Winter again.
“Like, maybe killing is bad, but you do it anyway because you care enough to save more people, even if you get some sort of cosmic weight put against your soul.” At the blank look in Phoebe’s expression, Winter shrugged. “But what do I know? I’m not in college.”
Phoebe nodded, but there was apprehension in her gaze that made Winter feel like she’d said the wrong thing.
