Winter downed two more cups of coffee before changing into the Plague Saint uniform and returning to the hospital. She didn’t bother stopping by her office, instead going straight to River’s room. To her relief, he was awake and talking to a nurse.
“Plague Saint!” the nurse exclaimed as she entered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s doing so much better.”
“See, doc?” River grinned. “I knew I’d pull through.”
“I gave him new medicine this morning,” Winter said.
The nurse frowned. “New medicine? Should we be giving that to other patients?”
“Yes, but unfortunately, we’re in short supply. I’m off to find the ingredients I need.”
“Right now? Nobody’s seen you all day, we were starting to get concerned. Three new red plague patients came in this morning, and—”
“I’m sorry, you’ll all have to handle yourselves for a few hours.” Winter winced at her own bluntness. It was something that the nurse should have been used to, but she couldn’t help but add, “I promise this is a better use of my time. Those patients will have a much better chance with the new medicine.” Shooting River a glance, she added, “He’ll probably need some more, too, to ensure he remains stable.”
Winter left the hospital and headed for City Hall. If the mayor wasn’t there, there had to at least be someone who could tell her where he was.
She’d only walked the streets in daylight on a few occasions to deliver bills to next of kin. Marcus had done it plenty when he was still the Saint, and when Winter did it, people tended to steer clear of her. Today, for some reason, they dared to move closer and whisper to each other while they stared.
The staff. Winter usually carried the staff, but right now it was shoved awkwardly into the bag. Had Marcus actually threatened people with it? She slipped into an alley to dig it out. She wouldn’t use it, but if it kept people away, she’d carry it.
Sure enough, that made all the difference. Winter didn’t have the energy to let her rage boil over even more, so she pushed the thought of Marcus’s cruelty down and continued her journey to City Hall.
The shining white building and its bronze dome overlooked the town square, surrounded by shops and other businesses. At the center of the square was a fountain that sat empty. It was only usable in the summer months, when the nights in Devil’s Pass remained consistently above freezing.
Winter stormed into City Hall and walked up to the front desk. Alarm flashed across the face of the young man sitting on the other side. “Plague Saint? I—”
“Is the mayor here?” Winter asked.
“He’s in a meeting, but—”
“Any idea how long he’s going to be?”
“No idea, but he said he was going to St. Andrew’s after, so he’ll be coming through here.” The receptionist swallowed. “I can tell him you asked to see him…”
“I can wait.” Winter looked around the lobby until her gaze rested on a bench.
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
Winter waited on the bench for ten minutes, according to the clock hanging over the receptionist’s desk. She passed time by decoding more sentences here and there in the journal, but she didn’t find anything terribly shocking or interesting.
As she was translating a line scribbled off to the side, apparently related to the sketches of petri dishes on the page—further evidence for gene editing, but lack of close relation to other species indicates possibility of creation from—a voice reached her from the nearby stairwell. No, two voices. Mayor Atherton, and—
“Two of those jugs should be enough for the assembly meeting, based on my calculations,” Marcus said.
Winter shoved his notebook into her bag and stood up. As soon as the two men emerged from the stairwell, their conversation came to a halt. Two pairs of eyes rested on her. Atherton’s expression was curious, while Marcus kept his blank.
“Mayor Atherton,” Winter said. “I needed to speak to you.”
Damn it. She couldn’t ask for ingredients in front of Marcus without him realizing she’d his plague cure, and his boat. Did she care if he knew? Phoebe was going to tell him tonight, anyway. But Marcus wasn’t going to let her make the cure to hand out freely.
“Plague Saint! This is perfect timing. I have matters to discuss with you as well. Marcus Blackburn here has been researching the plagues, and he’s come up with some rather groundbreaking stuff.”
“Wonderful,” Winter said. Maybe her best chance was to pretend to be on their side. Marcus wouldn’t buy it, but would he expose her in front of the mayor? She glanced at him. He was eyeing the staff in her hand. “I need some new ingredients for an improved version of the medicine I’m making for you.”
“Perhaps we should compare notes,” Marcus said. “I had some formulas I was going to send you, Plague Saint.”
Was he lying? Or was he going to really send her the cure?
“The ingredients involved are expensive,” Marcus continued. “We need to monitor the handling of them very closely, to ensure they don’t end up in the wrong hands.”
To ensure they don’t end up helping anyone who actually needs them.
“I agree,” Atherton said. “And since I’m appointing you as the new hospital director—”
“What?” Winter couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Mr. Blackburn is brilliant, Plague Saint. You have nothing to worry about. He’s going to be an excellent director.”
“Thank you, mayor.” Marcus smiled. “Plague Saint, you don’t need to worry about acquiring ingredients. I’ll handle that. You’re needed at the hospital. All you have to do is make the medicine for us with your equipment, and we’ll make sure it goes where it needs to.”
“You’re a symbol to the people,” Atherton added. “And that’s going to be very useful in the coming weeks.”
A tool. The Saint was a tool for the mayor to use. Did Marcus seriously expect her to play along?
“Blackburn has proof of the effectiveness of his formula,” Atherton continued. “And Forrest has contacts to get all the ingredients. He’s arranging for that as we speak. We’ll have them sent to the hospital tomorrow morning, so that you can make what we need for the assembly meeting.”
Marcus lowered his voice. “Perhaps we should be more careful with that information. It’s a bit sensitive.” The hint of annoyance in his voice told Winter he really hadn’t wanted her to hear that. Was it the bit about the assembly meeting that bothered him? The mention of Forrest? Or both?
Regardless, she had somewhere to look, now. And a new bit of information to work through. A new clue about Marcus’s true plan.
“Of course. Thank you, Marcus.” Atherton glanced at the clock, oblivious to the severity of his mistake. “My apologies, you two. I have another appointment I have to get to.”
As soon as Atherton was gone, Winter voiced her confusion. “Why not tell him the truth? Why are you keeping me around?”
“Do what I ask, and you can go back to your old life,” Marcus replied, ignoring her questions. “I’ll even let you cure your brother, as long as you don’t cause any more trouble.”
Winter gritted her teeth. “Why do you need me?” She shot the receptionist a nervous glance, but he was too far to hear their hushed conversation.
“What makes you think I need you?”
“I’m not stupid. You could reveal my identity and have me locked up for murder. Continue with your plan without any chance of me getting in the way.”
“Fine,” Marcus conceded. “Making the plague cure takes time that I don’t have. I’m juggling a lot right now, and you’re the only person who knows my recipes and procedures well enough to make it for me on such short notice. As I said, it’s impressive how well you took on my role. Even if it’s only because I made such detailed notes.”
“So, I make the plague cure, you give it only to your rich friends, and I go back to scraping by?” Winter hissed.
Marcus chuckled. “I know you have good intentions, Winter, but you’re misguided.”
“What, because I killed people? You have no right—”
“The killing isn’t the issue. I actually find that to be the most impressive thing you’ve done, even if it’s been an inconvenience,” Marcus said. “You just chose the wrong targets. You’re right: Devil’s Pass is dying and change needs to happen if we’re going to survive as a whole.”
“If you only save the rich, you’ll all starve to death without the rest of us to do your work.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid. I’m not just going to save the rich, I’m going to save the people we need, too.”
“Everyone deserves medicine, not just the people who are valuable to you!” Winter’s voice was rising to a dangerous volume. She had to make an effort to curb her anger.
Marcus shook his head. “They can’t all live, Winter. Not if I’m going to wipe out the plagues once and for all. Only so many people can be cured, and the rest have to go entirely. One swift wave of death to take out the last of the sickness. The cure will prevent it from taking hold in everyone else.”
“But you can cure everyone! You know how!”
“The costs would be through the roof. We’d have to convince every business in the city to sacrifice months of profits to pay for the supplies.” He sighed. “It will be a tragedy, but everything after will be better. We’ll have more resources, more—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Winter hissed.
Marcus’s expression darkened. “Don’t act like your idea is any better. Killing only the people at the top? People like Adams and Gordon keep the city running. Go ahead, kill all of us. Devil’s Pass will descend into chaos.”
He did have a point. Winter couldn’t just wipe out the city’s leadership. Who would replace them?
Better people. There were better people in the city. People who would do what it took to get a cure to every last person. People who would give up a few months of profits to wipe out the cures in a way that didn’t mean letting innocents die. Or, if it came to it, people who would force the businesses to sacrifice money instead of lives.
Maybe that was what had to be done.
“Trust me Winter,” Marcus said, pulling her from her train of thought. “This has to be done in one fell swoop. I’ve had to update my treatment formulas as the plagues evolve, and white will be no different.”
“But you made white cure!” Winter protested.
“It’s still a living thing,” Marcus said. “Just like the other plagues. And like them, it’s been genetically engineered to be resilient. To adapt.”
Genetically engineered? “Someone…made the other plagues?”
Marcus’s smug expression made her want to drive her blade into his chest. Winter flinched at the violent thought.
“You believed the story that they escaped from melting ice caps?” Marcus asked. “Plenty of diseases did, sure. But these five plagues were weapons, used in wars for resources when societies were crumbling. But unlike their creators, I’ve waited to unleash white plague until I had a cure. And I’ve found a cure for the others, too.
“I’m not stupid enough to hand out something so valuable for free,” Marcus continued with a glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to do what it takes to save this city, and people will thank me for it. The smart ones will, anyway.”
He was too proud of himself. He genuinely thought he was smarter than everyone who’d come before him, and everyone around him.
“But you’ll save my brother.” Winter let her voice sound broken, let her own fear crack it into pieces.
Marcus’s gaze returned to her. “If you make the cure for me, and agree not to give it to anyone else,” he said. “And don’t think you can trick me. If you try to back out or make any move to distribute the cure, the guards I’ve bought into my employment will stop you.”
“Guards?”
“Given Adams’s and Gordon’s deaths, I was able to convince Mayor Atherton you should have guards in your lab while you’re working. You’re welcome.”
“What else do you have guards doing for you?” Keeping an eye on your boat?
“That’s none of your business. You’ll begin tomorrow morning, when the rest of the ingredients you need get delivered. I’ll arrange for the other doctors to handle your patients.”
“They’re already struggling with their workloads—”
“They’ll have to deal with it,” Marcus said coolly. “Now, go make yourself useful until your lab is ready.”
Marcus left Winter standing alone in the lobby, processing and planning. To serve his own purposes, he was letting the elite believe she was on their side. That was going to be a mistake.
Now, where could she find Forrest?
Shoes clicking against tile made her head turn. Ellen Bates walked up to the young man at the front desk and handed him a folder. Winter waited for their conversation to end before approaching.
“Oh, Plague Saint.” Bates frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m actually looking for Forrest,” Winter told her. “He’s handling the transport of supplies I need for my new medicine.”
“Forrest? Last I heard from him, he was planning a party at his house tonight,” Bates replied. “But if I had to guess where he is now, I’d say look at the Diamond Club. Just down the street. It’s his favorite, of the ones he owns.”
“Thank you.”
“Best of luck with your transport,” Bates said. “I’ve been trying to get Forrest to approve a new tax law for weeks now. I know as well as anyone the economic benefit he’s brought to the city, but he tends to get…distracted.”
“Right.” Winter paused. “Sorry, I’m not as familiar with the council’s lawmaking process as I should be. Why do you need Forrest to sign off? He’s a businessman, not a politician.”
Bates responded with cold laughter. “Sometimes, there’s not much of a difference,” she said. “Because of donations he’s made to certain city funds, we have to go to him when we want to make adjustments to tax laws.”
The casual tone with which she said the words made Winter bristle. How was that legal? “Right. Of course,” she forced herself to say. “I’m going to go find him. Thank you.”