Plague Saint

Chapter Nine: Double-Edged Sword

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, albeit sometimes naive, assistant. Friendly. Cheerful, for the most part, and the only time she hadn't been was during incidents like the pay cut.

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 of 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 might work, and that knowledge was based on offhand notes the Saint had made elsewhere. Where were the machines he'd used for this?

Winter looked around. They must have been in this lab at some point. Had someone been sneaking in here while she wasn't around? And if Plague Saint had had access to this kind of advanced technology, would it have killed him to get a hold of some security cameras?

It was time for rounds. Deciphering the text was a frustratingly slow process, and as much as Winter wanted to keep going, she needed to take a break. She once again left the notebook sitting on the table and left the lab.

Phoebe was in the office when she returned, going through a drawer in the filing cabinet.

"Where have you been?" Winter asked.

"I'm so sorry!" Phoebe spun around. "I had—a family emergency. But it's all sorted out now. Sort of."

"Oh." Winter awkwardly picked up her bag and staff from her desk. "I'm off to do rounds."

River was recovering as fast as could be expected. It will still be a few days at least before he'd even be up and walking, but he was doing as well as Winter had dared to hope.

A man called to her in between patients. "Plague Saint!"

Winter paused in the middle of the hallway, trying to place the familiar voice before she turned around.

"Mayor Atherton?" She could barely keep the shock from her own voice. "What brings you here?"

"You, of course," Atherton said as he approached. "It's been some time since I last saw you. We've never really had a chance to talk one-on-one, have we?"

"No, we haven't." At least she didn't have to worry about figuring out what kind of conversations the mayor and Saint could have been having. "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. "St. Andrew's is hosting a general assembly meeting Sunday night."

General assembly meeting? The hell was that? Some sort of city thing?

"With the unfortunate passing of Director Adams, we thought it would be wise to ask you to join us," Atherton continued. "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. 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 basement lab.

The notebook she'd left sitting on the table was gone.

Shit.

She 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?"

"Nope." Phoebe slid a folder in. "Why? Something wrong?"

Two options. Phoebe was lying, or there was another entrance. Phoebe wasn't a liar. But 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 look, Phoebe returned to her work.

Back down to the lab. Winter turned in a circle, scanning the room 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. Heart racing, 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 dragged the nearest stool in the direction of the sound. She stopped underneath a vent, hopped onto the stool, and pointed the staff toward the opening.

"Someone up there?" Winter hoped she sounded intimidating. The voice modifier could only do so much.

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 event. 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 and sent it crashing to the floor.

Shaking, Winter pointed the staff at the spot where the white thing had landed. The collision seemed to have loosened something. Momentarily distracted, she held up the staff and pushed her thumb against the very tip.

It clicked. A new section of staff sprang up above the wings. The rest of the staff slid off entirely and clattered the floor.

Underneath was a blade. A small 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, seemingly dazed but otherwise unharmed. Winter took a step toward it and knelt down. She 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 ceiling. 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.