Plague Saint

Chapter Thirteen: Two of Saints

Impossible.

Impossible.

Impossible.

There was a fresher scar on his left jaw, and a fair number of scrapes and bruises, all matching the wear and tear from Winter dragging him out of the hospital. Do something. Say something.

Marcus Blackburn didn't miss a beat. "You must be Winter Pierce." His expression was still warm, still friendly. "Nice to meet you."

Why not tell them? Why not tell them Winter had tried to kill him?

"Nice to meet you too." Winter held out her hand to shake the one he offered. Of course he wouldn't tell them. He apparently kept his identity as the Plague Saint a secret from them. Was that only so he could keep all the money for himself, rather than share it with his brother's struggling family?

How had he survived? In her panic, Winter hadn't really made sure he was dead, she realized. He hadn't been breathing after his collapse, but...maybe he'd started again and she hadn't noticed. But she'd thrown him in the river!

And then walked away. Not daring to look back.

"You can sit down," Phoebe said.

"Huh?" Winter's gaze darted to her right, where Phoebe was pulling out a chair.

Phoebe laughed. "You okay?"

"Fine. Sorry." Winter sank into the chair next to Phoebe. "I got distracted. I just—remembered something I need to do when I get back to the guard station. Doesn't matter."

While she made conversation with Phoebe and answered her parents' questions, Winter tried to trace Blackburn's side of the story. If he'd been alive and pulled himself out of the river, why not come back to the hospital? How long had it taken him to find out she'd taken his place—if he even suspected it was her? Why not go to Adams? And why hide from his family for over two weeks?

Winter tried to avoid looking at him, but then she wondered if that was weird. Did he notice? Did anyone else notice?

"What do you do at the guard station exactly, Winter?" Phoebe's mother asked.

"Oh, I uh, I organize case files, pretty much," Winter told her. "Sometimes they have me deliver messages or fill out reports, too." She risked a glance at Marcus, who was nodding along to her answer.

The conversation shifted to Phoebe's work and school after that, to Winter's relief. She focused on downing the rest of her food. Despite the nagging thought that this was a waste of Winter's time, she couldn't help taking an interest in what Phoebe was saying, particularly about her college classes.

After dinner, Phoebe insisted on making cookies, so the family and conversation moved to the kitchen while she worked. As she was putting them in the oven, her parents announced they were going to bed.

Winter's heart sped up as she watched them leave. Just her and Phoebe and Marcus now. This was the reason she came, but now that she knew who Marcus was, her dread was enough to drown her.

"Let's head back to the dining room," Phoebe suggested.

She led them into the next room. Marcus sat down first, and Winter took a seat on the other side of the table. Phoebe sat down next to her, close enough to make her already racing heart feel like it was going to burst. She hid her shaking hands in her lap.

"Uncle Mark," Phoebe said. "Winter's been hearing some interesting things about the hospital director's death." She gave Winter a pointed look.

"Oh, right." Winter cleared her throat. "There are rumors going around the station that Adams' death wasn't an accident."