Plague Saint

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Devil In Devil's Pass

Marcus lunged at Winter before she could make another attempt at picking up the sword. The next thing she knew, her back was slamming against the railing. She gasped in a desperate attempt to reclaim the air that escaped her lungs.

"You never learn, do you?" Marcus straightened up, looming over her. "I'm starting to think I can't let you live."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Winter wheezed. She grabbed the railing to steady herself but didn't dare try to stand yet. "Why'd you come back here? Why take the boat back up the river?"

"I think that's obvious."

"Phoebe would know."

"I don't give a damn." Marcus stepped away from Winter to pick up the sword. He was trembling, too.

"You're risking your life every second you're out here," Winter told him.

"So are you." Marcus said. "I think you understand the idea of putting your life on the line for the right thing. Even if you're going about it the wrong way."

The taste of copper filled Winter's mouth. She spat out blood. "Don't give me that."

"Give you what?"

"The 'we're not so different after all' speech."

"I wasn't. You may have ambition, but you're naive and foolish." Marcus raised the sword.

Winter pushed herself off the ground and dove to the left. She awkwardly rolled across the deck and staggered to her feet. She stumbled into the cabin. The blade sliced through the air behind her.

Sure enough, bottle after bottle of dark liquid sat lined up on the center table, ready to be dumped. Winter grabbed one and turned around. While Marcus tried to get his bearings, she swung the bottle and hit the side of his head.

He stumbled into the wall. Blood trickled down the side of his face. He swung again. Another miss. The sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Marcus lunged at Winter. In her attempt to sidestep, she slammed into the table. Bottles tipped over and hit the floor, rolling in every direction. Waves rocked the boat. Two bottles rolled out the door and onto the deck.

Marcus collapsed to the floor. Winter looked down and met his gaze. The look in his eyes made her think he wasn't going to get back up.

She wasn't sure what surprised her more: the laughter that escaped her, or the fact that he joined in.

"I win," Winter told him. She knocked the last few bottles onto the floor, and watched another roll out onto the deck. One passed between the bars of the railing, and a distance splash followed. "Hell, maybe I'll throw this all in the river. No one in Devil's Pass is going to drink it."

"Please do," Marcus said. He turned his head and chuckled as another slid off the deck.

Winter froze. "What?"

"Devil's Pass isn't the only city on this river." Marcus let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and the worst cough Winter had ever heard. Blood dripped from his mouth. "Hell, we trade with some of the communities south of the pass. And they take water from the river farther down."

Winter darted forward to grab two bottles within reach before they could roll out the door. With her foot, she tried to stop a third from escaping, but she wasn't fast enough.

Oh, God.

Winter tried to think. "They're in the bottles—"

"You really think they won't break?" Marcus laughed again.