Plague Saint [REMOVING FOR PUBLICATION JUNE 1]

Chapter Fifteen: Smoke and Fires

Winter scribbled away on a scrap of paper. She wrote down what numbers and measurements and chemical names she could remember, frantically trying to save them before they were gone. She still had the ingredients. She still had nearly three weeks of experience. She still had—

"They found him dead in his office!" Phoebe exclaimed. She was reading from a newspaper she'd picked up on her lunch break. "There really is a killer on the loose."

"It was plagues." Winter tapped her pen against the desk. What the hell was the stuff in that dark red bottle called? Whatever it was, it was ten ounces of that per...half gallon? Or full?

"There has to be more to it than that." Phoebe folded up the paper. "Maybe I should call Winter and ask her what she knows about the guard investigation."

Was she waiting for permission? "She'll be on a shift right now."

"Well, no, not right now, obviously," Phoebe muttered.

This wasn't enough. Maybe it was the panic blanking Winter's mind, but she couldn't remember any of the full recipes the Saint had written down, despite how many times she'd made them. She watched Phoebe flip through the newspaper. She had to steal back the Plague Bible. And get her hands on his white plague cure, which was probably coded.

"Got any plans tonight, Phoebe?"

"Uh, besides school?" Phoebe asked.

"What about your family?"

Phoebe shot her a weird look. "I think they're all just going to be at home."

Winter would have to lure them out. Still tapping her pen against the desk, she sighed.

"What are you writing?" Phoebe asked. "You seem...stressed."

"It's nothing you need to worry about." Winter rose to her feet. "I just have a lot of patients to deal with right now." She grabbed the piece of paper, folded it up, and shoved it in her pocket.

She managed her rounds as best she could without the Bible. They had enough medicine left to manage a few days, at best. At least, for most of the patients. If River didn't get whatever the hell treated white plague soon...

Time dragged by until Winter could finally leave. She nodded goodbye to Phoebe, who was finishing up her last report before leaving herself.

Before she could make it out, a nurse caught her attention.

"Plague Saint!" he waved his hand as he caught up to her. "My apologies, I know you're probably leaving, but we're having some issues with a red plague patient."

Winter's heart skipped a beat. "In the tower? What floor?"

"Uh, second."

Not River, then. Thank god. Winter nodded. "Lead the way. What kind of issues?"

"The medicine you gave us seemed to be working. Then a few hours ago, their symptoms got much worse, and the treatment isn't doing anything."

Just like River. All the more reason to find the cure for white plague.

They entered the patient's room. A man laid unconscious in the hospital bed, and a woman sat at his side. On the table next to her was a newspaper, a few lit candles, and an untouched sandwich that looked to have been sitting there for a couple of hours.

"His wife," the nurse muttered, nodding to the woman.

Winter walked to the man and looked him over, studied his vitals, read his chart. As if there were anything she could do. Some bit of good news she could give them.