"Red-dyed solution," Winter told Director Adams. It was difficult to maintain her composure with River in such terrible shape, but she had to try. She couldn't let the director know she was giving him real medicine. "Kid's in decent health, though. He might pull through anyway."

"That could be a problem," Adams muttered. "See what you can do. And make sure his bill gets paid."

Winter tightened and untightened her left fist. "Of course." She'd been working on a plan to sneak into the payment office and destroy her mother's file, and now she'd be adding her brother to the list. But she'd need to wait until he was out of the hospital, and Adams's mind.

"Which reminds me—" Adams began.

"Andersen?" Winter asked. "I'm going to...speak with his next of kin after I finish this round."

Adams nodded approvingly. "Take your assistant with you. If she can prove herself to be competent, I might consider putting her in charge of bill collection. As much as I like sending the Plague Saint to collect, you only have so much time to treat patients."

No way Phoebe was capable of that. Not emotionally. Winter nodded. "Sure."

She finished updating her patients' treatment schedules. When she returned to her office, Phoebe was scribbling away in a notebook.

"You're coming on a bill collection trip with me," Winter told her. "Adams' orders."

Phoebe closed the notebook and jumped to her feet. "Oh. Uh, sure. Okay." She grabbed her coat off the rack.

Winter skimmed Andersen's file while they walked. Adams had ordered family records from the city guard, revealing that Andersen had a cousin living a few blocks from the hospital.

"It's not really fair, is it?" Phoebe asked. She kicked a stray stone. "Why should they have to pay their dead relative's bills?"

What would the real Plague Saint say? Something profoundly stupid, probably. Winter slid Andersen's file into her bag. "I don't make the rules."

"Why not? You have a lot of sway, don't you?"

Sway that came from being good at killing whoever Adams wanted killed and saving whoever he wanted saved. But that wouldn't last. Winter wouldn't let it last, and Adams wouldn't let her get away with breaking his agenda. She was running out of time. Something had to change, and if she didn't make the first move, Adams would.

"Adams was thinking about promoting you and putting you in charge of collecting payments," Winter said, changing the subject. "That's part of why I brought you."

Phoebe frowned. "I'm not sure I—"

"Want to? I thought that too. But it's your choice. And it might come with higher pay." And the guilt of harassing grieving people for money.

Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself. "Will he fire me if I say no?"

"I don't know if he'd try, but I need you as my assistant. I won't let him."

Phoebe looked up. "You like having me around?"

Winter awkwardly adjusted her grip on the staff. "You make paperwork easier." She wasn't the monster the real Plague Saint was, but she'd never been one to show much affection, either. "Training a new assistant would be a nightmare."

Still, Phoebe smiled. "Whatever you say."

The smile faded when Winter stopped in front of a dull apartment complex.

"This is the place," Winter told her. Seeing the alarm on Phoebe's face, she added, "Don't worry, I'll do all the talking."

Winter knocked on the door. Part of her wanted no one to answer, but another part knew if that happened, she'd have no choice but to hand the case over to the city guard.

The door opened a few inches. The woman on the other side took in the uniform, the mask, the staff. "Plague Saint? Can I help you?"

Winter took a deep breath. In the moment before she started speaking, she could hear children yelling somewhere in the house. "Is this the home of Erik Andersen?"

The woman nodded.

"According to city records, he's Jacob Andersen's closest living relative." Winter drew the bill out of her bag. "I'm afraid he passed away with money still owed."

The exhaustion on the woman's face worsened. "How much?" she asked weakly.

Winter held out the bill. After a moment's hesitation, the woman took it. Her eyes widened.

"We can't afford this," she said. "We didn't even see Jacob that much."

"My apologies, but it's hospital policy."

"What if we can't pay?"

Winter tapped a finger against the top of the staff. "You have until the end of the month to make your first payment. You'll receive more information in the mail in the next few days. If you have any questions, you can call or visit the hospital. And if you can't pay..." She swallowed. "That's not my department."

Contacting next of kin shouldn't have been her department either, but it seemed the real Plague Saint had been happy to perform this task for Adams.

Winter walked to where Phoebe waited, and they headed back toward the hospital.

"Why is this the Plague Saint's job?" Phoebe asked, voicing Winter's thoughts. "Shouldn't you be treating people?"

Winter ran through what Adams had told her, trying to piece together his motivations. Maybe he thought if he sent the people someone they saw as a savior, they'd be more inclined to pay. "Adams has interesting ideas about how things should be done," she finally said.

"Like harassing innocent people for money?" Phoebe said the words under her breath, but Winter still heard them. She didn't respond.

When Winter had first learned about the next of kin policy, she'd been conflicted. It was certainty unfair, but where was the hospital supposed to get money if so many of its patients died?

It didn't take much time going through files and letters in the Saint's office to learn the truth: the absurd amount of money on the bills was far more than it cost to actually treat patients, and Adams was taking a ridiculously large salary.

Adams. As long as he was around, things were going to stay terrible. Winter wondered what the chances were of him catching one of the plagues. Probably slim. He was taking excellent precautions. But if he slipped up...

They returned to the hospital. Phoebe went back to paperwork, and Winter went back to sneaking real treatment to patients.

While checking the vitals of a red plague victim, Adams entered the room. Winter clenched her jaw.

"Andersen's bill?" he asked.

"Gave it to his cousin's household. Told them they have until the end of the month to send their payment." Winter tightened the cap on the blood sample she'd just taken, which she'd figured out how to do from a combination of closely watching nurses and reviewing the Saint's written instructions. "I don't think they'll be able to pay, though."

"Then the city guard will handle it." Adams' tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Winter dared to bring up the point that had been on her mind for some time. "That doesn't benefit us, though."

"Not directly. But it helps the city financial advisor, and she's the one signing off on our budget." Adams looked the patient up and down. "How's he doing?"

City financial advisor. That was someone to look into.

"Not sure, he just came in," Winter answered. "But he's got red plague and he's eighty-three, so I doubt he has much of a chance." That was true, even with Winter giving him the best medicine she had.

"Good."

Adams left Winter to stare at the man, her fists clenched, her jaws tight. The rage burning in her chest was undeniable. Hell, it was the only thing in this city keeping her warm.

Winter opened her hand to study the vial of blood.

If Adams wanted this poor man dead so bad, he could go with him.

Winter returned to her office, walked past Phoebe without a word, and entered the Plague Saint's lab. She pulled out the Plague Bible and read through every entry mentioning the red plague.

Adams was in good health, but he was nearing sixty. If he was infected with red plague, he'd show symptoms within a day. If he received real treatment, Winter estimated he had close to a fifty-fifty chance of pulling through, maybe higher.

But without treatment, he'd still last three days. Maybe more. Winter sighed. She couldn't let his death drag out that long. He wouldn't go down without a fight, and if she didn't give him her medicine, god knew what he'd do. She could risk lying, but something told her Adams was too smart for that.

Winter lifted her gaze from the Bible to the freezer on the other side of the lab. More blood and saliva samples filled the shelves, plenty from every plague. Her fingers drummed against the counter. With five plagues in the city, there were inevitable cases of people catching two at once. Winter had even found notes of someone with three in the Saint's files. That man had died within hours of coming in. And while he'd had signs of green plague since the night before, yellow and red symptoms had only showed up the morning of his death.

Winter crossed the room to the freezer.

She told herself she was just looking. Then she told herself if it wasn't him, it would be all the dying patients. People like River. Do it for River.

Nothing she told herself stopped her hands from shaking, but she didn't let that stop her from taking a sample of each plague.