Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] (36 page)

“Tell me this bloody second.” Ethan ran a hand over his face. “She’s my wife, and she’s…left me.”

“Maddy married
you
? But she just wrote Claudia and said she was going to Iveley for the rest of the spring. That she owned it now, or something fantastic. Why would she leave you if she actually married you?”

Iveley?
Maddy was throwing him a red herring, and he knew why.

She’s about to disappear
…. She’d been gone three days—long enough to sell off everything and book passage anywhere in the world.

“She’s no’ at Iveley,” Ethan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s gone back to Paris.”

“You had better hope not,” Quin said, shooting to his feet.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Why no’?”

“We’ve just been getting word that there’s…sickness there.”

At Quin’s expression, dread settled heavily in the pit of Ethan’s stomach. “What kind?”

“MacCarrick, it’s…cholera.”

Forty-three

“J
ust calm yourself,” Quin said. “The early wires say that they’ve contained it in some of the lower parishes. It might not even touch Madeleine in St. Roch. But I still advise you to hurry, because the city’s becoming unstable and there have already been rumors of impending martial law. You remember what happened in the last outbreak?”

Ethan swallowed. Sixteen hundred people had died in a cholera-related riot, shot down by soldiers in a matter of hours. Dead, not even from the disease. No, twenty thousand had fallen from that.

“She’s no’ in St. Roch,” Ethan said, striding out to his horse. “She’s likely in La Marais.”

Quin was right behind him. “What in the hell is she doing there?”

“Does no’ matter—”

“Damn it, Ethan…that’s the area hardest hit.”

Ethan felt like his heart had stopped. “What did you say?”

“There’s already been talk of a quarantine for La Marais. I don’t understand why she might be in a slum like that, but if she is, you have to get her out….” Quin shook his head hard. “The Network would never officially recommend that you smuggle a subject out of a military quarantine, but you know protocols. You know how to protect others. You could do this safely.”

Ethan had been in cholera-ravaged areas many times before. The latest medical texts avowed:
Cleanliness, sobriety, and judicious ventilation defy the pestilence
. In the field, Ethan had learned:
Boil anything that goes in, burn everything that comes out, and splash whisky over anything suspicious
.

“So unofficially,” Quin continued quietly, “I’ll help you with transport. And you’ll get down there and extract her from wherever she might be—regardless of the situation. Do you understand me? Get in and get her out. And don’t get caught breaking quarantine.” He met Ethan’s eyes. “Or you’ll both be shot on sight.”

Morning crept pale and listless over La Marais.

Yesterday, the streets had been choked with those strong enough to flee. Now the exodus was sparse and slow, as if already defeated.

Maddy sat alone on her building’s front steps, with her knees to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her forehead beaded perspiration even in the chill spring air and her body shook. Those damned bells tolled nonstop; regimental drums beat in the distance, reminding them all of the oppressive threat of quarantine.

The stoop was empty of the drunks, most of whom had contracted the disease and swiftly passed on. Two nights ago, one had crawled into the building for help, then died in the stairwell.

The one Maddy had fallen over. She wiped her brow. Now she was infected as well.

Ethan had called her a fox once, but she could find no means to escape this trap. It was too late for her anyway. And too late for Bea. Maddy’s tears began anew.

In front of her, not even a hundred yards away, a young man she’d known from the parish market fell to his knees. He gave a strangled scream and clawed at the ground as his body emptied itself of white fluids in a sickening rush. Anyone near him ran shrieking.

The impulse to help him arose in Maddy, but she couldn’t aid everyone she knew—all around her the residents were falling as cholera burned through La Marais like a wildfire. At that moment, she heard the unmistakable sound of retching just behind her garret as yet another succumbed.

Across the narrow street, a teary Berthé emerged from her building and sank down on her own stoop. Maddy could tell she had the sickness as well.

When Maddy had arrived back in La Marais this time, she’d been prepared for the sisters to ridicule her for returning. Now their feud seemed so inconsequential.

They met eyes, and Berthé said, “How’s Bea?”

“D-died this morning,” Maddy choked out, shaking harder.

Berthé nodded gravely. “I am sorry for that,
la gamine
. But Corrine is still well?”

“Yes,” she said. “She’s resting.” Corrine had finally cried herself to sleep after they’d discovered Bea dead in her bed this morning. Maddy shuddered at the memory. “And Odette?” Maddy had heard that Odette was one of the first stricken—and that Berthé had refused to leave her sister behind to save herself.

“Odette will not last the night.”

Maddy said, “I’m sorry, too.”

Berthé swiped at her tears. A long silence passed between them, then she said, “This was not how it was supposed to end for us,
non
?”

Maddy shook her head, giving her a sad smile through streaming tears. Maddy thought it remarkable how one’s wishes and dreams could change so suddenly with the circumstances. Last week, she’d wished she was indeed pregnant and that Ethan would react well to the news.

Now, Maddy wished she could live through cholera just one more time. If not that, then she wished Ethan wouldn’t blame himself for her death. No matter what he’d done, he didn’t deserve this kind of guilt.

If nothing else, Maddy wished that she wouldn’t be burned on the mass pyre….

“At least you once got to see something outside of this slum,” Berthé said. “Is Britain as beautiful as they say?”

“It is.” Maddy’s voice broke as she imagined Carillon. “It truly is.”

The murky streets of La Marais were completely deserted when Ethan reached the area late in the night. The only sounds were the constant tolling of church bells, the low drone of nearing drums, and sporadic gunfire. Building doors had been left wide open, belongings dumped on the street.

The people here had fled for their lives. The idea of Maddy alone in all this maddened Ethan.

Even with Quin’s connections, Ethan had been forced to wait for a ferry. Rumors were flying out of Paris, and most captains refused to cross the twenty-mile channel to France.

Each hour that Ethan had had to wait had been excruciating. Feeling so powerless, he’d paced, trying not to dwell on cholera’s short incubation period—four hours to five days. He’d seen people contract it and die within hours, the speed of deterioration astonishing.

Maddy had been here for at least two days, possibly three….

Then once he’d made France, many of the trains into Paris had been halted. By the time he at last reached her building, Ethan was wracked with fear for her. He sprinted through the open doorway and climbed blindly to the sixth floor, breaking down Maddy’s locked door.

He found her room exactly as it had been when they’d left it—except Maddy’s bright bed had been stripped completely, the mattress gone.

His mouth went dry.

Bea’s door was wide open. When he saw that her bed was stripped as well, sudden sweat beaded all over him. The disease had been here.

He kicked down Corrine’s door—her room looked untouched.

Stomping down the stairs, he sprinted into the empty street, having no idea where to find Maddy. Turning in circles, he yelled her name again and again, his voice echoing—

“Are you searching for
la gamine
?” a woman called weakly.

He whirled around as a figure limped toward him from a building across the street. It was the girl from the tavern—the one who’d tripped Maddy. Berthé, he thought her name was.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Madeleine fell sick,” Berthé said, clutching her sides. Her face was pale as chalk, but for the characteristic dark rings fanning out around her eyes. “She tripped on a dead man in the stairwell. After that, she never had a chance. They took her yesterday when they came for Bea’s body. Took her, even with Corrine fighting them.”

Ethan’s heartbeat thundered, booming in his ears. He couldn’t even allow himself to think of what she might be saying. No. This just wasn’t possible. “Who took her? Where?” When she bent over and spit up white fluid, he bellowed, “Goddamn it, Berthé! Tell me.”

She jerked upright. “The hospital, l’Hotel Dieu. Four blocks down, then north. But she’s
fallen
. She’ll be on the pyre by now—”

He’d already begun running, pumping his arms, hearing nothing but his breaths.

The hospital entrance was guarded, though only by two soldiers—but then, no one was expected to want in, and no one was expected to be able to exit. Ethan barely slowed to meet the guards head-on. He lunged in between them, swinging punches wildly, knocking them both out.

The inside of the hospital was a den of chaos, with useless smoke and incense oozing thickly throughout. The space teemed with patients; hysterical screams shrilled; huddled figures wept everywhere he turned.

He found a harried nun behind a desk that was filled with scattered papers and bags of tagged personal belongings. “I’m lookin’ for my wife,” Ethan quickly said. “Madeleine MacCarrick.”

“How did you get in?” she asked, eyeing his unshaven, scarred face with suspicion. She had marked circles around her eyes and sweat beading her brow and above her upper lip.
Already infected.
He swung his gaze around—most of the nuns were.

“Special diplomatic dispensation,” he somehow thought to say. He would have to get Maddy out of France tonight—or they could be pursued after he’d assaulted the guards and then stolen her from here.

The nun frowned at his answer, but she did drag a weighty, leather-bound ledger across her desk. After scanning some pages, she said, “There’s no one here by that name.”

“Maddy, then,” Ethan snapped, but she still shook her head. “Last name of Van Rowen.”

The nun scanned her ledger once more, then gazed up, her face pale. Ethan began to shake.

“Tell me where she is,” Ethan demanded, his tone low. When she hesitated, he just stopped himself from reaching across the desk and throttling her.

“I’m sorry,
monsieur
. You’re too late.”

Forty-four

E
than swallowed, unable to speak. Finally, he choked out, “She is no’…there’s been a mistake….”

Over the roaring in his ears, he dimly perceived her saying, “She was given last rites at sunrise and not expected to make it past the morning.”

Ethan must have appeared as crazed as he felt, because the woman cowered. “Then she’s not…?” Ethan couldn’t say the word.

“She’s in the
dernière chambre
.” Her gaze flickered in the direction of a darkened back ward. “But,
monsieur
, once they go in—”

Ethan was already loping for the room. Inside, he swung his head back and forth. So many goddamned beds in this squalid, chill room. Children screamed in terror over the deaths of their parents, showing signs of illness themselves. The idea of his Maddy in here alone…

No, he couldn’t think like that….
Need to focus…stay clear, think
.

He began bellowing her name, stopping at beds and drawing sheets back from covered bodies, greeted by one macabre expression after another—sunken faces, glaring dark circles like bruises radiating out from the glazed eyes.

Ethan spied a small figure under a sheet in a corner cot—curled into a tight ball.
Maddy?
They wouldn’t cover her face unless…So help him God, she couldn’t have died, alone here, in that goddamned position.

But she could have; how many blows could she defend against?

As he ran, she grew indistinct until he swiped his sleeve over his face. He kept wiping his eyes, and they kept blurring. At the bed, he swallowed, then drew back the sheet.

He fell to his knees.
“Ah, God, Maddy.”
Her lips and face were white but for the shadows around her closed eyes.

She lay motionless.
She can’t be…

He buried his face against her neck.
She’s warm.
He felt her wrist—and didn’t breathe until he found her pulse.
“Aingeal
, wake up.” He pulled her to his chest, but her body was limp.

Blood was stark on the sheet and the back of her gown.

Maddy had been oddly sentient since she’d fallen sick. She’d been aware of everything that had happened to her, never finding oblivion in the fever that had wracked her for hour after hour.

She knew Bea had died, and the grief was overwhelming. Again and again, Maddy saw her friend’s once beautiful visage frozen in a grimace of pain.

She knew Corrine had fought to keep the soldiers from taking Maddy when she’d grown ill. Recalling Corrine’s screams and fierce struggles, Maddy feared Corrine had been injured or arrested.

And Maddy knew that no matter what had happened, she missed Ethan desperately.

As if her thoughts conjured him, she dreamed he was here for her now. After being lucid for so long, Maddy wondered that she now imagined he knelt beside her. In dreams, she felt him rub his unshaven face against her neck, felt startling wetness from his eyes. The backs of his fingers glanced over her forehead.

He felt so real, she squinted open her eyes, but even the dim light hurt. She was hallucinating anyway, because surely Ethan could not be in this dank cholera ward. “
Dream?
” she whispered.

“No, Maddy”—his voice broke—“I’m here with you.”