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 forla 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'sfallen . 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

Ethan 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.