“And?”

“It was sadder than I expected.”

“You’re surprised a diary about the Black Death turned out to be sad?”

“I just didn’t expect it to be a love story.”

“The doctor and the Jewish woman you mentioned before?”

Alana nods.

Byron reaches over and gives the back of her neck a quick squeeze. “Who knew the Black Death could be so damn romantic?”

“Funny.” She elbows him in the side. “We’re not so different from them, you know?”

“How so?”

“Once fear took hold, their society crumbled. People just turned on each other.”

“People were scared this time, sure, but I wouldn’t say we turned on each other.”

“It’s just been a week or two, Byron. Imagine if it had gotten anywhere near as bad as it did in the fourteenth century. Who knows where it would’ve ended? Back then, they scapegoated the Jews. This time, it could’ve been the Muslims.”

“I suppose.” He chews his lower lip. “By the way, that was when I realized you were kind of worth it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“After I decided to release Yasin Ahmed’s photo to the media—”

“Oh, yeah.” She stretches the words. “That I do remember.”

“You could’ve thrown me under the bus, but instead you blamed yourself for those hate crimes.” He lays his arm across her shoulders. “That’s when I realized you’re quite something.”

Alana rests her head against the crook of his neck. “Rafael Pasqua . . . now, he really was something. A hero.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Alana. The way you stared down Stefano when he was wielding that knife—”

“Stared him down? He was behind me. I couldn’t even see his face.”

“You were also the one who figured out where he hid the rest of the rats.”

“The dogs sniffed out the last two rats in the galley.”

“But if it weren’t for you . . .”

“Yeah, I guess.” She feels her cheeks warm. “We did okay, huh?”

“Yes, we did.” There’s genuine pride behind his small grin.

“Listen, Byron, I have to leave for Brussels in a couple hours.”

“I’ve got to stay here. There’s still a ton left for us to do.”

“I wasn’t inviting you.”

He looks down with obvious embarrassment. “Oh, I . . . I see. I was just—”

She leans forward and skitters kisses across his cheek and onto his mouth. “I’m teasing. Come visit me once you’re done. I’ll give you the whole Belgian experience.”

“Which is?”

“No idea. Waffles in bed?”

Laughing, he wraps her in a tight hug.

Alana squeezes back. She feels comfortable in his arms. She thinks of Pasqua’s final entry in his diary. She, too, feels renewed hope for tomorrow. She also hopes it isn’t misplaced.

Acknowledgments

While my story is fictional, the science and the history behind it are anything but. And I needed help to accurately envision a world where the Black Death—the most deadly natural disaster ever to devastate humankind—recurs in contemporary times. Two esteemed colleagues, Drs. Victor Leung and Marc Romney, provided me with fascinating insights into the microbiology behind this enigmatic and, at times, terrifying plague. And I learned much more from several excellent books, including The Great Mortality by John Kelly, The Black Death by Philip Ziegler, In the Wake of the Plague by Norman F. Cantor, and The Decameron by fourteenth-century author Giovanni Boccaccio.