A Perfect Fit Read Online Free PDF Page B

books and went straight to the medical history section. High on a shelf, she spotted a dusty tome: Plague and Pestilence in the Roman Empire.
    Lawrence dragged over a chair.
    “Let me. I don’t want you to ruin those perfect stitches.” Despite his protests, she climbed aboard the chair and tugged the heavy volume from obscurity.
    She blew away a layer of dust and hauled the book to a table tucked into a corner. Lawrence crowded in close. His arm brushed hers, but neither of them moved away. Quickly skimming anything before the mid-third century, she stopped when she came to a bold, black heading.
    “‘Plague of Cyprian,’” she read aloud.
    The cries of a thousand voices, pained and hopeless, swooshed through her head.
    She slammed the book shut.
    Her head throbbed. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her heart bucked against her chest. She thought of the heat that had seared her hand. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d had two of these freakishly terrifying moments. She dragged her clammy hands across her face, wiping away rivulets of moisture.
    “Mags, are you okay?” Lawrence’s arms steadied her.
    She could feel the racing beat of her own heart. Mags. Mags. Mags.
    “Do you need to sit down?”
    “No.” She sucked in the stagnant air of the library. “Let’s finish this.” She slowly opened the brittle pages and found the entry again. She dragged her finger along the blistering words:
AD 250 . . . plague thought to have originated in Egypt . . . spread through desert to North Africa . . . brief remissions . . . number of dead outnumbered survivors in Carthage . . . temples full of stacked bodies . . . fiery pustules that spread over the body . . . chief target of attack . . . children.
    “So?” Lawrence encouraged her response. “What do you think it was? Yellow fever? Typhoid? Carthage was in a rebuilding phase in the third century. A major push to restore the aqueducts and bring running water to the tenement dwellers wasn’t immediately successful.”
    “From the stacked bodies, it’s tempting to blame poor sanitation.”
    He tapped her forehead. “But I can see those wheels turning. You don’t think it was typhoid, do you?”
    “There’s no mention of vomiting or diarrhea.” She read the entry again. “From the rash description, I’m thinking measles or possibly smallpox.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember everything she’d ever read about contagious diseases that had practically been eradicated in her lifetime. “Both are easily transmitted by a simple cough. They have fairly long incubation periods, which would allow them to infect a healthy traveler, who could then hitchhike their way across the desert.” She opened her eyes. Lawrence was staring at her, hanging on her every word. “And either virus would be deadly to a population who’d never been exposed.”
    “You’re amazing.” He picked her up and spun her around.
    Worries of fiery pox and pandemic transmissions swirled away. Magdalena was aware of nothing except the pressure of his hands upon her waist and the unexplainable need to kiss him. But she knew once she tasted adventure, there would be no going back. No Mutfi Zaman in her future. No pleasing Father.
    Her gaze moved along the angled planes of Lawrence’s tanned face, taking in the lock of chestnut hair that had slipped over his brow. “I think anyone could have—”
    Lawrence returned her feet to the floor. “For once, don’t think so much.” He leaned in and kissed her. His mouth pressed directly against hers, not awkward and unfocused but with purpose, exploring and searching the depths of her with a determined intent to know everything about her, the girl who so desperately wanted to step outside of her structured and planned-out life to make a real difference—and he wasn’t afraid. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her spirit drink in the nourishment for her