The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(105)

You are fevermad, Noam wanted to say.

He didn’t have to, of course. Dara heard it anyway, judging by that grimace. In this light, his skin was a delicate, sickly hue. It was like someone had drained the color out of him, leaving a sepia imprint behind.

“Don’t believe everything Lehrer tells you,” Dara said. “He’s the one who got you arrested in the first place. He sent in that tip. You were just a loose end Lehrer had to tie up.”

Noam swallowed. If he was honest, he’d known that on some level already.

He reached for Dara’s arm, regretting it only a split second after he’d already done it. But for once, Dara didn’t flinch. “Sacha . . . Sacha was trying to convince me Lehrer could control people’s minds.” He made a face, like, Isn’t that ridiculous? and battered down the lump in his throat.

Dara nodded. “It’s true.”

Sacha was right. Sacha was right. Sacha was right.

“Fuck.” Noam let go of Dara’s arm to grab at the back of his own neck instead, a compulsion that did little to quell his writhing insides.

Dara rubbed his sweat-glazed brow. “That’s one of the things I didn’t want to tell you.” He almost sounded apologetic. “He doesn’t use it all the time, but often enough. For obvious reasons, Lehrer doesn’t want that knowledge getting around. If he thought you knew, he’d . . .” Dara bit his lip, letting his words hang in the air.

Noam got the sense he knew exactly what Dara was suggesting Lehrer’d do.

“So why did you just murder Sacha? You’re supposed to be on his side!”

“I think it’s fair to say I just defected,” Dara said dryly, and Noam thought about those bodies again. Sacha’s blank eyes.

It was hard to breathe.

“Why?”

Dara gave him an odd look, the shadows softening his features into something strange and inhuman. “I couldn’t leave you there.” A moment passed, Noam’s chest tightening around each exhale. Dara tilted his head to one side. “I suppose Lehrer knows me better than I’d like to admit. Now be quiet. I’ve got a lot of minds to read.”

Dara turned his face back toward the door, eyes closed, and Noam . . . Noam didn’t know what to think. It was too much. Sacha dead, Lehrer . . . complicated. And then there was Dara, whom Noam was starting to think he didn’t know at all.

And Brennan.

Don’t think about that.

Noam scrubbed his hand against his face and turned away from Dara, toward the empty office. There was an uncapped pen on the desk and paperwork strewn over the floor. Someone had left in a hurry.

He sensed the pen cap, he realized, a tiny shock sparking beneath his skin. It had rolled under the floor lamp. Whatever Sacha’s people had injected him with was wearing off.

Of course, even if he and Dara got out of here, they had an entire battlefield between them and safety.

Safety being Lehrer—and Lehrer’s mind control.

He turned back toward Dara, who was half-slumped against the door, skin gone disturbingly pallid. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Dara said. He opened his eyes and pushed away from the door. He wavered for a moment, then balanced himself with a hand against the wall. “But Lehrer’s about to seize control of this country, and we don’t want to be caught up in it when he does.” He gestured toward the window. “We need to run. Is your electromagnetism quick enough to deflect bullets?”

“Do you know how fast bullets are?”

Dara sighed. “I figured. Still, better to ask.”

“They injected me with suppressant. When it wears off, maybe I can keep a shield up,” Noam said. “Once we’re out on the streets. That way I don’t have to think about it, bullets will just . . .” He waved, and Dara managed a weak smile.

“Perfect,” Dara said. “We should leave now. I’ll have Holloway escort you; that’s safer until we’re outside, but then we’ll have to be ourselves. The home secretary makes too good a hostage for the refugee block.”

Noam almost asked if that was such a good idea—if fevermad people ought to keep using magic—but already Dara was gone, replaced by the same black-haired man from before. The illusion was absolute: Dara had even thought to wrinkle Holloway’s collar, the way someone dealing with an ongoing riot might look. Noam saw the threads of magic sewing it all together when he looked closely enough, but no one else would notice.

“Are you ready?” Dara said in Holloway’s voice.

Noam wasn’t ready. He nodded anyway.

The hall was clear, but Dara didn’t break character. He guided Noam down to the left with one hand pressed to Noam’s back right between his shoulder blades, a gesture that could appear either paternalistic or authoritarian, depending on what someone expected to see. A nice touch, Noam thought, then almost laughed. They were running for their lives, and Noam was assessing Dara’s acting ability.

“We’re about to run into some people,” Dara murmured after a moment, not slowing down. “Hard to say if they know Sacha arrested you; they’re not thinking about it right now.”

“Can’t you cast an illusion on me too?” Noam whispered back.

“I’m good, but I’m not omnipotent. Act natural, and follow my lead.”