The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(14)

Stupid. He should have known better.

The woman drew out a tablet and began typing, brow furrowed. The man who had first greeted Noam swiped at his holoreader with a frown on his face. The black-haired colonel was bland and utterly unreadable.

Lehrer just sat there, chin resting on the heel of his hand, watching Noam.

The silence was relentless, broken only by the obnoxious click of the woman’s overlong nails on her screen. Probably typing about just how fucking useless Noam would be in Level IV, considering he couldn’t do shit.

“Do that again.”

The typing stopped. The older man froze as well, pen in hand. All looked to Lehrer, who had straightened in his seat, leaning slightly toward Noam. His voice was sharper than before. This was not the calm and collected man Noam had seen on television or even the mild one he’d met in person.

Noam faltered, hands curling into fists.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said after a long pause. “I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t do anything.”

Lehrer made a dismissive gesture. “No. You did something. I felt it. I want you to do it again. What was that just a few seconds ago, right before I spoke?”

“Nothing,” Noam said incredulously, shaking his head and forcing himself to flex his fingers. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I was imagining what she was writing.” He nodded toward the woman.

Lehrer’s brows flicked up. “What did you imagine? Verbatim, please.”

“Despite negative antibody staining present at very low dilution, one in two, prospect shows no signs of useful magical skill or ability. Do not recommend for officer candidacy.”

From the moment Noam started speaking until the last bizarrely specific word dropped out of his mouth, as naturally as if he’d been reading off a sheet of paper, it felt as though his heart stopped beating. Lehrer watched him the entire time, perfectly unruffled. And when Noam was done, the woman slid her tablet across the desk for Lehrer to see. He peered at the screen, scrolled down a few lines, then glanced up.

“Exactly correct,” he said. He sounded pleased but not surprised.

“Telepathy?” the woman said, aghast and staring at Lehrer with wide eyes. “What are the odds, after—”

Lehrer shook his head. “Technopathy, unless I miss my guess. Equally rare, as presenting powers go. I don’t think I’ve ever met a presenting technopath before.” He was still smiling, the expression small and oddly private, like it was meant for Noam alone.

“I seem to recall from your file that you have a lot of experience with computers,” the older man said, finally showing some interest in Noam now that he was useful.

“One of my jobs is at a computer repair shop, and I do some programming on my own time.” No doubt that file was full of all the felonious details.

Which, it seemed, they were all polite enough to ignore.

Well. Polite.

“And yet,” the man continued, tapping at his holoreader without looking up to actually meet Noam’s eye, “you never graduated from the eighth grade. Is there a reason for that?”

Noam’s mouth twisted. “Sure, there’s a reason.”

“Your mother’s suicide?” the woman said archly. Noam nodded. “Were you suffering from depression yourself?”

“No.” At the disapproving looks his tone received, Noam revised, softening his voice as best he could: “No. My father was sick. I left school so I could work to support us. It’s not uncommon. At least, not where I grew up.”

“Perhaps not.” The black-haired man was as cool and crisp as crushed ice. “But it is quite uncommon for Level IV. You may not be aware, given your limited education, but magic requires specific knowledge in order to be used. To move a ball across the room without touching it, one must have some understanding of physics. To deflect a tornado from hitting the city, one must know meteorology.”

“I know that,” Noam snapped. “I’m not a total idiot.”

“Then you also know you can’t attend the same classes as the other students without passing a placement exam. Without knowledge, magic is useless. We expect our Level IV students to develop abilities beyond their presenting powers, but you’ll never amount to anything more than a technopath.”

Abilities beyond his presenting power?

Noam knew that was possible; of course he did—no matter what these people seemed to think, he’d cracked open a book a time or two. But if being a witching was rare, and being a technopath rarer still, having more than one ability was . . .

Noam had never met someone like that.

Only that wasn’t true, was it? He glanced at Lehrer, whose unreadable smile lingered.

“I can learn,” Noam said, staring back at Lehrer. “I don’t need to go to the shitty Ninth Street public school and sit in a tiny overheated classroom with three hundred other students to figure that two plus two equals four; I can read pretty well on my own. Let me take the test.”

The adults exchanged glances. Most looked to Lehrer for their cues. For one reeling moment, Noam was certain he was about to get thrown out on his ass, but Lehrer’s expression remained unchanged.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t let him try,” the woman said.

Could Noam sense a change when she shut off her holoreader—as the electrical cells stopped spitting data back and forth and went to sleep? Or was he only imagining it?