The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(53)
There was so much more to Dara than the cold, bitter fa?ade he’d presented. He was that, too, but he was also Dara: the effortless genius, the political critic and poker cheat, the boy who analyzed everything he read according to poststructuralist theory and kept fresh flowers in a vase on his bedside table. Dara, who claimed he hated everything but secretly dreamed of counting the stars.
Noam needed a moment to get up the nerve.
“Dara . . .” Noam started, but he didn’t know how to finish. He reached over instead and touched Dara’s arm.
Dara flinched away so violently that it felt like being struck himself, Dara’s entire body recoiling as if Noam had branded him with a hot coal. His eyes snapped to meet Noam’s, wide and overly bright as he shoved himself up again.
“I’m sorry,” Noam said quickly, holding his hands up. Surrender.
“No . . . you’re all right. I’m sorry.” Dara looked away, gaze skittering out toward the ocean, the barracks, then finally settling somewhere in the vicinity of Noam’s shoulder. “It’s . . . been a long day. We should go inside.”
Noam’s gut shriveled. Still, he nodded and followed a half step behind Dara back up to the barracks.
Dara seemed normal the next day, smiling at jokes and doing his work with the swift single-mindedness that he was known for. And maybe Dara was right—they weren’t friends. Better if Noam remembered that from now on, instead of . . . instead of whatever he’d been thinking lately. But sometimes Noam caught Dara looking at him from across the room with a thoughtful expression, and Noam wondered if he really understood Dara at all.
Scanned analog file stored on encrypted MoD server.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
To: Counterterrorism From: Chicago Re: 10-29 Witching Militant Attack
Precedence: IMMEDIATE
Date: 11-01-2016
Title: RESULTS OF INITIAL INVESTIGATION INTO 10-29 ATTACK
Synopsis: To provide results of the initial investigation into the witching militia “Avenging Angels” attack in Chicago.
Details: On 10/29/2016 a bomb threat was received, stating the Avenging Angels intended to detonate a fuse bomb in the vicinity of Hyde Park. Initial reports suggested this threat was both credible and imminent. Evacuation commenced immediately, redirecting civilians to a presumed safe location.
On 10/29/2016 at 11:42 AM, 18 fuse bombs detonated in the Chicago metro area, particularly Millennium Park, where many evacuees were being detained. Subsequent attacks targeted first responders and paramedics. At the time this memorandum was drafted, there were 339 confirmed deaths and 192 missing.
The Avenging Angels released a video broadcast on all major news networks claiming responsibility for the attack.
Intelligence confirms the Avenging Angels still operate under the leadership of Adalwolf Lehrer, a.k.a. Uriel [see Appendix A], former army private first class, witching with presenting power pyromancy (ability level 3). Additional reports suggest A. Lehrer has suffered from unexplained illness for some months. Intelligence officers now believe the primary strategic force among the Avenging Angels is A. Lehrer’s 18-year-old brother, Calix Lehrer, a.k.a. Azriel [see attached]. C. Lehrer is a former patient of St. George’s Hospital, a witching with numerous extramagical abilities. Officers, be advised: C. Lehrer’s presenting power is—file damage, illegible—(ability level 4). Take appropriate precautions [see Appendix B for recommendations].
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He dreamed Bea stood in that ocean just off the boardwalk, salt water around her ankles and blood on her dress. Magic was her electric crown.
“I’m sorry,” Noam told her. “I tried. There wasn’t anything I could do. I’m sorry.”
Then he was in the ocean at her side, her wet fingers cold as they slid along his cheek and pulled him down.
The waves crashed against Noam’s legs.
Into his ear she whispered:
“Faraday.”
The dream cracked like an egg.
Noam lurched upright in his bed, sheets a damp tangle around his feet and pulse hot in his mouth. The clock on his bedside table read 2:03—another three hours till his alarm. Noam was certain if he closed his eyes again, that dream would pick up right where it left off, with the smell of gore and death on the sea breeze.
He slipped out of bed, grabbing a coat from the back of the door and toeing on shoes. The government complex was so quiet at this hour it felt like a moment trapped in amber, as if the real world might still spin on outside these walls, but here—here would never change.
He still tasted magic, sour and sharp on his tongue as he headed downstairs. He needed fresh air, that was all. Just . . . somewhere to sit and breathe where he wasn’t suffocating.
The guards at the door to the courtyard recognized him well enough now not to say anything as he went past; they opened the door and let him step out into the chilly spring night.
He missed the days Lehrer talked about, when Carolinian spring was still warm. The thin coat wasn’t enough to keep the wind from burning into his bones. He tugged it closer round his shoulders, realizing only when he caught the scent of smoke and spilled bourbon that this wasn’t even his coat. It was Dara’s.
He headed toward the stream, which had frozen over during the night. Now it was a white scar cutting through the brick underfoot. The courtyard was so utterly silent, the cicadas still in hibernation.