The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(58)

The holding cell erupted in a cacophony of shouts and threats, Sam lurching off the bench to bang his wrist against the bars so hard it probably bruised. But Noam wasn’t surprised. Not anymore.

The man walked away; Noam and the officers followed in his wake until the refugees’ anger was just an echo at the end of a long hall, cutting to silence as steel double doors fell shut.

No. Noam wasn’t surprised.

But this wasn’t over—because ever since the guy with the eyebrows pressed Noam’s hand against the fingerprint scanner, an idea had been taking shape in his mind. Formless at first, its blurry lines had become bold edges.

They locked him in a room and told him to wait. They didn’t say for how long.

Good. Noam needed time to work.

He knew what Faraday meant.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Noam spent two hours in that cell, staring at the wall opposite his chair without really seeing it. His awareness of the room faded to a gray blur, punctuated by the occasional buzz of a fly whirring past his ear. He only knew how long he was there because he felt the second hand of his watch tick-ticking along, a metronome beating out of rhythm with his heart.

The antitechnopathy wards were a Faraday shield.

A magical one, sure, but a Faraday shield—that was why Noam’s electric power couldn’t penetrate them. But that meant he just had to find the right wavelength of electromagnetic radiation to penetrate the shield.

That took the first hour and a half. The rest of the time was spent extracting data from the government servers by transmitting them at the same frequency as the shield to the flopcell Noam habitually kept in his jeans pocket, filling it up with anything and everything he could get his metaphorical hands on.

Ablaze with information, that flopcell glittered in his awareness like a thousand concentrated fireflies.

Two hours. The door opened. Lehrer stepped in.

Noam blinked, and the holding room slid back into focus. Lehrer was too tall for this place, Noam observed, his thoughts slippery and hard to hold on to. That or the ceiling was low. Lehrer had to bend his head to one side to keep from hitting it.

“What happened here?” Lehrer said and touched his own cheek.

“Fascism.”

“Hmm.” Lehrer stepped forward, claiming the seat opposite Noam’s. The interrogation table looked child sized when Lehrer placed his elbows atop its surface and surveyed Noam over the bridge of his hands. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, in your own words?”

“There was an antirefugee protest at the catastrophe memorial,” Noam said. “Carolinia First was there.”

If Lehrer had a reaction to the idea of Sacha’s followers using Lehrer’s own trauma as a vehicle for their message of hatred and intolerance, it didn’t show. His face was as impassive as always—like stone worn smooth, thousands of years of water flowing over its surface and blunting sharp edges.

At last the silence was unbearable enough that Noam had to say something to break it. “Things escalated. Sacha’s people started beating a girl, one of the refugees. I stole a police officer’s gun and threatened them with it, and they stopped. Then antiwitching units showed up, and I got arrested. And here I am.”

Lehrer lowered his hands to the table, tapping his thumb against its edge. “I notice you call them ‘Sacha’s people.’”

“That’s what they are. Sacha is responsible for them. He creates them, by creating a public environment where people fear refugees instead of empathizing with them. Everything Carolinia First does, they do in Sacha’s name.” He exhaled, very slowly. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did. If you’re going to kick me out of Level IV or throw me in jail, just do it.”

“I’m going to do no such thing,” Lehrer said.

Noam frowned. “Okay. What?”

“I’ve taken care of the situation. Your friends have been released, the record of your fingerprints on that gun has been erased, and I’ve ensured the officers will keep their silence on the matter. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Noam gritted his teeth so hard it hurt. “I can’t believe you,” he snapped, and he shoved his chair back, on his feet before Lehrer could react. “You’re powerful enough to just—to wipe the slate clean like that, to clear my guilt for crimes I actually committed, but you aren’t powerful enough to do anything real that might actually save lives?”

“Noam—”

Noam slapped his hand against the table, its legs rattling against the floor. “No. Shut up. I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you’ve come up with—it’s good to know just how bad the corruption in the Carolinian government really is, I guess.” He felt like he had a fever, like his blood had risen beneath the surface of his skin. “Back in 2018 you were willing to do whatever it took to overthrow the US and get justice for witchings. But if it’s Atlantians, suddenly it’s all mild sympathies and cryptic notes and cleaning up my messes. So I guess while you will literally lift a finger on behalf of refugees, that’s about the extent of it.” His mouth twisted around the bitter taste on his tongue, mimicking Lehrer’s raised-brow disapproval. “Go on. Prove me wrong.”

Lehrer sighed, but instead of telling Noam to sit down, he rose to his feet as well in a single graceful movement. “Let’s continue this discussion elsewhere. I hate to impose on the officers’ time.”