Ames was right. Someone ought to kill him.
“Noam.” Dara’s hand was on his knee, Dara’s voice murmuring in his ear. “Look at me.”
Noam looked.
Dara was close, close enough that Noam could’ve counted each eyelash were he sober enough to see straight. Ames still hunched over the trash, shivering.
“We need to go back downstairs,” Dara said.
“Why?”
“Because Lehrer’s going to send someone looking for us if we don’t. We’ve been gone a long time.”
Noam couldn’t look away from Ames, the damp back of her neck where her collar stuck to her skin. “What about—”
“She’ll be okay,” Dara said. “Promise. You’ll be okay, right, Ames?”
Ames managed a weak thumbs-up.
“She’s fine. Can you make it downstairs?”
“I’m drunk, not incapacitated.”
Dara smiled and crawled back off the bed. He offered Noam a hand, pulling him up to his feet. The room swayed, then settled. “Good?”
“Good.”
They made it downstairs without breaking any bones, but it was a near thing. Dara could barely stand upright half the time, stumbling into Noam and knocking him against the wall. Dara’s body was too hot, his waist firm when Noam grabbed at it to keep Dara from tripping down the last few stairs. Dara laughed, and Noam was dizzy, bright.
In the drawing room, General Ames lounged in one of his overstuffed, claw-foot armchairs, puffing away at a cigar.
All that rage crashed back in at once, quenching the dazed euphoria of a second before. Noam glared, wishing one of his abilities was the kind where you could cause someone incredible pain just by looking. He wanted to see the general writhing on the floor like a fish out of water, skin purpling in agony.
Next to him, Dara finally let go from where he’d been clinging to Noam with both hands. He wavered on his feet, and for a second Noam thought he might have to grab the back of Dara’s shirt to keep him from tipping over.
Lehrer stood by the lit fireplace with James Attwood. He’d discarded his suit jacket to wear just his shirt and waistcoat, a cigarette held between his fingers. “You look pale, Noam. Are you feeling all right?”
Your friend is batshit fucking crazy, Noam thought in Lehrer’s general direction and wished Lehrer could hear him. God. Someone had to tell Lehrer.Someonehad to.
Noam opened his mouth to answer, but Dara got there first. He sidled up to Lehrer and Attwood, stumbling just a little as he hooked his arm through Attwood’s elbow.
“Do you mind if I...?” he asked and took Attwood’s drink out of his hand.
Attwood stared at Dara in shocked silence as Dara sipped his scotch and leaned a little farther into Attwood’s side. When Dara finally lowered the glass and looked at Lehrer, he smiled.
“Where were you?” Lehrer said, too calmly.
Dara’s smile chilled. “Don’t you know?” he said. He tapped one finger against the rim of Attwood’s glass. “You and Noam are very close now, aren’t you, Calix? What with all the time you’ve spent together lately.Bonding.”
It was the first time Noam’d ever heard Dara call Lehrer by his actual name.
Lehrer was expressionless. “Perhaps you should stop drinking.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Dara lifted the scotch to his mouth again, but Lehrer moved inhumanly fast. He plucked the glass from Dara’s hand.
Attwood diplomatically chose that moment to disentangle himself from Dara’s grasp.
“Excuse me—” Dara started, but Lehrer shook his head.
