It wasn’t any of Noam’s business.
And—there it was:bar snacks, scrawled in Leo’s big blocky hand. Dara crouched down to drag the box out from its place. All those peanuts were surprisingly heavy.
He turned around and found that Noam was looking at him now, arms crossed over his stomach like he was defending himself from a blow. Two of his fingers pinched his shirtsleeve between them, twisting the fabric round.
“I think Lehrer’s going fevermad,” Noam said.
Dara’s hands slipped on the box. He would have dropped it if not for Noam’s telekinesis flashing out to grab it from him, floating it over to sit on a nearby crate.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not positive,” Noam added quickly. “But ... there are signs. He’s been feverish. Fatigued, too—he was weak when we sparred. I almost—” His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “Anyway. Maybe if I can convince him to spend more magic ... he’ll get worse.”
Dara’s lungs didn’t feel like they were working properly. Each breath just burst out of him again the second he took it. His chest ached. “Fevermadness doesn’t kill you that quickly. Even if he spends a lot of magic—it could be months. And he’d take a steroid prescription before he’d put himself on suppressants.”
He turned on his heel—away from Noam—and paced down to the far end of the storeroom. Back again.
“Besides,” he added, facing Noam once more, “I’m not so sure you’re right about that. Lehrer’s a hundred and twenty-four years old—and he’s been using magic that whole time, even if just to keep himself young. I went fevermad ateighteen.”
“So maybe he figured out some tricks. Or maybe telepathy’s more draining than eternal youth.”
“Thanconstantly healingyour own cells over and over?”
Noam gestured broadly with both hands. “I dunno. You’re right—he’s been fine so far. But something has clearly changed. He’s sick now. Even if he was able to sustain himself for two lifetimes off his own magic before, maybe he’s reached the end of that rope.”
To be fair ... it was bound to happen eventually. Lehrer must have known that. Living forever wasn’t sustainable, not if you had to use magic. Dara just didn’t get why it took this long. Why Lehrer could be so old, when Dara ...
Dara got sick in a matter of months.
As with everything, Lehrer was justthat much betterthan Dara.
“What are you going to do?” Dara said after that taut silence. “Make him perform all your telekinesis for you? Hurt yourself on purpose to make him heal you? That isn’t enough.”
“No,” Noam said. “But on Independence Day—when we have to fight him—we’ll have to get close enough to give him the vaccine in the first place. To make sure it ... works.”
“It’ll work.”
Noam made a complicated-looking expression, like he was about to say something else, then changed his mind last second. “Even so, it’s to our benefit to weaken him as much as possible. We’ll have to tempt him into spending a huge amount of his magic in one go. Then inject him. And then ... we’ll see, I guess.”
Dara’s mouth twisted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t likeanyof this, actually, but he’d made himself pretty clear on that front already.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s as good a plan as any, I suppose. If you think you can manage it without him just ...”
Just cutting you down like an inconvenient weed.
“He’s struggling,” Noam said. “I can do it. I know I can.”
Dara exhaled another soft sigh. It seemed like he was sighing all the time lately. And always because of Álvaro. “Okay,” he said again. Gestured toward the box of bar snacks. “Carry those for me, then. Since you’re so magicallyeptnow.”
Noam rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning as he heaved the peanuts off the table with telekinesis and floated them ahead out into the bar.
The others seemed to have moved on to a new conversation topic, so Noam and Dara ended up sitting at a separate table, sharing a little bowl of chipotle salted peanuts. Dara squeezed his lime over the bowl and tossed the remainder into his fresh glass of club soda.
It felt pointless arguing with Noam now. A part of Dara still wanted to, though, that need like tiny rodent claws scratching at the inside of his sternum.
Dara picked out a single peanut to roll on the table under his fingertip, leaving a trail of damp-looking salt in its wake. “Don’t take this the wrong way—”
“A promising start.”
