The man stared at him and didn’t speak, trembling visibly under Lehrer’s touch. Of course the target was afraid. How could he have predicted that Lehrer would come into the quarantined zone and do his own dirty work? Noam holstered his weapon and clasped his hands behind his back, watching and feeling nothing—not even when Lehrer smiled, the expression thin and sickly insincere on his face.
“Your name,” Lehrer said again.
“M-Michael.”
“Michael, why don’t you tell us where the other labs are?”
The sounds Michael made were pathetic. Wet, snuffling noises, like a wounded animal. Lehrer’s thumb rubbed against his skin, a soothing motion.
Noam wondered if Michael felt Lehrer’s presence in his mind the same way Noam had: like a shadow version of himself tangling its fingers up in the threads of his thoughts, twisting and braiding them into new patterns. Or maybe that was the wrong metaphor.
Stain,Noam thought. Lehrer’s persuasion left a stain.
At least Michael wouldn’t be unclean for much longer.
Noam saw it in Michael’s eyes the moment his will snapped, the humiliation and self-loathing Michael felt when he opened his mouth and the information spilled out like sea bursting past stone.
When it was finished, when Michael was finally left wordless and sobbing in the snow, Lehrer unfolded back to his full height and looked at Noam. He didn’t have to say anything. Still, Noam waited until Lehrer had stepped out of spatter range to draw his gun again and pull the trigger.
He hit the target right in the skull: a clean kill shot that sent blood and brain matter bursting out across the white ground like a brilliant red star.
For a moment Noam was reminded of Brennan, the scarlet mess on the wall behind his desk. That first kill was half a year ago now—long enough that Noam had started to forget the details. Had Brennan’s tie been gray or blue? Had Noam been able to smell the gunpowder? The memory was like water in cupped hands.
Lehrer waited ten feet away, already impatient by the time Noam holstered his gun. “Get the samples,” Lehrer reminded him.
The samples were in the satchel the target had looped over his head and shoulder, a black leather construction pinned beneath dead weight. Noam had to push the corpse out of the way, rolling him over to lie facedown in the snow while Noam tugged the bag’s strap over the ruined skull and slung it over his own shoulder instead. He checked its contents, just to be safe.
There they were: Six vials of blood swarming with the virus. Two of its milky vaccine.
Noam pulled a vial free and turned it over in his palm, the thick fluid contents slipping along the glass walls. Was that really all it would take? Just a few centiliters of this strange substance would protect someone from the same death that had killed Noam’s father. One injection could take down even the strongest witching.
“Noam.”
He startled, badly enough he almost dropped the satchel—and its precious contents. Telekinesis caught the vaccine vial before it could hit the ground. “Shit—sorry.”
Lehrer’s gaze was sharp when Noam looked up again. “Be more careful. Let’s go.”
Noam tucked the vaccine back into its case and zipped up the satchel, clutching a protective hand around the strap. He fell into step beside Lehrer, who was checking his watch with a frown on his face, probably already late for some meeting or another. Ever since his election as chancellor, Lehrer had been busier than ever. Noam was surprised he found the time to sleep.
After a few steps, Lehrer held out one hand, palm up. Of course. He didn’t trust Noam, not even now. Not even with every horrific thing Noam had done to prove his loyalty.
Noam passed Lehrer the bag. His frozen fingers ached when he let go.
“We’ll deal with the next lab this weekend,” Lehrer said once they reached the ancient car they’d requisitioned, parked in an abandoned lot a mile from where they’d killed Michael. Not driverless—Lehrer didn’t want anything with GPS, anything that might raise questions when the car went for maintenance and they realized Noam had falsified location records. They were supposed to be just five miles outside the Carolinian border, where the worst magic one might encounter was a two-headed rabbit or a nomadic tree—not fifty miles.
Lehrer opened the passenger-side door and held it there for Noam to duck under his arm and slide onto the leather seat, then pushed it shut.
I’m okay,Noam told himself.I’m in control.
I’m in control.
Noam sat in the silent interior of the car, shivering in the cold and watching Lehrer walk round the front to the driver’s side. Only when Lehrer had opened the door and sat down did Noam use magic to start the engine.
Lehrer gave him a sidelong, approving glance, then pulled the shifter into gear and started them off down the decaying road back to Carolinia.
“I’m working Saturday,” Noam told him.
“Then we’ll go on Sunday.”
