BREAKING NEWS: CALIX LEHRER ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT
Noam felt like he’d swallowed gravel, stomach heavy and sick.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Taye made a soft noise against his teeth. “Idiots.”
Normally Noam would be inclined to agree. Right now all he could think about was whether those idiots had gotten caught.
“I have to go,” he said and pushed past Ames and Bethany. Ames called after him, but he didn’t hear what she said, didn’t care.
He tangled his magic up in the radio signals that carried wireless internet through the training wing, traced them back to the router—and then he plunged that power down deep into wires, cording through the walls all the way down to the server room. A buzz of electromagnetism bypassed the Faraday shield meant to protect that data from technopaths like himself.
Only there was nothing.Nothing—nothing useful, anyway. Either that meant the MoD didn’t know who was responsible for the attack, or they were intentionally keeping it off the grid. And if they weren’t storing that data on their servers, it was because they knew the antitechnopathy ward was compromised.
There was only one person who could have told them that ... and only one reason hewould.
But if Lehrer had made Noam, he would’ve sent someone to arrest Noam in the barracks, right? He wouldn’t let Noam run through the halls of the training wing, cutting across the atrium—wouldn’t still have Noam’s ID plugged into the biometric readers to let him into the west wing of the government complex. And he wouldn’t let Noam’s technopathy find his cell phone: in his office, the official one on the third floor.
Because of course it was too much to hope that Lehrer had at least been injured in the attempt.
People got out of Noam’s way, stepping aside when they saw him coming down the hall. He tried not to overanalyze the way they tilted their heads toward each other, murmured secrets whispered in listening ears.
Lehrer’s secretary let him in past the anteroom without a word.
The office was crowded with bodies, gray-uniformed military officers and two men in black suits who Noam could only surmise were the state police. Lehrer stood a head taller than them all, stripped down to a bloodstained white dress shirt with his magic crackling barely restrained beneath his skin.
A doctor kept trying to get close enough to press her stethoscope to Lehrer’s chest; he waved her away. “I’m fine.”
“We need to check your vitals again, sir,” the woman said in a strained voice. “Your pulse was 144.”
“A mistake, I’m sure.” Lehrer’s words were all cold edges and blunt consonants.
“But your temperature—”
Lehrer’s gaze fixed on Noam at last.
Was Noam imagining it, or did relief flicker across Lehrer’s face? Just for a moment, just briefly, before it was subsumed by careful neutrality.
“Good, you’re here,” Lehrer said. “All of you—leave us.”
There must have been a snap of persuasion beneath that, because this time everyone obeyed. One by one they filtered past Noam and out the door to the anteroom. Lehrer watched them go with narrowed eyes, silent, until finally the door shut behind the last of them.
“I hate doctors,” Lehrer muttered with an acidity that was shocking coming from that mouth. He stepped out from behind his desk, and with the room emptied now Noam could get a better look at him. His bloodied shirt was torn right over the heart—and when Lehrer turned to face Noam properly, there was dried blood plastered against the other side of his face.
A sharp jolt struck through Noam’s core, and he sucked in a tight breath.
Although the bullet must have hit its target, tearing through flesh and bone and brain matter, Lehrer’s skull was as whole and unblemished as it had been last night.
“They shot you,” Noam choked out, and he took a half step forward before he managed to stop himself. Both hands knotted into fists. “Calix—”
Lehrer’s answering smile was bitter and disparaging. “My own fault; I didn’t deflect the bullets in time. This will be a public relations nightmare.”
Lehrer’s hands rose to the collar of his ruined shirt, and he started pushing the buttons free—manually, not by magic. When he’d stripped the sticky fabric away, Noam gave into the urge. He moved closer until he was half a step away. He lifted both hands and pressed his fingertips against Lehrer’s flesh, half expecting ... he didn’t know what he expected. Lehrer’s blood was still warm, slippery beneath his palms.
He’d never seen Lehrer bleed.
Lehrer’s stomach shifted beneath his touch as he took in a breath—and then Lehrer drew him in, one arm around Noam’s waist, one hand cupping the back of Noam’s head like a child’s. “I’m fine,” Lehrer said, more gently. “You don’t have to worry.”
