The aircraft hangar began to cave in on itself, dust and plaster raining down on Noam’s hair a split second before he managed to shift his focus up and grasp the building with telekinesis.
And—fuck, goddamnit, this building was heavy. Noam gritted his teeth against the effort of it.
He should—he couldn’t hold this, he couldn’t, he had to—putit somewhere. Only there were people here, peoplein here; he couldn’t expose them to gunfire—
Even the floor under Noam’s feet was unsteady as he staggered out of the room and toward the stairs. The whole building swayed like the deck of a ship, the metal grip on the stairs slippery and uneven underfoot as Noam made his way down. He almost reached for the handrail, but—no, that’d be worse. He’d probably tip over the side and fall, fall, fall ...
He made it to the ground floor with sweat beading his brow. Half his magic was still tied up maintaining the Faraday shield on his mind; he barely—he could barely keep this building up, barely keep one mental finger on the Texan witchings’ abilities in case they tried something new. Which of course they would.
“Noam!” Bethany ran toward him, white faced with blood on her neck. Someone else’s, Noam assumed.
“Get people out of here,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Out. I can’t—I can’t hold it. Watch them. Witchings. They’ll try—”
He couldn’t. Couldn’t talk. Even breathing felt strenuous.
To her credit, Bethany didn’t question him. She just wet her lips before she spun on her heel and dashed toward the lieutenant colonel and the front lines.
Noam’s legs were shaking, little waves of dizziness cresting through his head. He gave up standing and dropped to his knees there on the floor, pressing both palms against the cold concrete and sucking in a narrow breath. He vaguely sensed Bethany’s magic, pale pink and fiery, flashing out in reaction to something one of the Texan witchings did.
Texan witchings.Two words Noam never thought he’d think in a sentence together, but there was no mistaking it: they were ...
Internment hospitals. Right. These weren’t Texan soldiers; they were—they wereresearch subjects. They were incarcerated just like Lehrer had been during the catastrophe.
Bile rocked up in Noam’s throat, and he swallowed against it; if he vomited now, he’d lose focus and kill them all.
Fuck it. Lehrer wasn’t here. Fuck it—
Noam released the Faraday shield around his mind.
Magic flooded his system, a wash of energy like cool water dousing him from overhead. The building stabilized—at least for now—as Noam pushed himself up again, dragging a shaky hand over his sweaty brow.
He had to get out. Before the building collapsed. Before those antiwitching soldiers—and their witchings—moved in on whatever was left of the hangar. Noam couldn’t fight them, after all, not with that armor.
He should retreat with the rest of his unit.
A lot ofshoulds. Noam’d never been much for those.
He went forward instead, through the glittering dust that still rained down from the fractured ceiling, toward the glowing white lights of the aerodromes. Toward the Texan soldiers and their prisoners.
Toward Texan witchings.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
NOAM
Noam sensed the last of his soldiers escape the crumbling building, the metal of their guns fleeing out a back door. He waited for them to get clear before he let go.
The hangar collapsed, a slow but immediate implosion, like an island caving into the sea. Noam didn’t look back. He didn’t need to; hefeltit happen, the steel skeleton of the building crumpling like scrap paper and tugging on his magnetism like an electrical circuit. But he couldn’t focus on that—because ahead, beyond the plume of dust and smoke, he also sensed the sizzle of strangers’ magic.
And they’d sense him too.
Noam tasted his own fear in his mouth, hot and ferrous. It coiled down his spine like a snake: venomous.
Fear was as much a weapon as anger.
Noam acted first. He threw his magic out, tight and constricting as a web, sparking with as many volts of electricity as he could muster. Better to end this quickly, kill them before they could figure out a strategy.
Only, shit, at least a few of them managed to deflect the net—he felt their magic sizzling against his, an opposing magnetic pole that sent light striking up toward the dim sky. Noam’s palms were damp already. But there was no time for that, no time to submit to the adrenaline searing through his veins.
