“Chancellor,” Méndez gasped, his face gone the same sickly color as the wallpaper. “I—we—I’m so—”
Watching the Texan president fumble for some kind of explanation for the obvious assassination attempt was like watching a man beg for his life at the guillotine. Some of Sacha’s supporters had begged that way at their executions. Lehrer had taken no mercy.
“Well,” Lehrer went on, as if he hadn’t heard the president’s reply. A small smile toyed with the corners of his lips, and when he glanced up, it was to meet Noam’s gaze. Noam felt something in his chest go cold, and Lehrer’s mouth twitched. “One should always finish what one started.”
Lehrer shrugged off his coat and dinner jacket and passed them off to Pulver, who accepted the burden wordlessly. He seemed incapable of looking anywhere but Lehrer’s face, even as Lehrer flicked open his cuff link and rolled up his sleeve in quick, efficient movements.
And as Noam and Méndez and the others all watched, Lehrer slid the needle into his own vein and pressed the vaccine into his bloodstream.
“Sir,” Noam managed to get out, the word breaking like thin ice.
Lehrer drew the syringe free and tossed it into a nearby houseplant. A slim line of blood cut down the length of his forearm.
“Are you satisfied?” Lehrer asked Méndez with an arched brow.
“Chancellor ...”
“I suppose you thought I was an idiot,” Lehrer said conversationally, rolling his sleeve down again and concealing the blood. “Have you heard of mithridatism? The term refers to an ancient king who poisoned himself with small doses of lethal toxins to develop an immunity. He feared his mother planned to assassinate him, apparently. Ever since an iteration of the vaccine surfaced in the quarantined zone ... well, I could hardly let myself stay vulnerable to such a threat. I’ve been injecting myself with the virus for months. With the rate of evolutionary change in magic, it seems this vaccine is ratheroutdatedfor all the strains of virus that infect me these days.”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit—
Lehrer held up his wrist, and a gold spark of magic lit through the air; his cuff link affixed itself to his sleeve. Telekinesis.
The vaccine didn’t work.
Lehrer laughed softly and retrieved his jacket from Pulver’s arms, draping it over his shoulders once more and slipping the buttons through their holes by hand. “I suppose this means there will be no peace treaty after all,” Lehrer told Méndez, who stood there as if his feet had grown roots into the floor. “I wish you all the best ... and my condolences, about Houston.”
Noam followed Lehrer in a frozen daze as they departed the presidential residence. He drifted down the drive, a mind floating far above his body, which was tethered to Lehrer’s as if by an invisible cord. He watched them both climb into the waiting government car. Watched himself lean into the far corner of the back seat like he could vanish into it, while Lehrer glanced down at his wristwatch.
“Only nine,” Lehrer said, sounding pleased. “The night is still young.”
He knows.
Nausea crawled up the back of Noam’s throat and he swallowed convulsively, both hands clenching in fists against his thighs.
Lehrer glanced sidelong at him. “I apologize for all the theatrics,” he said, as if that was what upset Noam. “But politics are just that—a play on the world stage. Better you learn that now.”
Noam tipped forward and pressed his head against his palms, staring at the floor of the car. A tremor had started up in his gut, spreading fast like a virus. “I wasn’t able to get in the Texan servers,” he told his own shoes. “I couldn’t get past security.”
Only silence answered. Noam stayed there, holding his breath in his mouth, until at last he couldn’t stand it anymore—he had to look up, twist around in his seat toward Lehrer.
Lehrer reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a slim silver cigarette case. He selected one and lit it with pyromancy, rolling down the window enough to blow his smoke toward the night sky.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Noam ventured, and Lehrer’s gaze met his again.
“I’m sure you are.”
He knows,that voice whispered again:He knows. Noam dragged a hand back through his hair, twisting the short strands around his knuckles and wishing he were anywhere else—somewhere he could vomit into a convenient bush without earning Lehrer’s false concern.
“Headache?” Lehrer said idly.
“Mmm.”
Lehrer took another drag off his cigarette. “Perhaps we should consider suppressants,” he said. “At least until these headaches subside.”
Noam stared at him, something sharp and venomous shooting through his veins. “What? Why?”
“Don’t forget I’ve been here before. With Dara. I can recognize the signs.”
