More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
I hurt people just being around them. Usually it’s by accident, but with
you it was on purpose, at least at first.
Magic killed his father and left Noam alive.
His body had fought magic and conquered it. That made him a witching.
Impossible to believe he was over 120 years old. Noam was too aware of his own breath, exhaling as quietly as he could. Lehrer was . . . well. Legendary came immediately to mind. At sixteen, he’d survived the catastrophe. At nineteen, he overthrew a nation. At twenty, he was crowned king.
His grief was a grim specter on the other side of a shut door. And if he opened that door, he’d be consumed.
There was probably some cosmic quota for the amount of sass you could get away with in one day, and Noam wouldn’t be surprised if that cold black-haired man was keeping score.
Dara could take his good looks and cool power and bewildering popularity and fuck right off.
He wasn’t worthless. He wasn’t.
“Am I going to have to think about physics every time?” “Not every time. You just need to have that knowledge accessible somewhere in your memory, or at least more accessible than it currently is. Your mind is like a filing cabinet, Noam. Your accessible memories are the folders on top. If you have knowledge in one of those top files, you can use it instinctively. And the more drawers in your filing cabinet, the more of those types of accessible memories you can have.”
“You’re Jewish?” Lehrer lifted a brow. “Do they leave that part out of the history books?” he said, and Noam laughed, surprising himself. “No, it’s not that. But. My mom is—was. Jewish. I’m Jewish.”
“I won’t ask you to stop fighting,” Lehrer said, very quietly. “I would never ask you that.”
All of them were so very proud an accident of birth made them Carolinian and bought them a lifetime of safety and privilege instead of fear and poverty and death. They ought to walk into that camp with the ground soaked
in blood and magic and look Bea King in the face as she died alone and frightened at eight years old, at eight years old, and tell her she didn’t deserve to stay in their country because her parents brought her here illegally. Because she was a refugee.
Governments didn’t have to listen to the people until the people made it hurt not to listen.
“Dara thinks I’m cool?” Ames rolled her eyes dramatically and hunched forward. The first line disappeared up an elegant metal straw she seemed to have produced from thin air. “Oh Jesus. Don’t go all pathetic. I know Dara can’t help it—he just transforms gay boys into these drooling stalkers by existing in proximity, but I don’t want to start puking this early.”
“Okay, well, I’m not gay. Must be your lucky night.” “Noam. Come on.” He kicked his heels against the cabinets and smiled at her. Of course, now he wanted to know about these pathetic gay boys. He wanted to know who all Dara had been kissing. If Dara kissed a lot of men. If Dara kissed only men.
“And I meant it when I said I wasn’t gay,” Noam said. Ames looked disbelieving, but she didn’t pull away. Noam smirked. “Bisexual isn’t gay.”
“Did you tell anyone you were coming?” “No,” Noam said. “Of course not.” Lehrer nodded once, then allowed Noam a small smile. “Then you’d better come in,” he said, “before people start asking why I have teenage boys visiting my apartment in the middle of the night.”
“Do you ever think about . . .” Dara started, then broke off. His hand tightened on the armrest,
fingertips digging into the upholstery. “All of it—it’s all random chance. The universe. Us. An infinite cascade of chaos. A series of impossible accidents is the only reason we even exist.”
“I’ll still be here,” Dara said, “if you change your mind.” Noam didn’t—for better or worse.
“You—god, you’re so stubborn, and I—that’s what I love about you, it is, but it’s the worst thing about you, because now I can’t.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dara said. “But I’m not going to apologize. I don’t regret what I did.” “Of course you don’t. You’re a fucking white knight, galloping in on your mighty steed to save the world. And who cares what you have to do or who you have to hurt?”
“I love you, Noam,” Dara said. It was almost pleading. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I know you better than anyone. I’ve had almost a year in your mind—I know what you’ve been through. I know what you want, what you’re
afraid of, all those secret thoughts you’d never tell anyone—I know you. And I love you.” Two weeks ago, Noam would have been the happiest person in the world. Now those words were poison. Noam tasted venom like heat on his tongue. “So read my mind,” Noam said, brandishing a hand toward his own temple. “I believe you, Dara. I just don’t care.” He relished the look on Dara’s face, as if Noam had torn out his guts with his bare hand. And he left him there, standing alone on the sidewalk as Noam walked away and didn’t look back.
It was a trick, had to be. Noam knew this would happen. Sacha was just trying to sow the seeds of doubt. Make Noam distrust Lehrer, or at least doubt him. He knew that. And it was working. Was that kind of thing even possible? Magic was . . . you had to understand whatever you were trying to do. Like physics. But mind control? What the hell would that even involve? An understanding of . . . of human psychology?
“No, no, now you listen—you—this whole time. The bruises—it was Lehrer. Not Gordon. Lehrer. He—I was fourteen, Noam! I was . . . but he . . . and I couldn’t tell anyone because, god, didn’t even need his power!” Dara laughed, a mad sound, and he wasn’t touching Noam anymore, had both hands pressed up against his own skull. “No one believed me.”
“Have you used your power on me?” “No.” Noam grimaced. “I suppose you’d say that either way.” “Probably,” Lehrer admitted. “So, you’re just going to have to trust me.” A hard gift to grant. Lehrer must understand that. He and Noam were alike in that way. They’d both grown up in environments where trusting the wrong person would get you killed.
If he speaks, close your ears. If he follows, you pray. But never look him in the eyes; a single glance, and your soul belongs to him.
Finally, to those of you who survived, who are still surviving: I am you. I love you. And I see you.
