“Anja, don’t!” yelled Omar. The sleepwalking girl faltered, just for a second, and in that moment her father woke with a start.
“Nein?” he asked, looking at them in confusion. “What are you doing?”
Anja lunged for him again, but by now Omar had reached her, grabbing her wrist before she could plug him in.
“What is going on?” Anja’s father demanded, standing up with a frown. “What is wrong with Anja?”
“She’s been drugged,” said Omar. He wrested the Bluescreen from her hand and threw it to the other side of the room. “We need to get her to a bed; I don’t know how long this sleepwalking trip is going to last.”
“Drugs?” asked Mr. Litz. He looked at Marisa angrily. “You brought her drugs?”
“It was the guy who came right before us,” said Marisa. “We didn’t know anything about it.”
“I told her not to spend time with . . . street kids.” Mr. Litz spit the words out like they disgusted him. Anja collapsed again in Omar’s arms, her body going just as limp as the first time she’d crashed. Litz pointed at the door with a snarl. “Get out.”
“But we didn’t—”
“Get out!” Litz roared, and turned to Omar. “You, help me take her upstairs.”
“We can help,” said Marisa, but Bao pushed her gently toward the door.
“They can take care of her,” said Bao. “If we hang around, we’ll only start a fight; that’s not going to help anyone.”
“I’ll call us a cab home,” said Sahara, her voice somber. They walked to the front door and out into the yard, and Marisa watched over her shoulder as Litz and Omar carried Anja’s body upstairs.
She looked as lifeless as a doll.
FOUR
“I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay.” Marisa folded her arms and leaned against Omar’s car. “End of subject.”
“She’ll be fine,” said Sahara. “You heard what she said—she’s done it before and nothing happened. Even Omar said it was safe.”
“Este pinche pirujo tan chin—”
“That much Spanish in a row means you’re really pissed off,” said Bao, “and I know you’re mad at Omar, but he’s seen this before—”
Marisa snorted. “So he should never have let her take it.”
“But he did,” said Bao calmly, “because he’s seen it before, and he knows that it’s safe.”
“Taxi’s here,” said Sahara.
“I’m not leaving until I hear from her,” Marisa repeated. “You can go if you want, but I’m—” She stopped abruptly, as a small flashing icon popped up in the corner of her vision. “Wait, I just got a message—” She stopped again, frozen in surprise at the name on the icon.
“Is she okay?” asked Sahara.
“It’s not her,” said Marisa. She looked up. “It’s from Chuy.”
Bao’s eyes widened. “Mysterious brother Chuy?”
Marisa glanced at Cameron and Camilla, still hovering over them. She nodded wordlessly, and blinked on the icon. The message opened and expanded, four tiny words glowing softly in the center of her djinni display:
We need to talk.
Marisa hadn’t talked to Chuy in months—they’d been friends for most of her childhood, even after their father had kicked him out, but then he’d had a kid, and Cherry Dogs had started trying to go pro, and with one thing or another she hadn’t heard from him in . . . well, not since Christmas, and not for nearly a whole year before that. To hear from him now, though, after everything that had happened in the restaurant . . . it wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have in public.
Sahara took a step toward the waiting autocab. “We’re losing money on this taxi.”
“I can’t—”
Another icon popped up, from Anja this time, and Marisa blinked on it immediately:
I’m fine, get out of here before my dad calls the cops.
“Anja says she’s fine,” said Sahara.
“I think she sent it to all three of us,” said Bao, looking down at his handheld phone. He looked up uncertainly. “You think he’d really call the police? I’ve got a record I can’t afford any more marks on.”
“It doesn’t matter, because we’re leaving,” said Sahara. She put a hand on Marisa’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”
“I’m not the one who—” Marisa took a deep breath, glancing at Anja’s house, then back to the brief, ominous message from her brother. She didn’t want to leave, but she had to answer him, and not just with another text. She shot one last look at the house, and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”
They climbed into the autocab, and Marisa sent Chuy a quick message: