“Of course not.”
“Do you know who manufactures it?”
“No.”
“Do you know . . .” She covered her eyes with her palm, trying to think, then looked up again as he pulled her forward; the traffic had stopped, and they crossed the street. “Do you know where to find them? Where their warehouse is, where they operate from, anything like that?”
“I don’t know anything,” Saif insisted. “I’m a low-level dealer, Marisa. I get the drives from a supplier, and the next time I see him I give him the money I made and he gives me more drives.”
“The supplier, then,” said Marisa. “He’s our first link in the chain. What’s his—” She stopped shaking her head in frustration. “I was about to ask for his name, so I could look him up and try to track his djinni, but that’s obviously out of the question right now. I hate being disconnected like this; it’s like someone . . . chopped my brain in half.”
“Tell me about it.” Saif thought for a moment. “I don’t even know his name, honestly, just some street handle he uses: Kindred.”
“Do you know where to find him?”
“Confronting him is not a good idea,” said Saif.
“Obviously we don’t confront him,” said Marisa, “but we can watch him. He meets with other street dealers besides you, right? So we can watch a handoff, and maybe follow him back to whoever he reports to.”
“This is getting way too dangerous,” said Saif. They crossed another street, arriving at the corner of the university campus. “These are hardened criminals,” he said. “Do you know what they’ll do if they see us?”
“A little too well,” said Marisa. “That’s why we make sure they don’t. There’s Bao.”
“Marisa!” Bao ran toward her, wrapping her in a bear hug and then stepping back awkwardly, as if the display of emotion had embarrassed him. He was dressed in a black jacket, faux leather, with intentional gaps at the shoulders held together by safety pins—the effect was ragged, but one of studied banality. Half the tourists in Hollywood wore safety pin jackets these days, and with his plain brown T-shirt and blue jeans he was perfectly dressed to blend into a crowd. “You’re safe. And you . . .” He looked at Saif. “Well, you’re safe-ish. Unless whatever did that to your face is still following us?”
“You’re looking at her,” said Saif.
Bao’s eyes widened. “Ouch, Mari. Sahara told me you punched a guy, I didn’t realize it was this one.”
“She probably saved my life.” Saif narrowed his eyes. “And you are . . . ?”
“I’m sorry,” said Marisa. “Saif, this is Bao, he’s one of my best friends in the world, and a professional . . .” She didn’t want to say thief, even though it was essentially true. “Sneak,” she said at last. “He’s the guy best qualified to help us disappear. Bao, this is Saif, a former Bluescreen dealer. They’re trying to kill him.”
“Oh, this is that Saif,” said Bao. “I thought we didn’t trust him?”
“I’m standing right here,” said Saif.
“We didn’t,” said Marisa, and shot Saif an apologetic grimace. “No offense, but you were kind of a . . .” She paused, rephrasing to something more polite than arrogant asshat. “You’re the one who got Anja in trouble, and up until ten minutes ago you had a lot more in common with the enemy than with us.”
“Glad I convinced you,” said Saif.
“You didn’t,” said Marisa. “They did, when they tried to kill you.” She looked back at Bao. “Speaking of which, we’ve got to hide.”
“I can’t stash you anywhere long-term,” said Bao, “but I can at least get you off the streets for the night. Sahara kind of filled me in—your djinnis are off?”
“We’re completely disconnected,” said Mari. “Honestly, I can’t believe you live like this; this is utter hell.”
“You lived like this for twelve years,” said Bao. “And the human race survived like this for thousands of years, if you can believe it.” He led them to the side, away from the streetlights. “But the upside is, this city is just as dependent on djinnis as you are. As long as you stay turned off, ninety-five percent of the ways anyone’s going to use to find you will be completely useless. Now, step two is even simpler—get off the roads, get out of sight, lay low. If you don’t feel safe at your place, you’re welcome to crash at mine—”
“I know how to hide in my own house,” said Marisa. “I need you to show us how to hide here, in the middle of the city. We’re going after Saif’s supplier.”
Bao looked at Saif, then back at Marisa. “Oh, this seems incredibly stupid.” He pointed at Saif. “Your plan?”
“Hers,” said Saif. “I’m with you, though, this is way too big for us to be messing around with.”
“This was your idea!” said Marisa. “This is what you asked for: to meet me so we could figure out a plan. Well, now we have a plan.”