“I’m fine,” he grunted. “Just get the girls out of here.”
The gangster screamed, and Marisa looked up to see him shaking as Campbell shot him with a stun dart. He staggered to the side, swinging his gun toward the nuli to fire, but Camilla swooped in behind and shocked him with a stunner of her own, cutting off the current just as Sahara reached the gangster and spun her foot in a whirlwind kick, knocking the weapon from his hand. He swung his fist and she ducked out of the way, slapping his side in a counterattack that didn’t seem to hurt him at all; Marisa couldn’t tell if Sahara had missed, or if the gangster had dodged just enough to take all the force out of the blow.
Marisa was surrounded, helpless in the street. The gangster pulled a blade from his back pocket and flicked it out of its housing with a menacing hum: it was heated, designed not just to wound but to scar. Sahara backed away, and Marisa pulled her sisters back as well, though the gun battle behind them continued to rage, and she knew there was no retreat—worse still, two of the three Maldonados were already dead, and the Tì Xū Dāo gang had only lost one of their four shooters. Marisa clutched Pati tightly with her metal arm, holding Gabi with the other, trying to think of a way out, when suddenly her mind seemed to expand and her vision lit up with icons and vectors, data filling her like a breath of life. Her djinni was back on.
“I reactivated your account,” said her mother, calling in the instant the djinni booted up. “Get them out of there.”
“Just leave me,” Carlo Magno growled. “Get the girls to safety.”
“Cállate,” said Marisa. “We’re not leaving without you.” She glanced up and down the street, desperate to find some way of escaping, and her eyes fell on the front of the restaurant: the glowing San Juanito sign was broken and sparking, and the ad screen by the front door was flipping through a series of glitched ads, framing a shattered bullet hole in the center.
“We have to go!” said Gabi. “We’re going to get shot!”
“There’s no safe path off the street,” said Marisa, “so I’m making one. Did you install those security upgrades I sent you a few months ago?”
Carlo Magno closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing as he put pressure on his bleeding leg wound. Gabi stared at Marisa in shock. “Is this really the time to be asking about that?”
“Yes or no?” Marisa demanded, blinking on her web interface to access San Juanito’s website. She logged in to the admin area, and moved from there to the restaurant control panel: she had climate controls, lighting, and everything. Including the ad board.
“Yes,” said Gabi, “I installed your security. Now can we get off the road before somebody murders us?”
“Yes we can,” said Marisa. “Watch this.” She opened the ad board controls, blinked on the nearest daily special—a free tamarindo soda with any purchase—and raised the instigation value past its limit. The ad board would find every djinni within half a block and bombard them with the digital coupon, sending copy after copy until their processors couldn’t handle the load, bypassing all but the most powerful anti-ad software. If the target had a good security system, it would slow them down for a bit; if they didn’t, it would blind them completely with a flood of pop-ups that would take minutes to get rid of. She applied the settings, and watched as the shooters faltered, hesitated, and then ducked for cover as their own djinnis betrayed them.
Sahara’s cyber security was flawless; she took the ads in stride, if she even noticed them at all, and pressed her sudden advantage with a devastating flurry of punches to the gangster’s stomach, face, and throat. He dropped his knife and staggered back, and Sahara finished him off with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head. He fell, and she ran toward Marisa, helping the girls raise Carlo Magno back to his feet.
“Run!” said Marisa, “I don’t know how long this will keep them distracted.” Gabi and Sahara supported Carlo Magno, one on each side, and Marisa ran with Pati held tightly to her chest, bolting back to the restaurant for safety. They ran through the front door, weaving through the broken tables and other debris, hoping the attackers on the street hadn’t seen where they’d gone. They reached the kitchen and fled into the back, where Guadalupe pulled them into a sobbing embrace. Adriana and Chito were still huddled by the wall.
“You’re okay?” asked Guadalupe.
“Papi got shot,” said Marisa, collapsing against the thick brick foundation. “The rest of us are okay.”
“They’re leaving,” said Sahara, watching the feeds from her nulis. “They told the car to go, and they’re gone.”
“Sandro’s still at home, and says he’s fine,” said Guadalupe, and glanced at Adriana. “Chuy, too.”
Marisa nodded, stroking Pati’s hair. “We’re alive. Now let’s get Chuy and Papi to the hospital.”
SIXTEEN