27
Hiromi led me north out of Chinatown, into a neighborhood that neither of my nightwalks had passed through. Gleaming hotels punctuating six-story tenements, bike repair shops next to restaurants with Michelin reviews in the windows.
The day’s heat had settled into the sidewalk, and now in late afternoon was oozing back out. Each block seemed to have its own scent.
I was carrying Hiromi’s duffel bag full of sharp things, effectors trying to poke their way out. I could feel her beside me, walking close. I imagined her on the estate. Training with me, knife in hand, covered in sweat.
“Is Crystal your ex?” I asked.
“Just protective. You work for Garrett, who she doesn’t like. Plus, she might’ve guessed that you’re related to him.”
“How?”
“At the Xenakis opening, you mentioned your grandmother, and I talked up your awesome family. Crystal knows I went to Peter’s funeral.”
“She suspects I’m a product of nepotism.”
“Hardly unusual in the art world. But now you’re stalking me!”
“Pretty low-grade stalking,” I said. “It wasat bestfifty-fifty you’d be there.”
“You could’ve just got my number from Garrett. You’re his favorite, after all.”
I swung the shifting, clanking bag to my other shoulder. “I prefer to keep things private.”
“So I noticed. No socials. No search results. You have the online profile of an Amish spy.”
“Who’s stalking who here?”
Hiromi gave me an innocent smile. “Did you miss the part where I said you could have my number?”
I handed her my phone.
She stared at it. “The plot thickens.”
“What?”
“When you walked into the Swap, you were sliding a different one into your pocket. Something off-brand, smaller than this.”
Arabella’s phone, with its pulsing blue dot.
I’d forgotten about Hiromi’s sharp eyes. It was time for another half-truth.
“It’s kind of embarrassing—that was my family phone. Grandma tracks my location. She’s concerned about me, here in the big city.”
“You aresohomeschooled, Jessica.”
“But this one’s all mine. You’ll be my secret.”
Hiromi began to tap her digits. “Always happy to be classified.”
“Oh, I haven’t begun to classify you yet. You aren’t like most people I’ve met.”
“Flirting,” she said, still looking at the screen. “What kind of people have you met?”
The various offshoots of my ancient, sprawling family. Ordinary Hellions, the locals of Upper Falls, other legacies at weddings, competitions, and funerals.
“Not as many as I’d like.”
