Alan shook his head. "Not now." Mimi, somewhere up there was Mimi. "Look," Kurt croaked. He coughed again and went down to his knees. Arnos took the PDA in hand and peered at it. It was a familiar app, the traffic analysis app, the thing that monitored packet loss between the nodes. Lyman and Kurt had long since superimposed the logical network map over a physical map of the Market, using false-color overlays to show the degree to which the access points were well connected and firing on all cylinders. The map was painted in green, packets flying unimpeded throughout the empty nighttime Market. And there, approaching him, moving through the alleys toward his garage, a blob of interference, a slow, bobbing something that was scattering radio waves as it made its way toward him. Even on a three-inch screen, he recognized that walk. Davey. Not a coincidence, the fires. "Mimi!" he called. The back window was blown out, crystal slivers of glass all around him on the back lawn. "*Mimi!*" Billy was at his side, holding something. A knife. The knife. Serrated edge. Sharp. Cracked handle wound with knotted twine, but as he reached for it, it wasn't cracked. It was the under-the-pillow knife, the wings knife, Krishna's knife. "You forgot this," he said, taking the PDA. Then Davey was in the yard. He cocked his head and eyed the knife warily. "Where'd you get that?" he said. Adam shifted his grip for slashing, and took one step forward, stamping his foot down as he did it. Davey retreated a step, then took two steps forward. "He set the fires," Bentley said. "She's as good as dead. Cooked. Won't be long now, she'll be cooked." Darren looked at him for the first time. "Oh, yes," he said. "That's about right. I never found you, no matter how I looked. You don't get found if you don't want to." Brent shook his head. "He set the fire, he used gasoline. Up the stairs, so it would spread up every floor quickly." Aaron growled and lunged forward, slicing wildly, but Davey's scurry was surprising and fast and nimble. "You're going to stab me again, cut me again? What do you suppose that will get you?" "He's weaker than he was, then. We got six years, then. He's weaker. We'll get ten years. Twenty." Billy was hopping from foot to foot. "*Do it*." Alan sliced and stabbed again, and the knife's point caught Danny's little bandy leg, like cutting through a loaf of stale bread, and Danny gasped and hopped back another step. "He gave you the knife, didn't he? He gave you the knife last time. Last time, he took me to the school yard and showed me you and your girlfriend. He explained all about girlfriends to me and about what it would mean once our secret was out. He taught me the words, taught me to say *pervert*. Remember, Billy? Remember how you taught me?" Andrew hesitated.