Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Niko realized what was stopping him from accepting. “I can’t beat him. He’s a Terran Belt, famous, and his technique helps him hardly burn any prana, even when he uses his Third and Fourth Studies. He’ll pummel me into dust and hardly break a sweat.”

  Danette closed the deal with what she said next. “You don’t need to beat him. You have to give the fans a show. Yes, he is going to pummel you, but Niko, the thing I like most about you? Unlike a lot of people, you can take a goddamn punch.”

  It was the first time he’d heard her curse. It felt right.

  “What if he kills me?” Niko asked. It wasn’t a joke.

  “Then you’ll die an Artist.”

  It was answer enough.

  Niko’s phone went off in his pocket. The sound of it, the feel of it, was wrong. He felt something shift in the world. It was going to be the first of the bad news. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. That feeling came from a new place inside of him, this weird intuition.

  Danette felt it too. “You need to get that.”

  He answered it. It was Bonnie. There had been a car accident. Teddy.

  The After-Party

  ANDREW WASN’T IN THE mood for his wife. And yet, life had laid her at his feet. She was at the BCBA party, at another suite in the stadium, this one full of balloons and glitter, music too loud, a certain stink in the air.

  He had to get to Barton, to let him know the agent didn’t have as much power over him as he thought. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He did. But it was going to cost the agent to get him to fight against some Unrepresented wannabe at Fright Night. It was an embarrassment.

  Linda came for him. Andrew had thrown on his suit, no tie, and he’d tried to shower off the sweat of the fight. He, Angel, and Drake Shadow had put down the Unrepresented from Sierra City in the second round.

  There wasn’t the drama of the Sages versus the Premiers. He’d heard bits of Danette’s concession speech. For as much as it was BS, it was fine. Though the whole deal hadn’t been sealed. He hadn’t agreed.

  Linda wore her going-out dress, the same one she’d always wear to his events, plunging neckline, wrinkly cleavage, unimpressive. She’d aged during their time apart. Using her credit card had worn her out.

  She approached him. She was trying not to be as cold as the ice in his drink, two fingers of Macallan single malt. “Andrew.”

  “You came.” He found Barton; tall and lean, he was easy to stop. He stood in the corner, holding court with a batch of starry-eyed Artists trying to get in tight with the agent.

  Linda saw where his eyes went. “I did. I wanted to reach out. I knew my best chance to talk to you was at another one of these events.”

  It was barbed. There was history there, a lot of it bad recently. Linda’s timing was always bad, bordering on terrible. This was just another example.

  “Look, Linda, I want to talk to you, but I have to get to Barton. There’s a deal. You know the score.” Andrew had to keep tabs on Barton. He could leave in a flash, and then, it might be hard to get to him again.

  Linda moved herself in front of his gaze. “I know the score. It’s your Battle Arts first. Then the kids, well, our son anyway, and then me. I didn’t have to come.”

  Andrew wasn’t going to take the bait. “We’ve been married for twenty-five years. I need five minutes. Please.” He thought about trying to take her hand. It would be like touching a glacier.

  “Five minutes means ten. And I’ve already been at this party twenty minutes longer than I wanted. I watched you sign autographs, for the women, because you find them more interesting than the men.” She stood in front of him, an obstacle. How did she become another obstacle in his way? She used to help and support him. Those times were gone. She might as well have been a Masonry sign throwing up walls of iron.

  “Ten minutes then,” Andrew said. “Then we can talk, really talk. There’s a firepit outside. Meet me there, okay?”

  Linda narrowed her eyes. “I’m leaving in ten minutes. You’re lucky there’s shrimp. I’m staying for the shrimp.”

  “A joke.” Andrew had to smile. “Jokes are good. Ten minutes.” He had a shrimp of his own to deal with.

  Linda walked out onto the balcony. Andrew went for Barton, moving fast.

  He went in, driving himself into the collection of men and women around the agent. Some cow was prattling on about Barton’s book.

  Andrew interrupted her, mid-sentence. “I need to talk to Barton. If you’ll excuse us.” Andrew hadn’t grabbed his wife. He did grab the agent and drew him away, to an alcove.

  Barton was stiff in his grip. But he wasn’t trying to get away. He couldn’t. Andrew still had prana left after the fight. It simply hadn’t been that hard.

  The agent did look down at where Andrew was holding him. “You can let go, Andrew. And we can talk about the deal. I know it’s not what you want, but I think it’s for the best.”

  “How can you even think that?” Andrew asked. “It’s legitimizing the Sages. It goes against everything we’re fighting to keep. And it’s shameful for me to step onto the tiles, going against Artists who have to cheat because their technique is so worthless. It’s unfair.”

  “You get a win,” Barton countered. “And we play up the underdog angle, and you talk about how every Artist should have a chance. Danni has fans, fans you need. You put on a show, you win them over, and all the while, you talk about how wonderful the sequel to Fire is. I sell books. You get a fight you can win easily. I don’t see your problem.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Andrew said.

  Barton frowned at him. That strange calmness he had when he was heading into a struggle filled Barton’s entire body. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. That frown said it all. Andrew was supposed to dance on his strings, and he wasn’t.

  Andrew corrected himself. “I’m not doing it for free.”

  “What do you want?” Barton asked.

  “You committed me without talking. Right there, I want an apology.”

  “What else?” Barton knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “I want ten thousand dollars, and I want a cut on your book sales. A small percentage would be fine. I did write the foreword, after all.” Andrew tried to sip from his tumbler, but the whiskey was gone. Ice clicked. That was it.

  “That’s not happening,” Barton said. “I’ll give you something better than money. First off, my apology. I threw you in, thinking you’d see the benefits of this. I apologize. I knew you had high hopes to fight LJ Crown.”

  “Sure, apology accepted,” Andrew said. “What’s the second thing? You said first off.”

  “You get a favor from me. A big favor.” Barton was going to wait him out.

  Andrew might’ve been a little drunk. He was feeling reckless. Again, he felt his self-control slip. “The favor is going to include money, Barton. You heard what I wanted. I’m not doing the fight without a nice, solid paycheck.”

  Barton saw someone he knew and smiled at them. He nodded at someone else. “Andrew, if you were where we both want you to be, you could get money out of me. As it is? I think you’ll do it, and I think you’ll do it for free. Think about it.”

  Andrew knew his next move was critical. “You think about it, Barton. I’m not fighting an Unrepresented in such a high-profile event. Maybe at another BCBA, but not Fright Night. It’s your promise on the line.”

  Barton wasn’t making eye contact. He was scanning the room instead. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone else who will. I made a deal with Danni Dragon.”

  “Her name is Danette. And she’s an old lady who is pretending to have a career. I have a following. I have contacts. I can find another agent.” Andrew left him, walking across the room to the balcony. Had that been ten minutes? If it had been longer, or if Linda had left, fine.

  He could get a divorce. He could find another agent. Battle Artists switched agencies all the time. A lot of times, it meant a nice new contract with lots of money attached.
There was a new woman, who was placing Artists at Vannix House. Andrew could move to Angel City. He’d fought tooth and nail for decades. He wasn’t done yet.

  Linda stood near the flickering flames of a fire table. The lights of Bay City skyscrapers were shrouded in fog. The air smelled of the ocean. And new horizons.

  “I was about to leave,” she said. “How did your deal go with Barton?”

  “I think we might be done.” Andrew felt the fear. He wasn’t able to let it go. So he pushed it down. “He’s wanting me to fight some asshole at Fright Night. And he’s wanting me to do it for free, which is not going to happen. Look, Linda, I know money has been tight—”

  “Money isn’t the problem.” She motioned to the party inside. “That is the problem. I come here, tonight, and you put me off. That is the problem.”

  “Things got out of control today. It’s too long of a story to go into.” It struck Andrew that it was the nature of the industry for things to spiral out of control. Evelyn Beast should’ve pulled her kick, and yet, she hadn’t. If the Sages had lost, it all would’ve been different.

  “You used to tell me the long stories.” Linda had a terrible frown, a dead thing on her face, sweeping away any light in her eyes. “You used to include me. But you haven’t, not for years. Do you tell the women you sleep with the long stories?”

  “We had an understanding,” he said. This was not where he wanted to go.

  “The understanding was you’d tell me when you weren’t faithful. You stopped doing that. It’s not even the affairs, Andrew. They became part of the landscape.”

  The fire flickered between them. Flames and shadows.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Andrew still felt the fear, but now it was covered with a fine layer of frustration. “Or should I magically know? You told me to think about our marriage when you left. I have. I know my career isn’t what we both wanted.”

  Hadn’t Barton said something similar?

  She hissed, “It’s not about your goddamn career. It’s not about money. It’s about your time. I want your time, Andrew.”

  “I’m almost to the point where I can give you all you want.” Andrew knew that wasn’t true. It was a nice, easy lie.

  The problem was, his wife didn’t buy it anymore. “I gave you ten minutes tonight. It was a very precious ten minutes with me. You don’t value that.”

  “But I told you, Barton and I are doing amazing things with the BCBA cons. If it goes well, I can start getting serious money, and I won’t have to travel so much. I told you, I’m close.” Why couldn’t she understand that?

  “You’ve been close for twenty-five years. I’m tired of waiting. You should’ve spent that ten minutes with me.” Linda paused. “Because I think tonight is the last night we’ll have as a married couple. I want a divorce. I wasn’t sure, but you gave me too much time to wait out here, by myself.”

  Andrew inhaled the night, and the perfume his wife wore, which had been sweet at one time. Now, it was cloying, as cloying as she was.

  “The next time we talk, it’ll be with lawyers,” Linda said.

  Andrew turned and walked away from her. He’d won the match, but he’d lost his wife, and most likely, he’d lost his agent.

  He wasn’t sure if he felt free, but he did feel something. Determination to prove them all wrong. He was Andrew J. Coffey, and he was used to winning. And like on the tiles, he’d find a way to win.

  The Second Accident

  TWO HOSPITALS IN THE same day. Two friends hurt. This wasn’t the first time that Niko had hospitals almost destroy him.

  The smell of the disinfectant. The bright lights. The hushed voices. That clinical feel. He was plucked from the present moment and forced to remember that night with Taylor Sebastian.

  Niko wanted to be forever done with hospitals. Danette dropped him off. She offered to stay. Niko said she didn’t need to. His parents were on the way in the Pig.

  Bonnie’s Toy had been towed away to the scrap yard. She’d been released. She was shaken up, had some scratches on her face, but nothing major. The guy responsible for the accident had rammed into Teddy’s side of the car getting onto 101. He’d been drunk. They’d heard the nurses chatter in low voices, enough to know that the guy wasn’t doing very well.

  Teddy had survived, barely. Now, he was in bad shape, undergoing multiple surgeries. He was at the Stanford Hospital, where there was a powerful Luna Artist in residence who would oversee the healing. The surgeon had the Radiance sign; she could see the interplay between flesh and spirit.

  Niko had done something to Marjory’s prana and sharira. It had been enough to shake her up. He still wasn’t sure what it was. But now, all of that seemed like a silly little game. All that drama on the tiles—what did it really mean? All those Machiavellian machinations were insipid compared to seeing Teddy’s parents, his entire huge family, on his mother’s birthday, disappear down the hallway. On her birthday, her son might die.

  Bonnie held his hand and watched them go. They weren’t family. They had to stay in the waiting room.

  Late Saturday, the clinic was filling with typical ER cases: drunk teenagers, a guy who’d had some kind of accident that left him bleeding, a few old people, ashen gray, a man clutching his chest.

  Niko and Bonnie stepped outside. The lights looked orange under the purple light of the dark sky. Sometimes, there was that strange purple light in Bay City. Might be from the constant flow of traffic, and all those drodes powering the cars. Or just the throb of life around them, in the skyscraper apartments, or old town Palo Alto.

  “I’m sorry,” Bonnie said. “I know I’m not at fault. The guy hit me. It’s just something you say. Like you’re apologizing for how messed up the world is. Life is messed up. I’m sorry. Thanks for playing.” She sighed. “I don’t want to make jokes. Or be cute. I’ll shut up now.”

  She reached to touch him.

  Niko shied away. “I don’t want to be touched right now. I’m sorry.” There were those two words again. They were terrible and meaningless and didn’t do anything to keep the world from being damaged. And damaging those who lived in it.

  A hurt look might have flashed across Bonnie’s face. Or that might have been his imagination. They stood there awkwardly.

  She felt like a stranger. She was new in his life, unlike Teddy. Teddy had been with him since the beginning, the very beginning. And now? He might not be there anymore. The hole he’d leave behind could never be filled. Teddy was there at every step. Teddy’s laughter and his love of noodles, and his endless, joyous knowledge of the Arts, Battle Artists, the League of Battle Artists... The list went on and on.

  That all felt like too much to say.

  So instead, he said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Teddy won’t be able to cover my on-call hours. I won’t be able to train with the Sages.” He’s used the plural. They qualified just barely. Him and Danette, the last ones standing.

  Maybe Pete. Maybe he could get ahold of Pete and beg him. To do what? Give up his life in the Devil’s Edge and live clean, back at home, working at the family business, which couldn’t last that much longer? What would happen to Tato and Mamo? They’d have to get jobs. How do you go from running your own business to working for someone else?

  Bonnie reached out again, then yanked her hand back. “Sorry. No, we can’t say that word again. You don’t want to be touched. Okay. I get that. But you’ll figure something out. You’ve come so far. Your parents will have to understand.”

  Niko couldn’t hold in the bitterness. “They won’t. I’m done. And I was going to fight Andrew J. Coffey on Halloween. That’s not going to happen now. I have to quit.”

  He’d said that before, on that terrible night at the end of his senior year in high school. Taylor had gone to two hospitals. The first one couldn’t handle her injuries. The second one, South Valley Medical, did better in some ways, worse in others.

  “Why quit now?” Bonnie asked. Then she stormed forward, grabbed his arm, and t
ouched his face. “I can’t not touch you. I have to. Is this the part where you give up? I’m having a hard time believing this. It’s one bad night. Yes, it’s terrible, but it’s only one. You don’t have to make any decisions tonight. That includes throwing out your career.”

  “It’s not just one night. It’s the same night, over and over.” He backed away from her. “It’s all happening again.” The tears burned in his eyes. Burned. He burned them up, clenching his jaws, feeling empty. If only he’d had more prana, he might not have felt so empty.

  “Taylor Sebastian.” Bonnie approached him. He felt like prey being stalked. “This is about her. The ghost that has dogged my every step. I thought I had to worry about Teddy liking me. No, I have to worry about this Taylor Sebastian. Both you and Teddy have been so careful not to talk about her, well, not directly. All I really know is that she was important in your life. Now she’s not. So, what about Taylor?”

  “I’m not talking about this tonight. And you don’t have to worry about her. No one does.” That night at South Valley Medical had been quieter, and Teddy had listened to him, when, back then, he’d given up the Arts. There wasn’t a lot of arguing. Bonnie, though, wasn’t Teddy. In fact, she might be the exact polar opposite of Teddy, like matter and antimatter.

  Bonnie and Taylor? Similar.

  Bonnie found an unexpected smile. “Okay, no talk of Taylor. And no talk of giving up on the Andrew J. Coffey fight. I want to watch that. I want to watch you wipe the self-satisfied sneer off his face. Guys like that...” She shook her head, her mouth growing small. “Guys like that are in every industry. The minute they become pros, they want to tell everyone about how great they are, and of course, they love to focus in on the ladies.” Her eyes went far away. “Sure, I can help you, darling. Sure, meet me in my hotel room later. We’ll have some drinks and talk about your career. Sure, you have talent. Let me tell you how much talent you have.”

  “I can’t beat him.” It was a night of echoes. He’d said the same thing to Danette. “Danette will have to do it. She deserves it anyway. She set up the fight.”