Hard conversation number one.
His brother nodded at him.
Niko nodded back. “Hey, about the other night, I was wrong.”
Aleksy scowled. “It’s not the time. We’re here to visit Pete.”
They went inside to the front desk, and then were led to a plain, beige waiting room. A single window streamed with water. Two couches sat at an angle. Soft lights lit the place.
Niko took one couch. Aleksy took the other. They sat in a painful silence.
Why was talking to his brother always so hard? Niko had admitted he’d made a mistake, but that didn’t matter. Maybe Aleksy was only amenable when he was sleep-deprived.
Pete shuffled in wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt; neither fit him very well—donated clothes courtesy of the treatment center.
Pete sat next to Aleksy. He didn’t say anything either. He was on some sort of medication, not quite there.
Niko closed his eyes and calmed himself enough to feel the prana in the room. Aleksy burned with energy. Pete was the exact opposite. It was like his prana was a lamp in the basement of a Devil’s Edge prank house.
Pete chuckled. “Hey, guys. I would say welcome to hell, but you two are fine, like always. I’m the one in hell.” Another belt of sad laughter. “If you two weren’t so perfect, I wouldn’t be here.”
“We caused your problems?” Aleksy erupted. “Us? We didn’t get you hooked on prank and hanging out with criminals in the ass end of Bay City. You did that to yourself.”
“I’m not perfect,” Niko said softly. “Neither is Aleksy. You got the wrong guys. But we’re here for you.”
Pete’s eyes were heavy, as were his lips, so his sneer was only half-formed. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything. Damn.”
This was the whipped, self-pitying version of Pete. It wasn’t very pretty. And it wouldn’t help him any. It wouldn’t help any of them.
“Let’s talk about how I’m not perfect,” Niko said. “Aleksy told me some hard truths. He said I gave up on the Arts too easily, five years ago, and I was stupid for giving them up now. I basically told him he was full of shit. I was wrong.”
Pete didn’t respond.
Aleksy hissed out a breath.
Niko went on. “Aleksy offered to help me, any way he could. I told him it was too late.” He let his eyes fall on his brother. “It’s not. Aleksy, I need your help.”
Pete leaned forward to look at their older brother. “Aleksy offered to help? Don’t tell me what about. I know. Our failing family business, which is slowly killing everyone it touches. Maybe it’s the business that put me here.”
“You put yourself here,” Aleksy said sternly. He then thought for several long moments, brow furrowed. “Niko is right, though. I’m not perfect either. I could’ve handled things so differently when I left. Only, you know how Mamo is. The minute I tried to argue my case, she would’ve played the guilt card. I wouldn’t have left. I needed to leave. You guys see that, right?”
“Hell, yes, I do. I did. I know.” Pete inhaled. “I got out too, only, I left a piece at a time. Niko stayed. Which wasn’t fair.”
Niko felt how it was all falling into place. The Pranad talked about the flow of life, how people were but small leaves on a mighty river, swept along on a current they could barely understand. Most couldn’t understand it at all. Few even tried.
Aleksy finally looked at Niko. “You have a chance now. I do want to help. I can juggle things at SoulFire, or maybe I can help pay for an on-call person until Teddy gets back on his feet.”
“I can help too,” Pete said. “I get out of here in another three weeks. I’ll need a job. I can work at the Shoppe for a bit, but I’m not sure it’s good for me to be there. Triggers, and relapses, and all that happy recovery talk. I’m weak as hell. Did I mention this place is hell?”
Both Niko and Aleksy laughed.
A memory struck Niko. “Remember that time we all fought at the one Con? It was some academic league thing, all the schools, going up against each other. Aleksy was in high school, me middle school, and—”
“I was in the kiddie Con,” Pete finished.
Aleksy nodded. “You were going to talk about the epic pancake dinner. We all won. We all celebrated at the epic pancake dinner at that one truck stop outside of Central City.”
“Why bring that up? Hungry for pancakes?” Pete asked.
“No.” Niko paused, feeling the emotions take him for a second. “It was a time when we weren’t fighting, we weren’t hating each other, and we were all winning. I’d like to think those days aren’t behind us.”
“We were children. Children get along.” Aleksy pronounced it as gospel.
Pete and Niko grinned at each other and then cracked up laughing.
Aleksy didn’t get it. “What’s so funny?”
“I can list off the highlights of when we were kids, and we didn’t get along.” Pete held up a finger. “The shampoo incident.”
That was a time when Aleksy needed a shower, and he’d walked in to grab the shampoo from Niko, and the two had fought, naked, over who got it first.
“The trash incident.”
That was when Pete and Niko had fought over who had to take out the trash. The shoving led to punches and both got grounded.
“The ShockBox incident.”
Another fight, between the three of them, about who got to play the video console first after they got a Nintendo ShockBox for Christmas.
“I could go on,” Pete finished. “And at the pancake dinner, you two weren’t kids. High school and middle school, not exactly children. I was. You know...” Pete choked for a second. He grunted away the feelings. “You know, I looked up to you guys. You both were so strong, so smart, that I never felt I would ever measure up. It sucks you have to visit me here. I suck.”
Back to self-pitying Pete.
“Cut that out,” Niko said forcefully. “We’re all on the right path now. Aleksy has his career at SoulFire, I have the Arts, and Pete, you have a chance to get clean. If you think you suck, change it.”
“Same to you, Niko.” Aleksy nodded at him. “If you think you don’t have a chance in the Arts, cut that out.”
Niko found a smile. “I don’t suck. I can do Inversion, the Radiance Fourth Study. Not well, but I’m basically Harmonic. I cycled a cambion the spring of my senior year. It cracked my prana, but it also filled in those cracks with Radiance prana.”
It felt good to tell the truth.
“I knew it!” Aleksy popped off. “You denied it, but I knew.”
“A daemon with an Artist sign prana?” Pete wondered. “That’s not possible.”
Aleksy paled and snapped his fingers. He pointed at Niko. “You. You might be able to help. I’m working on a secret project, satellite imagery, Whitney units, I can’t say more. But it deals with a daemon that has definite Erosion energy. I might need to talk more about this with you.”
Niko immediately thought of the Devil’s Edge daemon. He couldn’t ask Aleksy more, since he’d mentioned it was a secret project. However, the news had lit up with reports of a strange new type of daemon that SoulFire had known about but hadn’t told the public. Lawsuits were pending. Sure, lawyers would go after a huge corporation with deep pockets that wanted to get rid of the PR nightmare as quietly as possible.
Pete blinked. He was doing better, more aware. Maybe the drugs were wearing off, or maybe he was getting so much off his chest. Either way, he stared at Niko. “If you can use Discordant prana, you could tackle the Luna Studies.”
Niko liked his brother’s reaction. “It’s not fully Discordant. I mean, both Quintessence and Radiance are Air signs. Still, you’re right. All this time, I was trying to be the perfect Quintessence, and that wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“It’s the Sages,” Aleksy explained. “They are trying new things, and from what I’ve heard, it’s working. This Danni Dragon might revolutionize the entire business.”
“That’s the
hope.” Niko thought it was funny that Aleksy had used “they” and it only meant Niko and Danette now. That might change. Evelyn might come back after she got over what she did in the BCBA Con. And Pax might be able to heal his cracked core.
Aleksy glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Work calls. But I’m serious, Niko, about helping.”
Niko appreciated the offer more than he could say. “At this stage, I’m training in South Valley. I can take calls. I’ve been lucky so far.”
One hard conversation down, one to go.
Bonnie didn’t answer any of his calls or texts. He even drove by her apartment, yet it seemed like she was never home. He buzzed her apartment and got no response. He might be on the right track when it came to his Artistry career. With her? He had the idea she might be done with him.
And just when he thought he’d gotten a hook in to Andrew J. Coffey, the guy stopped all contact with him.
Niko didn’t like being ghosted like that, and yet, he had only one option. Let go of his fears and trust the flow of the world. He had to surrender, once again, to the Arts.
The Display
WEDNESDAY NIGHT, ANDREW walked into the fish market practice Arena in full Artist robes. He looked good. Inside, he was torn up and trying not to puke. The air was heavy with cold mist, which was typical for October, and it smelled of ocean, fish guts, and the sweet cotton candy smell of the tourism industry at Pier 39.
He’d gone to Dr. Wolfe, the rogue apothecary in the Underbelly, who’d been drunk. That was okay, Andrew was half-drunk as well.
The tinctures had made cycling nearly unbearable. He felt like a novice again. The agony was nothing compared to the process of drawing the cambion’s energy into his core and then working on adding it to his prana. The thing buzzed through him. When he wasn’t stricken with terrible stomach cramps, the nausea threatened to murder him.
In the parking lot of the fish market, Barton stood with the Premiers, including Timothy, who never missed a night, though he wasn’t fighting. He was still healing from that devasting blow from the Unrepresented. The girl. Andrew had forgotten her name.
But like the woman in Angel City, she didn’t matter. Marla J. Jones. He remembered that name. Her last barb stuck with him. The drinking helped.
He found himself shaky and afraid, facing the agent and the Artists. He didn’t show them anything but a solid stone face. “Hello, Barton.” He nodded to the other Artists. “Hello to you all as well. I thought I would come tonight and show you something new.”
“Andrew.” A small grin lit Barton’s face. “I thought I’d hear from you by now. Long time, no talk. Are you doing okay?”
Andrew wanted to wipe that smug look off the man’s face. Knowing the agent, though, he’d still be smirking with Andrew’s fist in his skull.
Andrew hadn’t gotten anywhere. He’d had lunch with the young agent, and she’d not returned his phone calls. Or his emails. Or his texts. She wasn’t interested. For her, the time frame wasn’t an issue. Or, Marla J. Jones was right. He was an aging has-been. The 2012 Grand Tournament was a long time ago. People had the attention span of gnats.
“Doing fine,” Andrew said. “I’ve been busy training and ironing out the last few flaws in my technique. It’s all about technique. Power. Efficient prana usage. That is what we tell everyone, right?”
“It’s how you got me as your agent. It’s how you’ve risen up in the ranks. Your technique is excellent, and you have the warrior’s fire in you.” Barton looked almost appreciative.
“I’d like to face three of the Premiers,” Andrew said. “At the same time. Fight to first blood. I’ll try and take it easy on you.”
The Premiers looked at each other uneasily. Generally, first blood was reserved for the tamer Unconnected matches criminals and asswipes put on in places like the Underbelly.
Timothy nodded. “I can’t fight, and Marjory is prepping for Fright Night.”
“Marjory at Fright Night?” Andrew wondered.
“She’s doing a Triumvirate with some of my other Artists,” Barton explained.
There was still an open afternoon match. Andrew had kept track of the events online.
Timothy took back control. “Henry, Seo-yun, Diana, do you want to try your luck against Andrew J. Coffey?”
The three stepped forward. All looked uneasy, throwing glances at Barton, who nodded. “I like to watch Andrew fight. I’ll call the match. First blood means you’re out.”
The blood was important. Andrew had learned a thing or two, trying to digest the thing he’d swallowed into his core. It fought him at every turn, yet it was quieting with every cycling.
Andrew faced the three Artists on the tiles.
Barton went through the opening ritual. Minds sharp. Souls strong. All of that nonsense. As it was early October, Diana would have an advantage, being the only Radiance fighting.
He’d go after that bitch first.
The minute the match started Andrew threw a Distance Kick. The manifested prana launched from his foot and took down Diana, right away. She crumpled, blood flowing from her nose.
“Diana out!” Barton screeched.
Before she could get off the ground, Andrew used his Second Study to race over, and he drew up Diana’s blood into a shield. The round circle glowed red, and it caught the fireball Henry hurled.
As for Seo-yun, she filled her hands with fire and swiped at him. He ducked, punched her in the gut, and positioned her between him and Henry.
Diana was on her hands and feet, crab-walking off the tiles. Let her leave. He had her blood, and it had saved him from Henry’s flames.
Andrew caught Seo-yun’s arm, then swept her legs out from under her. He leapt over her, going for Henry, who hurled another flaming orb. Andrew felt it singe his hair, but no damage was done. He jabbed three times into Henry’s face, each with more force than the last. His First Study served him well. Blood burst from Henry’s nose.
“Henry out!” Barton called.
Andrew collected up that blood and forged a sword. This was new for him, a new ability that Barton hadn’t seen. This was his Neptune Belt in action.
Seo-yun concentrated and created a sword of her own, a flaming blade forged from her prana. It was going to take most of her energy to keep the construct going.
Andrew’s sword met Seo-yun’s as they fenced across the tiles. Henry slunk away.
Seo-yun’s fire sword met Andrew’s glowing red sabre, the blade dripping with light and gore. When their blades met, sparks sprinkled the tiles. The sweat on Seo-yun’s face glistened.
Andrew laughed, easily beating away her blows, toying with her. “This is what I can do to Niko on Fright Night. I could take her at any minute.”
She closed in. She threw a punch with her left arm, so terribly telegraphed, Andrew let it glance off his head. It hardly hurt. But she grimaced in pain.
He smacked her leg with the flat of his Blood Weapon. He then slammed a First Study fist into her face, not aiming for her nose, but for her left eye. Then her right.
She staggered back. Her forged weapon vanished. She tried to flee.
Andrew lashed out with a Distance Kick into her back. She fell to her knees. He sped over, raising his fist as if to punch her. He pulled the attack at the last minute, using his Ram Speed to dash around her. He drove a foot into her back, and she went sprawling.
He took a handful of hair, pulled it up, and cut it with his red sword. “This is what happens when I’m forced to fight beneath me, really fight. This.”
Seo-yun scrambled to her feet. She was pleading with her eyes for Barton to end the fight. That wasn’t going to happen. It was to first blood.
She raised her fists, low on prana. He slashed his sword down onto the tiles, near her foot. He could have cut it off easily enough. Her body grew bright as she tried to speed away. Andrew kicked her feet out from under her. She leapt up, fists up.
He had to give it to her. She wasn’t quitting.
Andrew let his
blood blade vanish from his right hand, only to have it appear in his left. He stabbed his sword through her pant leg. He had her hooked.
He punched her in the stomach, twice, and she lost it and hit the tiles.
“That’s enough!” Henry roared. “You won, all right? Leave her alone.”
Seo-yun’s left eye was puffing up, closing, and her right eye was furtive. “I surrender.”
“You can’t surrender,” Andrew said. “We’re fighting to first blood. Ask me to cut you. And you better ask it nicely.”
Timothy and Marjory weren’t going to say anything. Neither was Diana.
Henry yelled again, “This is screwed up, Andrew. We’re not here for this.”
Everyone ignored him. Was that Barton sneering? Andrew didn’t care. His eyes were on his opponent.
“Cut me. Please,” Seo-yun whispered.
Andrew ripped the blade out of her pant leg. He flicked his blade and caught her ear. A single drop of blood welled from the prick.
“Seo-yun is out.” Barton walked onto the tiles. “You win, Andrew. You win.”
Seo-yun rose, bowed, and returned to the loading dock.
Andrew expected her to cry, but not a single tear left her eye. He let his sword vanish. “And that is the power of a true Battle Artist, Neptune Belt.”
He’d used most of his prana, but no one needed to know that. And so far, he’d not puked. That was as miraculous as anything.
“Can you do that to Niko Black?” Barton asked.
Andrew spit onto the sacred tiles, something no one should do. Yet he was beyond morality. He’d given up his pride in his little display for that bastard Barton. “I’ll do that and more. Three rounds of that. Niko will never want to fight again. I’ll make it clear that he and his Unrepresented friends shouldn’t enter the ring with a true, trained Artist with flawless technique. Fire means something, Barton, but it’s not everything. Skill, talent, hard work, and dedication mean more.”
The agent shrugged that off. “I’ll give you some money for your efforts, Andrew, but you won’t touch any of my book profits.”
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