Niko walked with Teddy to his van, parked way at the back of the Marriott’s parking lot. It was an oversized vehicle, a pain in the ass to drive, and even harder to park. It had been white for a while, but then Pete insisted on his friend painting a bad logo on the side, Fix-It Shoppe, with the extra ‘p’ and the extra ‘e.’ An impish, smiling daemon, purple and blue like the letters, popped out of the “O” in shoppe.

That all wasn’t terrible. But Pete’s friend had painted the whole van pink. They called it the pig now, because of the color and the size of the vehicle’s big butt. They powered an engine with a level-five drode, which was overkill, but they’d come across the daemon right around the time Pete’s friend had massacred the paint job.

Pete’s friends were terrible. Pete, Niko’s little brother, was barely tolerable, though he could be charming and funny when he wasn’t trying to destroy both of their lives.

Teddy walked with his hands in the straps of his backpack. Every once in a while, he shook the pack, adjusting it. “Andrew J. Coffey did everything that our buddy Stan Howling failed to do with you. AJC worked the Cyclone, worked him, I tell you. Andrew’s technique is as efficient as it is sick to watch.”

Niko could barely keep his eyes open. The Arena Assistant had adjusted Niko’s sharira, using a Fourth Study Luna skill, but still, the fight, the entire day, and then the long conversation with Coffey had drained Niko. “Wait, the guy’s name was the Cyclone? How did I miss that?”

“Yeah, the Cyclone.”

“Niko Black is not sounding bad to me. Do you mind driving?”

“Never.” Teddy got behind the wheel while Niko walked around the back. Pink. Peter insisted it was salmon. It wasn’t. The air had grown chill, the fog had hit the city, and that cool wet air had blown south. The murky smell of the flats drifted over.

Niko got into the passenger seat. He drove a lot, so any excuse had him tossing the keys to his friend. Yet there was more to it than that. Niko didn’t like cars, highways, and the death toll they caused. He religiously wore a seatbelt, and made sure everyone else did too, but seatbelts could only do so much.

Teddy rolled away. The Fix-It Shoppe’s van was stuffed full of electronics on shelves, built with lips and hooks to keep the components secure. There was a pushcart Whitney container for large jobs and a bunch of handheld units for smaller ones. The whole van shook precariously—it felt like at any minute, the entire back cargo would come slamming forward every time Teddy braked. They’d be crushed then drowned in electronic components.

Teddy wasn’t a stranger to driving the Pig, though. He didn’t mind the current state of the front seat, Taco Bell wrappers, a stack of plastic cups, and a fine layer of driving debris.

A lot of cars were still in the parking lot, people were still partying, and they could’ve stayed, but Niko wanted his bed. Scratch that. He needed his bed.

Teddy was okay calling it a night at 10:30 pm. He’d go back the next day for more matches. Coffey would sign autographs, charge twenty bucks a picture, and then fight again the next night. It was going to be a Triumvirate match, and Niko was tempted to buy another day pass.

Watching Coffey fight, his skill, his flawless technique, had captured Niko’s imagination. That was why he’d missed the name of the opponent. Coffey had bested him quickly and efficiently. Seeing him fight on a team would be a treat.

Coffey was a Sanguine, a fire sign like Stan Howling had been, though Niko’s opponent had been Sunfire, born in August most likely, while Coffey was a March sign. It was March 23rd. That was probably why Andrew fought so well, though the Zenith Spin supposedly shifted the energy in the Arena. Even if that was the case, there was something about fighting when your sign was ascendant. Niko was a cusp, but every June, he just felt better, and things went his way. Most people attributed it to a placebo affect. You’re thinking changed when the energies didn’t. There was a great deal of controversy there, though people liked to argue about things they didn’t understand.

Teddy drove toward 101. They’d take the freeway north to Apricot. Or that was the plan.

Niko’s phone went off. He grabbed it, and his heart sank. It was his dad. Friday night? After 10? There was only one thing it could be barring any sort of emergency, God forbid.

Niko answered. “Hey, Tato.”

“Nikodemus, your brother, he has the on-call phone, but a client couldn’t reach him.” His father’s Polish accent was still there, even though he’d been in the U.S. for twenty-odd years. Enough to birth three sons, each two years apart. Aleksy was twenty-five, Niko, the middle, twenty-three, and Pete was twenty-one. Just turned twenty-one. That was probably he was blowing off his on-call hours—Pete would be in a bar, half-drunk, talking to all the girls. That wasn’t ideal yet it was better than Pete doing the harder stuff.

“Tato, can’t it wait? I’m exhausted.” Niko knew that was never going to work.

“It’s a good client, son. South Valley. It’s Mrs. Villareal. It will be simple. I promise.”

Niko winced. “Let me check. I’m with Teddy.”

“Say hello Teddy for him,” Tato said.

From the background, Niko’s mother asked, “The boy is not driving, is he?” Mamo’s tone wasn’t exactly accusatory, and Teddy had a license, it’s just that the business insurance got funny if the driver wasn’t part of the family. Mamo Kowalczyk was always thinking about the business. In truth, they all were.

“You know I don’t like to lie to you,” Niko said.

“Busted!” Teddy pulled off into the parking lot of a post office. He must’ve heard “South Valley” over the phone. “I’m okay with a little side trip. I took the whole weekend off. It’ll be fun.”

Mamo rattled off full paragraphs in Polish.

Tato translated. “Please, Nikodemus, please. You drive. If there is an accident, it could go poorly on us.”

Niko wasn’t going to argue. He was going to take the call, and that meant he was bound for South Valley. That late on Friday, traffic would be okay. Still, it meant his bed was at least an hour away, if the call went well. If it turned sour, it might be a lot longer. “Sure, Tato. I’ll drive.”

“Very good. And Mrs. Villareal, she has a big family, this is important.”

Before his father could say it, Niko was singing the party line. “And our only real value is our service, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three-hundred and sixty-five days a year.”

“Three hundred and sixty-six on leap years.” That was Tato’s line. Always had been. Always would be. It was one of the universal constants. “You have the address?”

Niko couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Mrs. Villareal? I could find it blindfolded.”

“Thank you, son. I’ll talk with Pete.”

This time Niko kept his bitter laughter to himself. He said goodbye and hung up.

“101 South?” Teddy asked.

“101 South.”

They pulled out of the parking lot and got on the big eight-lane, cutting through South Valley City and took off for South Valley South, near where the relatively new 85 hit 101. They passed Adobe Software’s headquarters off Park Avenue near Woz Way.

Teddy kept the van in the right lane, going well below the speed limit. Cars flashed by them. The engine grumbled like it was resentful that it wasn’t in the fast lane, screaming along. Teddy didn’t want an accident, and he knew that Niko wasn’t exactly comfortable in cars.

Teddy started the inevitable conversation. “So, this critique group in the City. You’re going to go, right? Sounds like a sweet deal. And if you go in with a personal invitation from AJC, they might just worship you.”

Niko wasn’t sure what his plans were. He’d heard rumors that BCBA events could be a little rigid.

His friend took his silence for what it was. Indecision. “Niko, you saw how that crowd responded to you. You got them going. Even during AJC’s match, I heard people talking about you. Maddy wants to highlight you for next year’s MudCon. It was a thing, a definite thing.”

Niko pressed his eyes closed. “It was one match. Which I lost. Pretty definitively.”

“There’s losing. And then there’s losing, you know?”

Niko did know. But how honest did he want to be with his old friend? It was late. He could easily say something he regretted. “It felt good. I won’t lie. But I’m already strapped for time. You know, my dad doesn’t do calls anymore, and Pete is…” the word was worthless. That was a hard thing to say about your own brother.

“Niko, my eastern European immigrant friend. What else are you gonna do with your life?” Teddy shot him a side glance. “I mean, yes, it won’t be easy. But all the great fighters have tragic backstories. It’s a thing. You see, that’s why I was never destined to become a Battle Artist. I’ve lived a very untragic life.”

“My life has not been tragic. It won’t be tragic.” Niko leaned back in his seat, trying to relax, but it was difficult, being on the highway, going fast. “I’ll take over the family business. No one else is going to do it.”

Teddy frowned. “Hey, I’m a big fan of the Fix-It Shoppie.”

“It’s shop. The extra ‘pe’ are silent. But you were saying?”

“As I was saying, your family business isn’t going to be around forever. SoulFire is offering a monthly service for repairs. That right there is bad news for your shoppie. Even worse? It’s ridiculously cheap. Less than five dollars a month. This little trip is going to cost Madam Villareal at least sixty bucks—that’s a year of SoulFire techs at your house, day or night.”

“Fee for service,” Niko said quietly. “Yes, you’re right. But we have really loyal customers. We have at least another ten years.”

“Five at most,” Teddy replied. “Money beats loyalty any day.”

Niko pointed. “Next exit. Then take a right.”

Teddy exited. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you have ten. Then what?”

Niko didn’t like to think about that. It was just easier to keep his nose to the grindstone, working, playing video games, hanging out. He figured the future would take care of itself. “Professional Battle Artists are few and far between. The competition is brutal. Coffey said it himself. There’s talent everywhere. I’m just a cusp, a crippled cusp at that.”

“Crippled.” Teddy’s frown deepened. “Not that you’ll tell me what happened, those many, many years ago.”

That’s exactly right, Niko thought. “Left up here.”

Teddy took the turn, and then switched gears. “So, Coffey’s suite. A personal meeting. I’m still kinda blown away by that. You said he gave you wine? Did he, like, touch your knee? Was it a casting couch kind of deal? Come on, Niko, you can tell me. Did he touch in your no-no zone?”

Niko found himself laughing. “It wasn’t like that.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

“He did say I had a certain amount of charisma.”

Teddy made a clicking sound. “Coffey has had some issues with the ladies in the past, though it seems he’s cleaned up his act. Even at his worst, though, he wasn’t as bad as Will Yellows.”

“Whatever happened to that guy?”

Teddy knew. When it came to the Arts, Teddy was a walking, talking tubby version of Wikipedia. “His agent dropped him. Word has it, he’s trying his luck in the Southeast Asia leagues. What a total scumbag asshat. I’m telling you, power corrupts, and Battle Artist power corrupts absolutely.”

“Which is why I shouldn’t get too much power. I’m extraordinarily weak-willed.” Niko motioned to a little house dwarfed by new mansions in the quiet suburb. The edge of South Valley South was still miles away.

The lights were on, and Mrs. Villareal was on her front porch, wrapped in a robe.

Teddy mimicked a starstruck fan of the female persuasion, “Oh, Niko Black, you’re my favorite. Maybe you could tutor me privately?” He laughed. “That’s the life. Fame, fortune, and babes, man, lots of beautiful babes.”

“Babes are people too, and that will never be my game. Park in front.”

Teddy pulled the van up.

Niko turned, grabbed his gear in a leather satchel, and got out.

Mrs. Villareal threw up her hands. “Niko! Thank goodness you are here. My computer, it won’t work. It won’t turn on. I tried to turn it off and on, like your father suggested, but it’s no use! I need to send this one email. I don’t know what else to do!” Mrs. Villareal’s head was covered with a cap, like what you wore when you didn’t have a wig on. He’d only ever seen her with her hair on.

Teddy joined him as they walked into the house, a bit cluttered, but Niko had seen far worse. Sometimes home visits were just gross, hoarder nests of dead rats and dog poop. Other places might be cleaner, but the people might be too creepy. Every now and again, Niko would wind up at a full-on prank house. He hoped that Pete wasn’t doing any prank. That stuff burned out your core to get you high.

Mrs. Villareal’s computer was at desk in the living room. Niko bent, rummaged into his satchel, and brought out a daemon meter. He turned it on, adjusted some settings, and ran it over the dead PC. Nothing registered. He brought out a Whitney unit containing a level-one drode, the simplest of daemons. Thank the Zodiac, but this was going to be a quick call.

“And you are?” Mrs. Villareal asked Teddy.

Teddy put on his serious-bullshit expression. “I’m Niko’s bodyguard. I’m here to make sure nothing happens to him go on late-night calls. He’s a genius, but fragile. I’m the heavy.”

“Heavy?” Mrs. Villareal was clearly skeptical. “Well, it certainly looks like you’re a fan of all-you-can-eat buffets.”

Teddy laughed. “Damn, fat jokes. Ouch. As a matter of fact, I do like a good buffet.”

“So do I.” The woman, though, was still frowning. “But Niko isn’t fragile. He was a Battle Artist in high school. We all thought he would go places.”

Teddy feigned shock. “Oh really? Did you hear that Niko? You were going places.”

“I was. That’s the key word there. Was.” He connected a cable from the Whitney to the computer’s USB port.

“Why did you stop?” the old lady asked.

“You can handle this one, Teddy. I have to concentrate. We don’t want a rogue drode getting out.” Niko checked his connections, his settings, and then clicked open the container. Red lights flickered across the small, square box.

Teddy cleared his throat. “He lost his eye of the tiger.”

“Come again?”

“He lost that loving feeling.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He lost it all to the night.”

Mrs. Villareal grunted impatiently. “That last one is a song. Are you making fun of me, young man?”

Niko took over before they pissed off the client. “My family needed me. You know, running a business is hard, and I had to help out. In the end, I had to choose between being a Battle Artist, a serious one, and being a good son. It wasn’t much of a choice.”

The container went from red to blue. On the display, a text showed him the transfer was complete. He reached and switched on the computer. The monitor, sitting in the center of a ton of paperwork, flashed to life. Niko shoved his tech back into the satchel. He stood up.

The lady wasn’t looking at the screen. She was frowning at him, her brows furrowed. “Niko.” This was going to be another lecture, sure, but that was okay. He would listen to it, and then they could get on home. His bed, which ne needed desperately, was thirty-five minutes away.

Mrs. Villareal continued. “Family is there to help us, not hurt us. If you spoke to your parents, they would understand. You do not want to grow old with regrets. Trust me. I know.”

She wasn’t kidding. And if anyone knew about family, it was Mrs. Villareal. She had a dozen brothers and sisters, at least, a big Portuguese family with numerous connections and obligations, spread across the Bay Cities.

“It wasn’t them,” Niko said. “It was me. I chose to help them.”

“There is still time to choose again,” she said. “But I won’t bore you. How much do I owe you?”

Before he could answer, Teddy stepped in. “I want to be bored. It’s the least I can do, since I joked around with you. Lamely.”

Mrs. Villareal eyed him. “Yes, lamely. When I was a girl, I was an Artist. It was a long time ago, when everything was still co-ed. We had the girl’s team, and the boys, and the boys got all the attention and money, and the girls were something of a sideshow. Now it’s far more civilized.”

This was all new information for Niko.

She saw his interest. “Well, I chose family, Niko, over the Arts. I didn’t go to college. When I graduated from South Valley High School, I got a job at the airport, using my Third Study to clean planes. Steam does wonders for aircraft, inside and out. Every so often, we’d need to de-ice the wings. I could help with that as well.”

“You were a Luna?” Teddy asked.

“July 7. I won’t say the year. I don’t want to embarrass myself. Suffice to say, through two husbands, and four kids, I worked at the airport until I retired. Granted, I have a pension, I have a very comfortable life now, and grandbabies, Lord, I love my grandbabies. And yet, sometimes, I wonder what might have happened if I would’ve pursued my passion.”

Niko had to glance away. Her gaze was a hard thing to take.

“How much do I owe you?” Mrs. Villareal repeated her question.

“We’ll bill you.” He shouldered his bag. “It’s late, and we don’t have to worry about money now. You should be good to go. You just needed a new drode. It’s not a big deal. The old one burned out. There’s residue but you don’t need to replace anything. The new daemon will power things just fine.”

“A tip then. For you? I appreciate the visit, and I appreciate you listening to me.”

“It’s not necessary.” Niko turned his head to look at the door.

“I have pie. Is that tip enough?” Mrs. Villareal asked.

Teddy sighed long and hard. “Pie.”

There was no getting out of that. It was cherry pie, and it was worth the extra fifteen minutes.

On the drive north to Apricot, Niko finally relented. “I’ll check out the critique group. Are you happy?”

Teddy was. “Cherry pie and a dream undeferred? Yes. I’ll help, Niko, you know me. Maybe I can take some extra calls for you. I could use the extra cash.”

Niko didn’t like the idea, for a variety of reasons. He kept silent, though. He’d done enough talking that day. With any luck, his folks would be asleep when he got home.

He wasn’t that lucky.