THE EVENING BEFORE HAD STARTED WELL.

A date with a beautiful woman, a pre-med student from the north side. Ethan put on his best shirt, a pin-striped button-up his sister had bought him last year, promising it would drive girls crazy.

The pre-med girl was way out of his league, even with the shirt, but the voice had talked her into it. He could see her trying to understand it herself. She was at least four years older than him, way more sophisticated, and much hotter.But every time she seemed uncertain, Ethan would draw her back in.

Or, rather, the voice would.

It would say just the right thing about the midnight art-house film they'd seen, or the obscure pre-med stuff she was into, or Ethan's plan to study at the Sorbonne one day. Whatever the hell the Sorbonne was.

But then it got late and exhausting and frankly kind of expensive. He'd used up all his cash buying movie tickets and caramel popcorn and drinks from a wine bar so divey that Indira had called it "quaint." The wine was fifteen bucks a glass. Ethan didn't even like wine.

If it'd been up to him, he would have scammed his way through the night. The voice was great at getting stuff for free. But Indira clung to Ethan's side, watching his every move like he was some exotic breed she'd never seen before. A teenage kid from the wrong side of town. She probably thought he was quaint too, in a divey way.

It was pretty clear that the voice could never convince Indira to do anything more than talk and smile and cling. A nice girl from the north side, she probably wouldn't even make out on a first date.

So the voice switched itself to mute while Ethan worked out what he wanted to do next. When he decided all he wanted was to go home, the voice sorted that out too.

He left Indira standing by her car in front of the art-house cinema. She seemed to glow, lit by the marquee lights announcing a lineup of classic films. Her long summer dress billowed in the night sea breeze. She looked confused by his sudden departure. Maybe a little hurt.

"This blows," Ethan muttered to himself. In his real voice.

He hated how sad she looked. But he didn't have the energy to turn around. It was all the fault of that stupid art house film. Who knew it could be that boring? Watching it had sucked the life out of him.

As Ethan walked away, he rubbed his jaw with the palms of both hands. His muscles always felt weird after a long night of letting the voice talk for him. Like he'd been speaking a foreign language. It left a taste in his mouth too. Oily charm with notes of bullshit.

The worst part was, he had no way home. He was totally out of cash, so a cab was out of the question, and buses didn't run this late. Indira would've given him a ride, but of course the voice had spun some crap about his vintage Jaguar parked a few streets away, just to get rid of her.

The voice sucked at planning ahead. The voice just knew when Ethan wanted out.

It also liked to twist the knife sometimes. It had claimed the Jaguar was a present from his dad. Yeah, right.

Luckily, it was summer and Cambria's nightclub strip was still in full swing. There were plenty of people to hitch a ride with on Ivy Street. Ethan followed the thudding drumbeat until he reached the crowd. Light spilled from canopied doorways,and people shouted at each other, deafened by music that rebounded from the pavement and warehouse walls.

The voice could talk Ethan's way into one of the clubs. But once inside, no one would hear him over the music. He'd be just another gawky seventeen-year-old with a mousy buzz cut and too many freckles.

No, what he needed was somebody here outside.

A muddle of tribes skirted each other on Ivy. Hipsters and scene kids, crumpled coked-up suits from the stripper bar, a few raver wannabes in summer outfits showing lots of skin. They were mostly older than Ethan, which meant they mostly had cars. Somebody could be talked into giving him a lift home.

Just ahead of him, a guy exited one of the clubs from a side door. Which probably meant he was staff and sober enough to drive.

Ethan sped up.

The guy walked with a steady purpose. He had an army-green duffel bag over one shoulder. Ethan let himself drift into the guy's way until the bag slapped against him.

"Hey, watch it!" he said in his own voice.

The guy spun to face him. He was a few inches shorter than Ethan, but twice as big across the shoulders. And he had no neck. The sort of guy who could crush you with an annoyed glare. His right hand dropped into a jacket pocket, like he was ready to pull a knife.

"Whoa." Ethan backed away. "My mistake. Sorry about that."

The guy scanned Ethan. His eyes were piercing, way too blue. Almost electric. But a moment later he smiled, eased his hand out of his pocket, and gripped Ethan's shoulder. It was like being held up by a wall.

"Sorry, man," the guy said. His voice was calm and low. "Did I hit you?"

"No problem. You missed, actually," Ethan sputtered, fear beating in his chest. All he wanted was to be on the same side as this guy in his next fight. He let the voice take over. "Taylor sent me over to help you out."

That was one of the voice's specialties. Names.

The big guy paused, looking him up and down. Not smiling anymore.

"Taylor sent you?" An edge of disbelief in the low rumble of his voice. "How's a squirt like you gonna help?"

Ethan hated when this happened. The voice would get him into situations that only the voice could get him out of. Then he was stuck, listening and waiting. Letting it talk.

"Taylor said you were bad off last night. Wasn't sure you'd remember the way to his house." The voice sounded like it was making a joke, so Ethan tried to smile.

The guy stared at him another moment, then laughed. Abruptly, like that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard." What a dickhead. I worked off that hangover in the gym this morning. How do you know Taylor?"

"My sister's in his old army unit," Ethan heard himself say, and cringed.

Thing was, his sister really was in the army. Stuff could go really wrong when the voice told the truth. What if the guy asked for his sister's name? What would the voice say then?

But the guy relaxed, like he understood everything now." So you're family. Taylor wants you to join the team."

Ethan nodded, because it seemed like the right thing to do. "He said I should learn from the best." The voice twisted his throat, like it was imitating someone. "'Nobody better than the Craig.'"

A low thunder of laughter spilled out of the Craig, who reached over and took Ethan's shoulder again. The weight of his hand almost buckled Ethan's knees.

"He tell you to say that? What a dickhead." He shoved Ethan, sending him stumbling a few steps backward. "Come on. Car's this way."

The Craig headed for a side street. Ethan took a breath and followed.

Hell, maybe he could still get a ride home out of this.