He nods, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm all ears, Ms. Small."

  "One: I want protection for my family. Not just my dad - my mom, too. I don't care as much about me." I count off on my fingers. "Two: I want surveillance on places where my friends frequently go. School, hangouts, homes. Three: I want a way to contact you immediately if Shrike shows up."

  Monkey Business considers this, his expression unreadable. "Reasonable requests. The protection can be arranged. We already have associates in most neighborhoods in Philadelphia."

  "How extensive is this network of yours?" Mom asks, her voice firmer than I expected.

  Monkey Business smiles. "More extensive than you might think, Mrs. Small. Some work for us directly. Others simply... observe. For compensation."

  "Snitches," Derek mutters.

  "Information brokers," Rush Order corrects cheerfully.

  "And how would this protection work exactly?" I press.

  Birthday Suit steps forward. "Three layers. Observation - people watching for Shrike or suspicious activity. Alert - immediate notification if he's spotted. Intervention - rapid response to neutralize the threat."

  "By 'neutralize,' you mean..." Mom begins.

  "Whatever is necessary," Birthday Suit says flatly.

  "We prefer non-lethal methods where possible," Monkey Business adds smoothly. "Bad for business otherwise. But Shrike presents... unique challenges. Like being a psychopathic animal murderer. And person murderer. And Nazi."

  I glance at Derek, who's checking his watch with increasing frequency. The sun is visibly lower now, casting long shadows across the parking lot.

  "And in return?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

  "A favor," Monkey Business confirms. "To be called in at our discretion."

  "No." I shake my head firmly. "I need specifics. What kind of favor? When? I'm not signing a blank check. You could say 'Go kill Maya Richardson' and I'd be sort of fucked, wouldn't I?"

  Monkey Business chuckles. "You're clever," he says, not confirming whether or not that is actually what he'd do. "Let me say--"

  "Use your power," I challenge Monkey Business. "Make it a binding contract with clear terms."

  A flicker of something - surprise? concern? - crosses his perfect features. "I don't believe that will be necessary."

  "Why not?" Derek demands. "Afraid your power won't work on her?"

  Monkey Business's smile doesn't waver. "My power works on anyone who understands the terms of the agreement. I just don't think it would be necessary for an informal agreement like this. As satisfying as it would be to have you under my geas, Ms. Small, it'd be overkill. Neither of us trust each other, so there's an incentive to cooperate built in. The person who defects first is the one who gets egg on their face."

  "Convenient," Derek snorts.

  "It's because she's a minor," Mom says suddenly.

  We all turn to look at her. Even Birthday Suit raises an eyebrow.

  "Excuse me?" Monkey Business says, his tone polite but cooler.

  "Juvenile contract voidability," Mom continues, her librarian voice coming out - the one she uses when explaining complex catalog systems. "Under federal law, minors can void most contracts they enter into once they turn 18. It's a protection mechanism to prevent exploitation. You'd have two years to turn in your favor, and you've got plans with horizons longer than that. With a handshake agreement, you get to hang it over her head forever. Am I on the right page?"

  I stare at her. How does she know this?

  Monkey Business grins with a strange, almost manic sort of expression. Like all this time he's been talking to children and now he's finally met someone who can talk on the same playing field as him.

  "You learn a lot of things when you're a parent, Sam," she answers my unspoken curiosity.

  Monkey Business's smile has become slightly fixed. "An interesting legal theory, Mrs. Small. Though I doubt it applies to supernatural contracts."

  "Does it?" Mom challenges. "Have you tested it? Because I'd imagine your power works within the framework of existing contract law. Otherwise, what gives it structure?"

  Rush Order lets out a low whistle. "Hot mom, Bloodhound."

  Birthday Suit smacks him.

  "Regardless," Monkey Business says, smoothly regaining control of the conversation, "the point is moot. We're not discussing a formal contract, but a mutual understanding between interested parties."

  "I still want parameters," I insist. "Something firm."

  "One week," Mom reminds me. "I'm not letting this loom over you your entire life. One week of protection, one week of... whatever it is you're going to extract from my daughter."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Birthday Suit laughs. It sounds weird coming from her, like a horse nickering. "Your entire family is like this, huh. I see how Rush Order got shot now."

  "Hey, now," Rush Order mumbles.

  Monkey Business considers this. "One week of protection, starting immediately. Write down on a piece of paper the full legal names of everyone you need watched. Rush Order will be back around later tonight to collect. We can't guarantee eyes on anyone outside of Philadelphia given our decentralized nature. After this first week, we can... renegotiate, if necessary."

  "And the favor?" I press.

  "Nothing illegal," he offers. "Nothing that would put you or your family in physical danger, or ruin your reputation. You make an excellent martyr, Ms. Small. If I made you do something embarrassing or incriminating, I'd lose that value."

  "Hey, what the fuck?" I ask, about the same time that my Mom and Derek shout their disagreement behind me.

  "It's the best you're going to get," Birthday Suit says bluntly.

  I glance at the setting sun again, then at Mom. She gives me a slight nod, her expression grim but resigned.

  "One more condition," I say. "I want a guarantee that if we refuse the favor, you don't retaliate against my family or friends. If you give me something I want to be able to balk at it and say 'gimme a different one, I'm not doing that'."

  Monkey Business's eyes narrow slightly. "We're not thugs, Ms. Small. We don't 'retaliate' against teenagers."

  "Then you won't mind guaranteeing it," I counter.

  Monkey Business nods. "Sure. Guaranteed. There's a saying I'm fond of, Ms. Small. The reward for being a good person is that you get to continue being a good person. The punishment for being an evil person is that you are an evil person. I'm not going to give you a favor you'd want to refuse anyway. If I wanted to do that, I have contract papers in my car I'd go grab."

  "You're kind of a scumbag," I reply.

  "That's the deal," Monkey Business confirms.

  I reach a hand out. "This is when we strike a blood bargain, right?" I ask, clenching my palm.

  He doesn't extend his hand to shake. "What do I look like, a satanist?"

  "Shake my fucking hand, loser," I insist. He clasps his hand onto mine, and then barks out a yelp of pain as the tooth in my palm cuts him open, mixing our blood together - even if it's just by particles.

  Rush Order and Birthday Suit both immediately pull a gun on me - Rush Order's unmistakable, oversized revolver, and Birthday Suit with something a little more modern, boxy, but bigger than my Dad's gun. Monkey Business raises his now-bloody hand. "Relax. Just a scratch," he orders, chuckling under his breath as blood drips down his wrist.

  "We're done here anyway," Birthday Suit says, already turning to leave, holstering her gun and tucking everything back under her shirt.

  "You're a real wild child, Small. I'm glad out of all the nemeses we could've had, you seem to be the one getting the most involved in everything," Monkey Business says, grabbing a handkerchief out from his pocket and quickly tying it around the - frankly, quite small - cut I've dug into his hand. I shake my own palm until the tooth comes loose, clattering gently on the ground. "You're definitely the most fun. Have you met some of your fellow Young Defender graduates? Total fuddy duddies."

  "The contact method?" I ask, trying to keep him on topic.

  Rush Order tosses a small, old burner flipphone to me. "It has one number saved. It's routed to bother us if it gets rung, but nobody will pick up. If you try to get the cops to trace it, you're not going to find us. And don't waste our time," he answers, uncharacteristically annoyed. What, just because I did a little whoopee cushion gag on your boss? Get over it, loser.

  "Trust me, I won't be calling you for fun," I reply.

  Monkey Business straightens his already perfect tie, and then licks his pointer finger and thumb to smooth out his eyebrows. "We'll be in touch, Ms. Small. Your protection begins now." He nods to Mom. "Mrs. Small, a pleasure meeting you. Mr. Taylor, please rip your dick off at the nearest opportunity."

  Mom doesn't respond, just takes a step closer to me and grabs my arm. Derek snarls.

  The three of them turn to leave, but Rush Order pauses, gesturing to the pizza box he'd set down earlier. "The pizza's real, by the way. Consider it a welcome gift. And one last thing."

  "Yeah?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest defensively.

  "Maya Richardson wasn't in Harrisburg during the hearings. Whoever was there wasn't Maya," he whispers to me, leaning in so my Mom can't hear, grinning like a wolf.

  My heart sinks down like a stone. "What do you mean? And why are you even telling me this?"

  "The truth won't set you free, Smalls. The truth is a prison. This isn't help, it's a curse, and I'm a bad guy. Here's some more shit on your plate," he replies, clarifying nothing while sweat beads under my armpits. "Eat it."

  Then they're gone, vanishing around the building toward their car. Derek immediately starts backing away toward the sidewalk, while Mom holds my arm back so I don't go chasing them.

  "I have to go," he says urgently. "Sunset's coming fast. That went on way too long."

  "Go," I tell him. "We'll be fine."

  He hesitates. "Call me tomorrow. Let me know if... anything happens."

  "I will," I promise.

  He nods once, then jogs toward the nearest bus stop, not looking back.

  Mom and I stand in silence for a moment, watching him go. Then she bends down and picks up the pizza box.

  "Come on," she says quietly. "Let's go inside."

  We don't speak as we walk back into the Music Hall. The main room is empty - Dad must still be upstairs. Tasha had left earlier to coordinate with the others about Shrike surveillance.

  Mom sets the pizza box on the table and opens it. Steam rises from a perfectly normal-looking pepperoni pizza.

  "Well," she says, her voice unsteady.

  "Yeah." I sink into a chair, suddenly exhausted.

  "Did we just make a deal with the devil?"

  I shake my head. "Devils at least tell you what they want upfront. This was... something else."

  Mom sits across from me, her hands clasped tightly together. "I don't know if what I said helped or hurt our position."

  "It helped," I assure her. "You caught him off guard. I didn't know that about juvenile contracts."

  "There's a lot of things parents learn that kids never hear about," she says with a wan smile. "Legal rights, insurance policies, tax deductions... all the fun stuff."

  A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest. "God, this is so fucked up. We're sitting here talking about tax deductions after negotiating with supervillains."

  "Language," she says automatically, then laughs too, although I can hear her chest sort of making a weird wheezing sound like she's secretly trying to cry.

  I reach for a slice of pizza, then hesitate. "Do you think it's safe to eat?"

  Mom shrugs. "If they wanted to hurt us, they wouldn't need to poison pizza to do it."

  Fair point. I take a bite. It's actually pretty good.

  "So now we wait," Mom says after a while. "For a week."

  "And hope the NSRA finds Shrike before our protection runs out. Or Shrike starts getting insistent on his opera house bullshit."

  "And before they call in their favor," she adds darkly.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. My mind keeps replaying the negotiation, wondering if I could have pushed for better terms, if I should have refused the deal entirely, if I've just made everything worse. Then, reality starts settling into my shoulders. Two guns just got pulled on me and I barely even noticed. And what the fuck was that with Maya? Was Rush Order telling me the truth, or just trying to make my life worse, too? And if he isn't lying, how the hell would he know?

  Almost without thinking, I reach into my pocket and pull out the pack of cigarettes I've been hiding. I haven't smoked in a hot minute, but right now, the craving is overwhelming.

  Mom is busy texting Dad, updating him on what happened. I slip one cigarette out and start to stand, planning to go outside.

  "SAMANTHA ELISABETH SMALL!"