The Monster Client Union forms around Mina's complaint process. Three-Star Mandrake reveals rating theft can steal...
Underpass Bazaar had never been quiet, but Mina Park had also never seen a mandrake in a knitted hat climb onto a noodle crate and demand parliamentary procedure.
"Point of order," the mandrake mouthed.
No sound came out. Its roots clenched around a complaint ticket instead, shaking the paper so hard the stamped rating changed from three stars to one, then back again. Around the stall, monster clients crowded under blue tarps: Mr. Grit leaking onto a fruit crate, a moth woman with return-policy burns on her wings, a brass teapot spirit spitting steam through a cracked handle, and three sewer naiads holding laminated receipts above the puddles.
Mina stood on an overturned bucket because Orla Ninefingers had refused to provide "proper political furniture" without a deposit.
"I am not a representative," Mina said.
Mr. Grit folded his asphalt arms. "You answer the queue."
"Badly, according to my customer ratings."
"Exactly," the teapot spirit hissed. "You understand suffering."
That got a laugh. Not kind, but not cruel either. Mina's face heated while Domino sat on her shoulder and chewed a forged five-star sticker. The sticker squealed until the paper cat swallowed it. One more weird midnight in a city where elite summoners got chandeliers and she got bucket speeches.
Gilda Stamp waited at the edge of the crowd with a Better Business Coven clipboard clutched like a shield. "This gathering has no registered complaint category."
"What category covers monster clients who want to complain together?" Mina asked.
"Riot, usually."
The crowd growled.
Mina lifted both hands. "No biting the clerk. She stamps things."
Gilda sniffed. "Correct."
The mandrake tugged Mina's pant leg. Its complaint ticket had a name written in green sap: Three-Star Mandrake. ISSUE: VOICE STOLEN DURING RATING ADJUSTMENT.
Mina crouched. "Someone altered your customer rating and took your voice as the fee?"
The mandrake nodded so violently dirt sprayed her shoes.
Mr. Grit leaned over. "It used to sing insults at nobles. Beautiful work."
"Focus." Mina scanned the mandrake's ticket. The barcode wand did not print. It coughed a puff of pollen, then projected three little stars above the crate. Two were real, pulsing with root-green light. The third was gold and hollow.
From the back of the bazaar, a woman in pearl gloves laughed. "How touching. The basement handler has found a fan club."
The crowd parted. An Aureate Circle courier stood beneath an umbrella held by a goblin footman who looked profoundly embarrassed. She held a velvet envelope with Mina's name written in gold.
Mina did not take it. "If this is another bribe, your timing is rude."
"It is a cease-and-desist. Noble summoners do not negotiate with mobs."
"Good," Mr. Grit said. "We are forming a union."
The word moved through the underpass like thunder under concrete. Union. Some monsters straightened. Others flinched, as if naming it made a trap.
Gilda's pencil snapped. "That is extremely paperwork-heavy."
"Can they?" Mina asked.
"Any class of customers may organize around unresolved service harm if they possess individual complaint tickets, a shared demand, and a filing representative."
Every monster looked at Mina.
"No," she said.
The mandrake raised its ticket. The moth woman unfurled a burned wing with a receipt stitched through the membrane. Mr. Grit placed his stolen-review copy on the crate. One by one, complaints hit the wood: cracked handles, unpaid summoning fees, names scrubbed from contracts, one-star reviews forged to make monsters seem ungrateful.
Mina thought of Aunt Nari's rent jar, of Juno's write-ups, of Basil warning that evidence could become a warrant. Representing monsters against the occult elite was a spectacular way to lose her job, her sleep, and possibly several organs.
The Aureate courier smiled. "You are a temp worker with a broken phone."
"Night shift," Mina said.
"Worse."
Domino spat the swallowed sticker onto the mandrake's ticket. The gold hollow star cracked. A sound escaped the root creature, raw and tiny.
"Help."
The bazaar went still.
Mina picked up the mandrake's ticket. "I can file what you give me. I cannot promise I know what I am doing."
"We noticed," said the teapot spirit.
"Thank you for your confidence."
Mr. Grit scratched a union sign-up box onto the noodle crate with one tarry nail. "All in favor of making the cheap handler our expensive problem?"
Hands, claws, roots, wings, and one haunted ladle rose.
Gilda stared at the count, then stamped the crate so hard the wood split. MONSTER CLIENT UNION: PROVISIONAL REQUEST RECEIVED.
The stamp cost Mina immediately. Her support-line phone buzzed, and One-Star Support deducted an emergency representation fee from her paycheck advance. The number made her throat close. Aunt Nari was going to ask why the rent fund had teeth marks again.
The Aureate courier's umbrella folded itself into a blade. "Selene Ivory will be disappointed."
"She can leave a review," Mina said, because fear made her mouth reckless.
The courier backed into the rain and vanished beneath the viaduct. Gilda's clipboard began to smoke.
"That is not normal," Gilda said.
A black audit seal burned through the top page, stamped by an office Mina had never visited: BETTER BUSINESS COVEN HOSTILE REVIEW DIVISION.
The mandrake's stolen voice whispered from the seal, "They are coming to grade you."