“This worked better than I expected,” you say to BTS as you watch Luna do her thing. Her thing is teaching, and she’s good at it.

At your command, she called her impromptu class to order, threatened their daily participation grades if they didn't put their weapons and cell phones in the corner, produced a chalkboard and a pointer stick from somewhere, and now, a dozen mafia men and ice pickers are sitting on sofas, chairs, and the floor, notebooks in hand. The only sound, apart from her voice, is the scratching of pencils on paper. Even your foul-mouthed parrot is paying attention. Maybe she'll be the next Indiana Jones someday: archaeology professor by day, thrill-seeking archaeologist by... other days. Although her topic today is unrelated to archaeology.

The two men BTS had kicked out of the car burst into the living room, guns blazing. They yelp from the heat of their flaming guns and drop them. The entire class turns to shush them.

“You’re late,” Luna says, her tone disapproving.

“We… uh… what’s going on here?” the first man asks.

“Take a seat. You may ask another student to share their notes with you after I've dismissed class. Now, in summary, Freytag was a racist, sexist German playwright who developed a vague theory about how to structure three-hour-long tragic plays, which some people have misappropriated and modified throughout the years and now apply to creative writing in general. Now, we have little time left for questions, but maybe I can answer one or two. Raise your hand, and I'll call on you. Yes, the man in the recliner. Please stand and state your name.”

The rough, seedy man who's built like a bus is reluctant to comply. He's six and a half feet tall, with muscles bulging under his t-shirt and a nasty scar on his face, but he shifts in his seat and clears his throat, and when he rises, he keeps his eyes on the floor. "Rough Seedy. It sounds like Freytag couldn't—”

“Louder so the class can hear you, and if you would look at me, please.”

The shady, sheepish mafia grunt’s cheeks flush pink when he lifts his eyes to Luna. He clears his throat again. “It sounds like Freytag couldn’t even explain his own theory, and although he used Shakespeare’s plays as an example, he had trouble matching their actual structure with the structure he insisted every tragic play should follow. So, why did his pyramid catch on, and why are some people still using it?”

She nods and smiles. "You may sit. That is an excellent question, and one that I'm afraid would take a long time to answer, so that will be your homework for next week. I would like each of you to research Freytag's pyramid and write a one thousand word essay with your findings. It doesn't have to be formal, although I expect you to pay attention to your spelling and grammar. I want you to tell me what you think." She glances at the clock. "I apologize for the lecture running long, but I'll have to answer the rest of your questions at the beginning of our next class. Class dismissed.”

The general murmur of students talking and putting away their notes fills the room. Rough approaches Luna to speak with her; the two latecomers ask the others about what they missed; and they all trickle out of the living room. None of them so much as glance at you, BTS, or their discarded weapons.

“Rrawk! Shut up and get out! Rrawk!”

“I'm sorry, but we'll have to finish this discussion later," Luna says to Rough. "Bring your manuscript next week, and I'll look at it after class.”

Rough smiles at her. “Sure. Thank you, Miss Luna!”

“Hey,” BTS interrupts, grabbing the public hitman and private book lover before he can leave the room. “We’re heading back home, but we need money to refuel the helicopter.”

Rough looks like he could snap you in half like a twig—and maybe has done so to other people—but he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a credit card without hesitation. “Here. It’s the company card. I have to get going. The library closes early on Saturdays.”

Freytag has been sitting on your shoulder this whole time, watching in silence. You pick up the parrot’s cage as Luna collects the basket of sleeping kittens.

“Class next week, Luna?” you ask her. “Are you sure you’ll have time for that?”

She’s beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll make room for it. He wants my opinion on a romantic comedy he's writing.”

“A romantic comedy? Him?”

“Oh, come on. You never expected me to be an academic. Why can’t he write chick lit?”

She has a point.

The drive back to the hotel is uneventful. BTS charges the rooms and all damages to the Ravioli family’s card while Clerk and Freytag have a touching reunion, and then you all walk to the gas station and the helicopter. It is then that you realize a problem.

“Um… I don’t think helicopters and cars use the same fuel.”

“Of course they don’t,” BTS tells you as he inserts the card into the pump. “Helicopters use aviation fuel.”

“So, how—”

“Rrawk! Just look at the pump, dummy! Rrawk!”

“If you don't behave during this flight, I'll throw you out of the helicopter—and I won't let you out of the cage first," you warn the rude bird. The pump has all the buttons: diesel, ethanol, unleaded, regular, plus, super... and helicopter. There's even a little helicopter picture on the corresponding nozzle. That's embarrassing. You clear your throat and turn away. "I'll wait inside.”

“I’ll go pay for yesterday’s stuff and grab some food,” Luna offers.

You don't object when BTS hands her the card. She's back in your good books, which is a relief. That's one more person on your side when you face off against the Raviolis and Empty-head's pack. You don't expect this to go well. In the best-case scenario, you'll figure out how to use Freytag's power and escape to reality before R. mi shoots you. Of course, it wouldn't surprise you if she shoots you on sight.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out,” Freytag reassures you.

“Thanks.” You sigh and sit back in your seat, waiting for BTS and Luna to join you. When they do, Luna tries to hand you a bottle of tomato juice, but you shake your head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

BTS accepts a breakfast sandwich, hash browns, and coffee from Luna. "She had a midnight snack." He points at the puncture marks on his neck.

Luna gasps. "You bit him?" She looks at you with sparkling eyes. The glitter effect works well with her heterochromatic irises. "How was it? Was he the best thing you've ever tasted? I want details!”

“I can’t give you details because I bit him in my sleep,” you mutter. “Anyway, what’s the deal with Freytag’s pyramid? I’m guessing that has something to do with unlocking Freytag’s legendary powers.”

Luna hums in thought, staring at Freytag. The dragon squirms on your shoulder.

“You’re from North Dakota,” BTS says. It’s a statement, not a question, and Freytag nods.

“And you’re that clerk’s granddaughter,” Luna adds. “How?”

“Well… I’m a shapeshifter. Or I was a shapeshifter until a friend of mine got obsessed with Freytag’s pyramid. When you write using a formula, things get boring and predictable, you know? But she kept doing it, and she convinced other people they needed to use Freytag’s pyramid if they wanted to get anywhere as authors, and she trapped me in my dragon form so she could use me whenever she wanted. Then this knight who hates Freytag’s pyramid started chasing me, and I found out about that magical portal world, so I went there to get away from it all. But I got stuck there, and… well, you know the rest.”

“So, if we use you correctly, you’ll turn back into a human again?” you ask her.

“I think so.”

“Oh, I've got it!" Luna exclaims. "This is all about rewriting our stories! BTS wants out of the mafia, but the only way out of the mafia is death, right? So he has to rewrite his story if he wants to make it out alive. Freytag wants to become human again so she can return to her family. I want to break the script and write a story where I get to do what I want to do, and Y/n…”

“I’ve just been writing my story as I go,” you finish for her. “But none of us have been using a specific story structure, right? So, we have to use Freytag’s pyramid now. How do we do that?”

Luna bites her lip. "I don't know. Our author doesn't use Freytag's pyramid. That was a huge selling point for me when I signed on with her.”

And I've never used it, I might add. I had to look it up when I heard people talking about it because I didn't even know what it was.

You groan and put your face in your hands. “We have to learn to use a story structure the author doesn’t even know how to use?”

Bingo.

“Okay, so, where are we on the diagram? Have we reached the halfway mark yet?” BTS asks.

“We’re way past the halfway mark,” you tell him. “That was the end of chapter eight. We’re in chapter twelve, and the author has a word count limit, so…” Your face drains of color as you do the math in your head. “We only have four chapters left.”

“Then we’re past the climax, and we’re in the falling action right now,” Luna says.

“We’re past the climax? What was the climax? We’re on our way to meet the people who want to kill me and force you two to marry people you don’t want to marry! How is that ‘falling action’?”

Luna shakes her head. “Didn’t you pay attention to my lecture? In Freytag’s original theory, the climax is just the point where the rising and falling action meet, and the falling action is not where things get less exciting. It’s often more exciting than everything that came before it because it’s the part where the hero of the tragic play meets his downfall. Then comes the catastrophe, which is what we think of when we hear the word ‘climax,’ and then the resolution, which is what we think of when we hear ‘falling action.’”

“But this isn’t a tragic play! The author told me she always writes happy endings, so this is not my downfall, and I’m not heading for catastrophe! Am I?”

BTS starts the helicopter. “Not if I can help it.”

“Then let’s flip the script,” Luna suggests, tapping her chin. “This isn’t your downfall. It’s your uprising. We’re heading toward a massive victory, not a catastrophe.”

You frown. “Do you think that will work?”

“People shoehorn Freytag’s pyramid to fit what they want to do all the time. Why can’t we do the same thing?”

You discuss the problem for most of the helicopter flight, but the best you can come up with is a ‘wait-and-see’ approach, which is what I’ve been doing this entire story. It’s fun. Don’t worry. I do, indeed, write happy endings, and I can guarantee R. mi won’t shoot you on sight. If you want to understand her character better, ask BTS about her. If nothing else, what he tells you will be enlightening.

You sigh. “BTS, how did you meet R. mi?”

“Why are we talking about that?” he asks.

“Because we’re bored,” Luna chimes in. “Just answer the question.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Well, we met in high school. She was kind of cute, and she had a crush on me, but she was fine with just staying friends for a while. Then she found out what college I got into and enrolled there, too, and she started getting… weird.”

“Obsessive,” you correct him.

“She followed you there?" Luna asks. “Was she stalking you?”

“Uh… yeah. I had no dating life with her around. But she seemed harmless enough, so I put up with her until graduation. Then there was the graduation party, which landed on a full moon. I didn’t want to go, but she talked me into it, so I decided I’d leave before the sun set. Then she slipped something into my drink, and the next thing I knew… well, I guess you’re not the only one who bites in your sleep, Y/n.”

“You bit her?” Luna asks.

“She drugged you?” you shriek. “BTS, that is not okay! A friend would not do that to you! She needs professional help, and you need to cut off all contact with her!”

“Easier said than done, especially since I'm the reason she's a werewolf now. Then there's our families' rivalry, and with marriage in the mafia, feelings don't matter. Everything's arranged by the parents for business and political reasons. She's the one who pushed her father to contact my father about marrying me, but on paper, it's in my family's best interest.”

“Until she gets jealous about something, kills you in your sleep, and starts a mafia war," you mutter under your breath. You clench your fists and look out the window. As a rule, you don't support murder, but if she starts something, you'll finish it. Maybe when you all transform tonight. People like a good catfight. How about a werewolf fight?

“Get ready for landing,” BTS announces.

A question has popped into your mind. You look over at Luna and ask, “When we transform… What kind of werewolf are we? Are we the half-wolf, half-man thing? Or just really big wolves? And how much control do we have over ourselves?”

She smirks. “You’ll see.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Great. Thanks for nothing.”

“You’re welcome.”

It's a smooth landing. You step out of the helicopter and onto a landing pad attached to a mansion, and look who's here. Don, R. mi, Empty-head, and all their underlings are waiting for you. They don't look happy. But you take a deep breath, paste a smile on your face, and step forward, determined to take control of the situation. "We're here to negotiate.”

Don raises an eyebrow. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“Oh, but I am.” You reach up to tickle Freytag under the chin, and everybody looks at her. Eyes widen. Faces pale. This tiny dragon carries some serious weight. “Why don’t we discuss this over an early dinner? We need to finish everything by sunset, you know—or put it off until morning.”

Sufficiently scared, they escort you to the dining room, where you sit on BTS' right hand and Luna sits on his left. The parrot cage and kitten basket take the seats on your right and Luna's left. You glance at the parrot and nod.

“Rrawk! Deploy Plan M! Rrawk!”