Night of the Yeti

2

"The truth is we don't know why yeti are more active on the new moon. It does not make them more volatile like the full moon does to werewolves. In fact, it is impossible to predict the temperament of yeti."

~The Travelers Guide to Yeti

The room from which we monitor Mount LaConte is cold and usually dark. Despite Skol's protests, I flipped the lights on when I came in. The monitors on the wall, filled with views of the mountain and the Institute, are what usually provide color to the dark room. Now they provide color against the drab gray of the room that's been exposed by the light.

Skol has a system running that tracks yeti as they pass by our cameras. The program runs the data and creates the most likely path the creature will end up taking. He sends a scowl at me and the grimoire I have laid open. This bit of light reading is why I had to turn on the oh-so-horrible lights.

He digs his hand into a bag of Doritos. He hasn't offered me any and knows better than to. The last thing this two-hundred-year-old book needs is a streak of cheese against its pages.

I lean to the right of the grimoire, writing down the translation of the spell I'm working out into a notebook. After my argument with Marcus, I felt too frustrated to translate Greek, which is what the potential fortifying spell is in. So I turned to our only Italian grimoire to see if it had anything that could force a yeti to change back into their human form. Something like Pribane that shifts a sasquatch into their beast form wherever the liquid touches. It's similar to Wolfsbane. If I had the opportunity to study a sasquatch in their human form, I could possibly be able to identify them before they turn into a beast and do damage.

"Please tell me you aren't looking for a spell to turn Marcus into a toad."

I grimace at what I've been translating. I don't think this spell is going to be the one. "Actually, it's to turn you into a toad."

He rolls his eyes. "While you're at it, do you think you could find something to give me night vision?"

"Of course. I'm sure it's right on the other page." With the appropriate amount of care, I turn the page of the grimoire over and pretend to scan it. "Do you want cat eyes or just really large bug ones?"

Skol laughs, and it's like a slap in my gut, not because I'm not happy to hear it, but rather because it's the first time I've heard him laugh since Kel was killed. Both he and Kel were some of the sasquatch hunters who were here when Marcus first hired me after he found me investigating an attack in Yellowstone. That attack made me determined to protect humans. It prompted me to write a guidebook for hikers about yeti and what ultimately led to me accepting Marcus's job offer when he found me in the morgue studying the body. It was by far the worst I've ever seen. And people said it was a bear that did it.

But when you know what to look for—the distance between each claw mark, the way the body was torn, the fur that was left behind—it's clear to see it was a yeti. Never since then have I seen a grislier attack.

And now I have to abandon humans, my kind, tonight when they need me.

An alert pops up on three of the screens, singling a phone call. It's Brian, one of the park rangers who knows about what really happens on the mountain. It's impossible to spend so much time on it and not.

Skol picks up the phone, and his face pales before he even says a word.

I shift my chair toward him, the plastic wheels clanking against the floor rhythmically. I can only make out muttering.

"Dead?" Skol asks. "I—I understand . . . I know, but I'll send someone . . . Promise. Just send me the coordinates."

Skol ends the call and, with his shoulders slouched forward, sets the phone down on the desk. "A hiker's dead."

My stomach tightens into a fist. I figured that was what happened, but it's still difficult to hear it confirmed.

"Yeti?"

"Brian's sure of it."

The video streams of Mount LeConte are the epitome of peaceful. Leaves blow in the gentle wind. An occasional bird lands on a branch. A bug zips by the lens. The Institute was built here at the lower levels of the mountain because Mount LeConte is—for lack of a better word—a beacon for the supernatural. The Institute's mission is to protect humans and find out what draws the creatures here. If we can find that out, then maybe we'll be able to "shut" the beacon off.

"I'll go," I say, already shifting to the end of my chair.

"I can take this one. I don't want this to put a wedge between you and Marcus."

I close the grimoire and stand. "A hiker is dead. If this drives a wedge between us, then something else is the problem." I head for the door but pause. "Just keep this between us. Okay?"

Skol purses his lips and gives one clipped nod. "I'll send you the coordinates."