by A. J. Aalto
I slid the nail out of the lock with my left hand while gripping my gun with the right. When the yeti didn’t stir, I tucked the nail in my pocket, aiming the point away from my groin. Okay, time to slip out, my cautious side said. I hated to leave all these creatures here, and I reeeeeally hated leaving the yeti to poachers. What were they planning to do to it? Devarsi hadn’t seen a yeti in this area for three years, he’d said, though he may have been lying. Still, they were so rare and should be protected.
The yeti lay like a fur lump in the pen. If I poked him with my foot, would that wake him? I tried it, just a gentle nudge at first and then a few swift, rapid kicks with my Keds. Nothing. If I could wake him and run, maybe he’d just escape town on his own? Something caught my eye beside the cage on the floor in a coil. Rope? I bent to inspect it with a gloved finger. A whip. Damn, why hadn’t I had this in the mummy’s tomb? I grabbed it and wrapped it in an awkward lump in my go-bag. If I was rescuing something today, this whip was comin’ with me. The whip handle clicked aside the canopic jar lid and I adjusted it… then cocked my head in consideration, looking between the jar and the yeti cage. Hmmmmm.
I heard Declan’s stage-whisper coming up the hall. “Company, Dr. B.”
That settled that. I whipped off a glove and fished around in the sticky goo with a bare finger until I snagged a little flake of mellified man. It was like fishing an egg shell chip out of a bowl of eggs; my finger pushed the flake around in the goo until I managed to wedge it against the side of the jar. I slid it up carefully, then crouch-shuffled close to the cage, trying to find the yeti’s face in all that curled up fur. I looked for the movement of fur under an exhale and spotted it. Sticking my bare hand near a sleeping yeti’s mouth might not have been the brightest thing I’d done this week, or it might have been a stroke of genius; I’d find out when I left the cave with or without my right hand.
“Company!” Declan whispered more frantically. I wiped the honey against the yeti’s lips.
There were shouts in the hallway; he’d been spotted. I hurried in his direction, but the sound of guns being cocked stalled my feet. A man with a clipboard stepped forward and two men dragged Declan around the corner.
“So, you wished to have your friend here ambush me,” Clipboard Dude said.
“Right. I’m a criminal mastermind,” I confessed. “You should just give me what I want before anybody gets hurt.”
“Foolish person,” he said, which struck me as funny. Point: Clipboard Dude. “What are you after? My money? You want my shoes? You can’t have them!”
“I don’t—what? Shoes?” I looked at his feet. His shoes were nice, but who steals someone’s shoes? “No. I just want a toenail, honest!”
“You lie. You lie to me! Now, you shall both face the challenges of the cage.”
Urk. “See, I’m kinda busy,” I said. “I’m already on three challenges. They’re like quests, only shittier.”
“I do not care about your problems,” he said.
I huffed. “Rude. Quick, Declan, get him with your mad skills!”
Declan screwed up his face at me and said, “Huh?”
I sighed at him defeatedly.
Clipboard Dude said, “He is soft and awkward. He is no fighter. You! You will face the yeti!” He declared this with a finger in my face, up close and personal.
I gave Declan what I hoped was the okay-change-of-plans look. Specifically, the get-me-the-fuck-out-of-this look. My mouth, on the other hand, was saying, “You’re damn right I will. I challenge you and your yeti to a match, Fight Club Guy!”
The gunman to the left offered, “He is called Arun.”
I brightened. “Oh hey, I knew an Arun in University. Your name means ‘sun’, right?”
“And I saw a Great White Shark in a newspaper! And then I saw one at my good friend Devarsi’s house,” Arun said, and he looked like he was hop-pouncing at me, though he was already right in my face.
“Oh, you’ve heard of me.” I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“Get in the crate,” Arun demanded, pointing to one of the wooden boxes from which smelly liquids had leaked.
“It’s kinda small,” I told him.
“So are you. Get in the crate.”
“It’s ooky in there. Can we hose it down first?”
“Get in!” he yelled.
“Okay, okay,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Why doesn’t he have to get in?” I motioned at the dhampir.
“He’s coming with me.” Arun pointed at my Keds. “So are these.”
One of the gunmen took my shoes and socks off and nudged me with the butt of an AK-47 until I crawled into the crate. I tried not to look at my go-bag, sitting abandoned beside the unlocked yeti cage, and after they locked my crate up, I held my breath and prayed they wouldn’t notice it. They did not. I watched a very nervous Declan get led down the hall with the gunmen. Clipboard Dude scowled at me, said something in another language, and marched off.
Chapter 32
Time had begun to drag, and after hours and hours without food, stuffed in the fetal position in the crate, with only a few fluorescents for light, I lost track. They had brought me only bottles of water, which I guzzled before I learned that this wasn’t a bright idea; no one was letting me out to use the ladies’ room. If I got out of this one alive, I’d brag to Golden about my pee gymnastics. I was sure she’d beam with pride.
I listened to the breathing of the other animals in the crates and cages, and indulged in some self-pity. I wasn’t sure how long I was crunched up in the stinking crate before I heard a familiar voice.
“’Nuik. You there?” A shuffle.
“Dev?”
He came into view, walking on two legs, and I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to shift in my crate. My knees ached. My jeans were sticky with fluids, most of them not my own. My werefox bite ached and my makeshift underwear-bandage was starting to smell funny. I still had a lump on my head from that shovel smack in Skulesdottir. I was tired, hungry, and had to pee again. “Dev, they took my shoes.”
“They took my leg. They’re obviously the bad guys.”
“Why did they take my shoes?”
“How should I know?” Dev whispered, “Listen. It’s sorted. They returned my prosthetic. I can get you and your monster friend — terrible liar, him, worse than you — set free if you take a dive in the second round.”
“A dive?”
“I told them who you are. I had to. They saw you steal my Jeep. They would have never given my leg back, maybe would have taken the other. I did some fast talking. They stand to make a killing on a fixed fight. Go down in the second, yes?”
“Marnie Baranuik goes down for no man!” I proclaimed. Then I heard it. “Wait…”
“’Nuik, just dodge the yeti for the first and fake a TKO in the second. The yeti will stop if you lie still. Like a bear, but with manners.”
I didn’t trust him as far as I could spit a hippo. “No deal. I want the yeti released to my custody. And I want to go down in the first. How much time do you think I have, for fuck’s sake? I’m probably already late. How long have I been here? What the fuck day is it?”
Dev said, “Saturday.”
I felt my eyes bulge. I did some quick math over the sound of boots behind Devarsi, lots of boots. “January third? I have less than forty-eight hours to get back to I-can’t-say-where with all my I-can’t-say-whats!”
Arun returned, still holding his clipboard in front of his belly like a shield or a kid’s favorite blanket.
“It’s time,” Arun told me, shoving Devarsi out of the way and opening the crate. I tried to stand up and my aching legs said otherwise, tumbling me in an inglorious heap. I stumbled against Arun, who grabbed my arm where I'd been bitten. I roared at him and tried to pull away. He slapped my shoulder with the clipboard and snarled. I hobbled down the hall barefoot toward the propped door, where two gunmen waited.
Declan was waiting just inside, also shoeless, shifting from one st
ockinged foot to the other in nothing more than a pair of light blue boxers. His pale, soft pecs were brushed with a light patch of dark hair and his bright green eyes were troubled.
“Get moving,” Arun said, and the gunmen gave us stern glares. “Both of you.” Declan and I put our shoulders together and shuffled through the door.
I scanned the room; in the center was a depressed, circular pit covered with a dome of what looked like chicken wire. On the bleachers around the cage, there were only about twelve people on benches that would seat maybe a hundred, clusters of people talking in hushed tones.
“This is the kind of crowd I draw?” I said.
Declan said out of the corner of his mouth, “Are you actually insulted about that?”
I was, a little. “So this brawl. Is it two-on-one?”
Declan nodded as guns prodded at our lower backs. There was a small door which squealed when Arun opened it. He stepped back for us to move past him, and, after a moment’s hesitation, we did.
“Yetis are very peaceful creatures, very docile,” I reminded Declan. “Don’t hurt him. Don’t use your Talents. Just keep moving. Dance around. They’re not dangerous if you give them space.”
That’s when I spotted the yeti. He’d clearly found my go-bag, and his captors had allowed him to fondle my shit. He had thrown on my Glenda Hasenpfeffer wig, and it hung at a haphazard angle across half his face. He’d wrapped the petal pink tutu holster around his broad, hairy waist, but he hadn’t tied it very well, and the ribbon loops dangled in front of his crotch, through which hair bulged like exaggerated gonads. The whip was in his hand, uncoiled. In his other hand, he had my silver scissors.
He ran forward, pointing them at us, then brought his giant, ape-like arm up and snapped the whip with an impressive crack.
“I was wrong!” I yelled. “Yetis are super-scary. Run!”
We took off in different directions around the curved edge of the pit, but soon ran out of space; we met up at the other side.
“You’re not very good at this part,” he observed.
“That’s also my understanding of the situation.”
The yeti watched us and cracked the whip again. The crowd, as limited as it was, began to grow as word got out that someone interesting was in the ring. Nervous, stressed out, my werefox bite throbbing, and then my legs started to feel funny.
“Oh, fuckberries,” I announced warily, like a drunk frat boy about to hurl up half a keg. “I’m gonna prance!”
Declan said, “Run, Glenda!”
“I can’t!” The spell blossomed completely, and I pranced to the left.
The yeti cocked his head, watching my bare feet. I pranced to the right. The yeti sat down, legs splayed out to either side. “He likes it!” I pranced a bit more, and the yeti showed me his big, furry feet and waggled them at me. He put down the whip and the scissors and grabbed his toes with a hoot that was apparently supposed to mean something to me.
When I pranced closer to my go-bag, he didn’t try to stop me. The crowd shouted in unison at the perceived unfairness of it. The yeti pointed to my toes and then to his own. I checked inside my bag to make sure the lid on the canopic jar was secure and the honey mixture hadn’t leaked. The Lilith’s Heart pod was safe, too. Then I got out my pink nail polish and picked up the abandoned barber scissors.
“What are you doing, Dr. B?”
I stuck one dusty bare foot out and wiggled my toenails at the yeti. The yeti wiggled his, too. He let me get close without swatting me, which was a good first step. I crouched near his foot and took a swipe of pink nail polish at one of his long, bear-like toenails. He allowed it, a low grumbling noise purling from deep in his throat. Next, I took a little nail clipping to test his patience. He allowed that, too, so I took a healthy-sized snip, and put it in my pocket. Then I painted the shorter stub and all the others. He grumbled happily, and the crowd began to snicker and laugh.
Without warning, thunder exploded in the stands, thunder that belonged to no cloud. People started to scatter, but here in the cage, the yeti was not scurrying for cover, so I figured we were okay for the moment. I spotted uniforms, and, after a minute, Nischal among them. I smiled over my shoulder at Declan, who damn near melted against the chicken wire with relief. We were safe. I had the nail. I had the honey. I had the seed pod. We could return to Skulesdottir and I could rescue Harry and Remy, and House Dreppenstedt could kick troll ass with their new queen, and I could go home and sleep for months in my own bed. I was suddenly more tired than I’d been in a long time.
The yeti swung open his arms and gave a low hooting noise. All that fur. I was so exhausted and he sure looked cozy. He thumped his chest and then shook his arms open again. It did not seem like a primate threat; it looked more like an invitation. Of course, if I was wrong, I could get smushed into Marnie jam and left in a pile. I stood there for a minute, staring at his lap, not seeing anything that warned of a surprise mating attempt. My prancing legs gave a shake as my kneecaps started chattering together and the yeti thumped one big fist against his breastbone and grunted. Then he folded his arms in like he was hugging someone and rocked the invisible body like a mommy rocking a baby to sleep. Those giant hairy arms opened again and the low whoop insisted.
“Sure, this might as well happen.” I stepped closer to his wooly body and was careful to remain in a tight self-hug, not opening myself to groping. “Why not cuddle a yeti in a fight ring in Nepal? Why not, Marnie?”
The yeti’s arms were surprisingly gentle and every bit as warm as they appeared as they closed in around me. He pulled me in close, settling me into his lap, and rested his chin on my head. The wind couldn’t find me, except for my eyes. I squeezed those shut. The yeti made a contented noise around me and it rumbled through my body.
It was the best hug in the world, and by the time the police had rounded up the club organizers, and Nischal and some park rangers came to open the cage door to rescue the yeti, I was half asleep.
“You're sitting in the lap of a yeti,” Declan informed me. “You're getting yeti snuggles.”
“That is the complete opposite of a problem.” I blinked drowsily up at him. “The nail’s in my front pocket. Can you get my bag?”
“Got it.”
“Is Dev okay?”
“He’s giving a statement to police before he helps the park rangers find the yeti’s original den and return the animal there.”
“I’ll stick with the yeti until he’s for sure home, yes?”
I thought he’d object. We were, after all, on a tight schedule. But Declan smiled down at me and exhaled tiredly. “Sure thing, G-Pfeff.”
Chapter 33
We found an early flight the next day from Kathmandu to Norway, booked first class because we’d damn well earned it, and collapsed into our seats just before dawn. The flight attendant brought us coffee and pastries.
Declan spread a linen napkin over his lap. “Sarmeela made us a nice dinner last night to celebrate Devarsi’s freedom and the dismantling of the fight club. Too bad you couldn’t join us.”
I’d spent the evening with Nischal and his crew, finding a good spot to release the yeti back into the wild. I let the yeti keep the whip and the tutu, but I reclaimed my bag and all the goodies inside. “Wanted to make sure the park rangers got the yeti safely near the den.”
“You spent the night with the yeti, didn’t you?”
“I was cold. He was warm.”
“One night stand with a strange yeti,” Declan said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “What would Harry say?”
“Something overwrought and probably condescending, but with an affirming undertone. In my defense, desperate times call for desperate measures.” I suggested, brushing pastry flakes off Harry’s singed and battered pea coat. “What happens in Nepal at the foothills of the Himalayas stays in Nepal at the foothills of the Himalayas? Besides, we’re not total strangers, and he doesn't snore as loudly as you or Batten. We’ve fought, and we’ve cuddled. I heard Devarsi sa
y his name.”
Declan nodded. “Devarsi said her name translates as Big Grey Ears.”
“I’m not gonna lie,” I said. “He’s pretty sexy. Wait… her name?”
Declan nodded. “She’s a she.”
“Big Grey Ears isn’t the prettiest name in the world,” I said. “I’m going to call her Betty the Yeti.”
“Can she call you Al?”
“Paul Simon would be so pleased.”
I went through my go-bag for the hundredth time since leaving the fight club, counting my rescue-artifacts, reassuring myself that I had everything. I had removed the underwear-bandage Declan had made for my arm and wrapped both the golden nail and the yeti clippings in it, putting it deep in the bottom of my bag, under the canopic jar.
“So, Dr. B., where is Agent Batten?” Declan said.
I pulled out my phone and showed Declan the text again. “What the figgity-fuck does ‘I’m out’ actually mean?” I asked. “Out of Nepal? Out of the closet? Out of gas? Out of the relationship? Out of mayo? Out of the whole thing?”
He flapped his hand unhappily north toward the Arctic Circle, and I knew what he meant. Declan thought Batten had left us good for this time. He wasn’t coming back. Whether he was going home or going somewhere to lay low for a while so he didn’t have to face us, it didn’t matter. He’d made some critical decision: he was bailing on me. Could that be true? I was going to have to listen to Harry’s crisp, British told-you-so for decades.
“What do you think ‘I’m out’ means, Dr. B.?”
“It means he’s a dead man,” I said, my voice tight with disappointment I couldn’t hide. “It means he’s on my I’d-Do-It-Myself-if-I-Had-a-Hammer-and-an-Alibi List.”
***
The first person to catch my eye when we deplaned in Norway was Konrad Rask, towering above the crowd with his pale blond beard and poker-straight hair, eyes like shards of Arctic ice. He looked like he was expecting us, though he didn't have his sign this time. He waited patiently as we gathered our things and bundle up against the cold.