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“Chaos.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of that, but you’ll need to be more specific.”

A few steps behind her, Westvane jogged down the remaining stairs. “Busy places. The more crowded the better. A target rich environment where it can push people to anger and —”

“Cause fights to break out?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his footfalls so light she couldn’t hear him. Fleet of foot. Guess that made sense. He was a Slayer — a predatory hunter by breed and training. Stealth seemed like a necessary part of that package. “The Wendigo feeds on brutality. The more chaos it can cause, the more pain it can create through confusion and the manipulation of others, the stronger it becomes.”

“It hasn’t had that for a while.” Nearly a century spent in lockdown, imprisoned somewhere the Wendigo couldn’t get what it needed. “It’ll be hungry.”

“Exactly.”

“And when it becomes stronger? What then?”

“It’ll move onto larger prey. Government leaders. Those in powerful positions.”

“Decision makers.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll try and start another war.” Reaching the last step, she entered the corridor. “We don’t need any more of those, Westvane.”

“No one does, Truly.”

True enough.

Pausing by the hall table, she grabbed her cellphone from where she left it earlier, thinking about how best to locate the monster. No one wanted global tensions to explode. Western leaders were already at China’s throat, and with Russia on a rampage, and the Middle East forever angry at Israel, leveler heads needed to prevail. But… she frowned at the dark phone screen… how best to find it?

She tapped her index finger against the glass. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“We need to go by the shop before we start looking.”

Stopping next to her, Westvane frowned. “The shop?”

“Montrose & Brim Investigations.”

“Why stop there?”

“To grab a police scanner.” Pocketing her cellphone, she moved past him toward the kitchen. Something smelled good, and she was hungry. “It’s Friday night… lots of people will be out. The Wendigo can take its pick — sporting events, bars, clubs. Alcohol will be flowing. Ample opportunity to shake up crowds and —”

“Wreak havoc.”

“Exactly. The scanner monitors police channels. Any serious problems — fights, shootings, angry protestors — will go out over the wire. It’ll give us direction. We won’t be forced to search blind.”

“Good idea.”

“I have them occasionally.”

Westvane snorted.

Pushing the swinging door open, Truly strode into the kitchen and spotted Earl. Creepy-crawly half hidden from view by the table, he stood in front of the stove. Bushy head of hair a wild mess, his back to her, he stirred something in a pot.

Banging a wooden spoon on the stainless-steel rim, Earl glanced over his shoulder. “Evening, girl.”

“How’s it going, Earl?”