Page 24 of Katya and the Young God

She’s up before dawn, but she usually is, jet lag and traveling not included. She dresses in her hardiest pair of Colorado jeans, a sweat wicking tank top, a flannel over that, and one of her new workout jackets over that.

She twists her hair back out of her face, fixing it with her copper stilettos, because if it comes to it and she has to stab someone, she doesn’t want to be without.

She fits her favorite punching dagger into her combat boots, and as many emergency small weapons and tools she can fit into her pockets before she starts to feel entirely silly. But she can’t quite shake the feeling that a small finger saw and a diamond wire is just going to be useful underground.

The sun’s barely beginning to peek over the trees when she hears Feketer’s truck rumble up the dirt road, and she swallows down the last little bit of bitter coffee before meeting him outside.

He raises an eyebrow, but the set of his lips is grim. “You ready?”

“That is a silly question,” she responds, tossing her bag in the back of the truck. “Have you ever met someone from LA who didn’t like hiking?”

His brow furrows, like he’s never heard of that stereotype before.

“The local Dryads would do a sunrise hike once a week. I usually went with them if it wasn’t too far away,” she supplies. “LA is weird about hiking.”

“Well, so is Colorado,” he says, rolling back down the driveway. “There’s a joke, what makes the person the most Coloradan. Usually they have to skydive to a mountain hike while drinking a beer.”

Despite everything, Katya suppresses a grin. “In LA it’s the smoothies. Taking a selfie on Runyon Canyon with your hair done and nails perfect while drinking a smoothie and wearing leggings.”

His nose wrinkles. “That sounds horrendous.”

“Oh, it is, it’s a very shallow town,” she says. The conversation is perfect for her jitters. “But they’re all very fit, so hiking is great.”

He turns to the main road, driving the familiar way down to the wilderness center before the start of the hike, and his face falls grim. “I don’t know why you’re going into this,” he says, as the sky turns a soft pink above them. “No one would blame you if you ran.”

“I get that a lot,” she says, keeping her voice light.

He gives her a sidelong look, one that’s a smidgen uncomfortable while he’s driving, but thankfully drops it.

It’s too short of a drive to the wilderness center, and Katya feels like she’s gonna vibrate out of her seat due to the jitters, but she’d rather cut off her own arm than show anyone that.

That’s one thing good about this group, no one knows her well enough to tell when she’s truly nervous. Not like she’s one to have a lot of physical tells, regardless, and even back home maybe only three people would be able to tell.

And she’s not about to give anyone here that advantage over her.

There’s a collection of cars, mostly beat-up and rugged, already parked at the station, and they get greeted by a few sleepy hellos when they unpack. If it isn’t for the looming feeling of death and dread, it’d be like any other sunrise hike that Katya has ever attended.

The Golem hands her a formal backpacking bag, and after nodding her thanks she sets to packing her bag into the frame. It’s a good frame, with pads over her hips and shoulders, but it’s already going to stress the fuck out of her injury.

No one’s looking too closely at her as she slips her extra rope, extra food, and extra gun into the bag, where she can access it easily, and it gives her a small bit of joy and security. Yes, ounces make pounds and pounds make pain, but she’d rather have the gun than not.

The Demigod’s not there, yet, but neither is half the group, but still, there’s that little digging idea of hope, that she won’t have to deal with him, won’t have to see the face that’s in all her nightmares, no matter how much it’s changed.

“The others bet that you’d run before today.” Dropping down on the curb next to her, Rory the Vampire starts to pack their bags. “Thanks, you just won me fifty bucks.”

Katya eyes them, but every bit of skin is covered by what looks like a combination of a ski mask and sunglasses, and she can’t read any expression. Still, her pulse jumps again, at the implied threat that comes from just existing this close to someone who is a predator of her kind. “You’re welcome.”

“They didn’t know your reputation in LA,” Rory says, voice a little muffled but cheerful.

“Honored,” Katya says, testing the straps on the bag, already dreading the aching she’s going to get at the end of the day. She brought Advil, but something in her doubts that’s it’s going to be enough, and she wouldn’t want to risk taking anything stronger that could leave her impaired.

“If you need help with the bag, ask for it,” Rory says, neutral, like they can read her mind. “There’s going to be enough people with extra strength.”

Katya is never going to do that, but she nods anyways. “Thanks.”

Another beat-up car rolls up to the parking lot, and Pieter steps out, his dog following him immediately. Katya eyes him, but he doesn’t spot her, instead checking over his bag.

“Can’t he teleport?” She asks, and now that he’s here she doesn’t want to watch anyone else. Threat assessment and all.

---