Page 77 of Katya and the Young God

“I wanted to let you know as soon as we confirmed it, with your prior...involvement in the issue, but a local group has declared the remaining Demigod twin dead.”

Katya raises an eyebrow at Pieter, who’s still stirring whatever the hell he’s making. “How?” She asks, pitching her voice to be breathless, like Beatriz would anticipate her doing so.

“I heard that a local radical group stabbed him,” Beatriz says, smooth. “We thought it best you knew.”

She takes a split second to react, for her brain to find what Beatriz is searching for. “I...thank you,” she says, pouring as much acting in it as possible. “That’s...amazing. I can’t...”

“I understand,” Beatriz says, her voice faux gentle, like she ever had a motherly bone in her body. “I trust you can inform your friend and her husband?”

“Absolutely,” Katya says, as Pieter raises his eyebrows at her. “I will as soon as I can.”

Without saying goodbye, Beatriz hangs up, and Katya just stares at the phone, before shaking herself again.

“Well, The Organization thinks you’re dead,” Katya says, automatic, “and she has a friend within Feketer’s company.”

Pieter scowls at her. “Probably Feketer himself,” he mutters, dark. “That woman prides herself in running everything.”

“Yes, yes she does,” Katya says, rolling back her shoulder. “So that’s good to know.”

“Probably was a test,” Pieter says, clicking off the stove. “See if she could get anything from you, see if you knew where I might be.”

“Or see if I had a reaction,” she says, pulling out the bag of clothing. “Here, put a shirt on, and sit down.”

He frowns and instead slowly, ever so slowly, gets out two dishes and divides up whatever the hell he made into them, before taking one and walking haltingly to the couch. “I’m not infirm.”

Stepan follows him, lockstep, before plopping on the rug in front of the ugly floral couch. Like this is an oft familiar routine of theirs.

“You were stabbed,” Katya says, disbelieving. “You were stabbed and I had to give you an IV. Yes you are.” She tosses the shirt at him, he lets it hit the couch next to him with a scowl. “You could have waited until I got back if you were that hungry.”

“I didn’t know when you’d come back,” he says, and his voice is almost sharp, almost hurt, and Katya feels the muscle behind her back slowly start to unwind as she gets it. “All I knew is you raided my place then didn’t come back immediately.” He nods at the stove, at the one remaining dish. “You can have that. It’s just soup.”

His voice is disinterested, like he couldn’t care less, but Katya’s dealt with enough people to hear defensiveness when it’s in front of her.

So she takes the soup, sitting down on the bloodstained couch next to him, cross-legged, the inklings of a plan starting to eat its way into her brain. “I don’t like the idea of my own workplace working against me,” she starts, before even beginning to eat. “If she’s working with Feketer, I doubt she’s going to be on the side of good in all this.”

He gives her a long look, as if unsure if Katya forgot that he was, in fact, working on taking down the Organization before.

“I have never known her to be enamored with being good,” he says, finally, like he’s wary of any traps Katya might place in front of him. “I’ve seen her advocate for murder.”

“You knew Beatriz before,” she says, like it’s new information. “Any hints on her motivations?”

He shrugs, then winces, hand coming down to the bandage. “Power, probably,” he says, voice black. “She stopped trying to get in Vanya’s way when we promised her authority.”

“Hmmm,” Katya says, taking a deliberate bite to give her a second to think, then another bite because whatever soup he made is fucking delicious. “She had my secretary tortured.”

That gets an alarmed glance, before he quickly smooths out his features. “And she sent you here.” He picks at the soup, scowling at the very idea of someone sending Katya someplace where she could come to harm, and it sends a thrill down her spine. “She thought I—or the cave —would kill you.”

“In her defense, I did shoot a fellow officer.” Katya gives him one of her sharper smiles. “So tell me, what does she want?”

He gives her a look like he knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he finds the attempt somewhat clumsy. “She’s been trying to get me back in Los Angeles,” he says, and Stepan lifts his head, thumping his tail. “Plying me with promises and rewards. Like I could still cause a disruption.”

“Someone caused that disruption and she isn’t in control of it at all,” Katya offers, and he raises an eyebrow at the offer of information. “Now the entire computer systems and regulations lie at the hands of an Archdemon with a hacker host. And my secretary. It’s entertaining.”

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, as if in prayer. “And people think you’re not ambitious.”

“And people think I just sit by idly and do what I’m told.” Katya fixes him with a glance, which he levels right back. “She wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Selene, would she?”

She can see the indecision, the wild look of being lost, the softness in his eyes, before he inclines his head to her. To her shoulder. “She’s how we got to you, and Iakov,” he says, voice muted. “She gave us the address for his bride. Gave us the information we asked for.”

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