Page 82 of Katya and the Young God

The hall cupboard, with a plethora of Tupperware and canned goods and not an insubstantial amount of dust, does nothing to trigger her awareness of magic, but she brings out the heavy bottomed picnic basket out to the couch anyway, setting it on the little table.

“Good hiding place, but the moment anyone picks that up it’s totally busted as a secure place,” she says, wiping away the dust with a swing of her hand. “If I seriously searched this place, it’d be found.”

He half shrugs. “I didn’t design this place to be a hiding place, this was a place to live,” he says, almost reproachful. “I put the runes outside and...”

“And nothing else?” Katya asks, and she surprises herself with how tender it comes out. Even she keeps more security than that, and she has a lot less abilities.

He visibly moves the fuck on from that statement. “This should at least be able to take the Magician out of the equation, which will help with getting in,” he says, and his jaw works under the scruff of his beard. “Feketer arranged all the things, the Magician was cruel about it.”

She opens the basket, and inside is a neat divider, with small amounts of powdered substances in small, sealed glass containers. Runes embroidered along the top, runes for stability and for keeping it a hospitable temperature.

“Cruel how?” She asks, categorizing all the small substances. It smells slightly acrid, but familiar in the way that gunpowder is.

He sighs, but doesn’t answer.

“This is all safe for me to be around, yes?” She dances her fingers over the top of the glass bottles, not touching any.

Most magical compounds are not inherently dangerous for humans, other than giving what would probably be the equivalent of a minor allergic reaction, but she’s not going to risk it. Especially from the hands of someone who had so recently been on a different side than her.

“I wouldn’t have had you get it if it wasn’t,” he says, and even without looking at him she can tell that he’s looking at her. Watching her, keeping her in his view. Like he can’t tell if he trusts her, or, if he can’t let her out of his sight.

Or he can’t bear to look away. Like his eyes got stuck, and he can’t tear them away.

Katya’s used to that sort of attention, but rarely this close up and rarely from someone she’s considered an enemy before, and her stomach turns warm. “Always good to check.”

He nods, before stiffening, all muscles going taut suddenly, and she leans away from him.

He pushes himself up, nodding to the other room in the cabin. “Go close the curtains, someone just breached the runes on the back end,” he says, soft, holding his fingers to his lips.

She nods, quick. Understanding.

At his tone, Stepan lifts his head, tail, and ears upright.

She unfolds herself from the couch, careful to not make any noise, and tucks the basket back in the cabinet. She flicks the curtains closed in the bedroom with an easy flick of her wrists, and sees him push himself up with too much effort.

And they’ll have to walk back to her place after this.

She strains her ears, but hears nothing outside, all sounds strangely shushed, like the world unfurled a blanket over the cabin, smothering all sound.

Without warning, Pieter’s in the room with her, and she resists the urge to flinch at his silent movement. “In here,” he whispers, almost without sound, his fingers curling around her elbow and softly pulling her aside, towards the closet she raided earlier.

There’s a thud at the front door, and he briefly closes his eyes, before touching the surface of the doorknob.

A brief spark, something magic, before the doorknob turns without any effort, the door falling open.

Inside, instead of just the closet she saw the time before, there’s a narrow opening in the back, black. And while she doesn’t exactly want to go into a dark portal with a Demigod, there’s a creak against the door, one that raises all the hairs on the back of Katya’s neck.

So she steps inside, her heart pounding, and it’s a small space. Barely large enough for them both, and he presses up against her and the wall to even fit, before shutting the door behind them, leaving them with just a crack of light.

Outside, Stepan gives off a single loud bark, and Katya jerks forward on instinct, but Pieter holds her back by her elbow, firmly in the dark of the closet.

She can barely move, there’s no space to even breathe in the tiny crack in the closet, and she’s wedged up against the side of his chest in a way that’s got to be painful for his stab wound.

She cranes her neck to look at him, and he locks his eyes to her, and in the dim light they’re pleading, and the message is clear. Follow his lead.

It’s his cabin, it’s his mysterious magic crack in the closet, it’s his land.

So she nods slowly, once, and he leans his forehead against hers in thanks.

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