Page 6 of Katya and the Young God

“I was investigating it, but I was run out by a Vampire,” he says, bluntly. “I requested they send someone with more experience, cause I’m...” he shrugs, still driving. “I’m not that good at confrontations.”

Her blood chills at the word Vampire, but she pushes on, as long ago she stopped letting people know that she fears them. And, immediately, combating the fear, is the knowledge that they thought her capable. That maybe this isn’t just a hole to die in, that there might be something actually there for her to apply her skills to, to dig in deep and achieve something.

“I asked that they send someone with combat experience, or something, but I didn’t think...didn’t think they’d send someone who’s actually killed a Demigod.”

“What do you think is under there?” She asks, smooth, her voice like water bubbling in a brook. Letting him talk, as if she is merely there as a receptacle for the information.

She gets a lot of kernels of actionable intel that way.

“I never got close enough to tell, not with any equipment that can read it, but...” he shakes his head, once, twice. “Feketer said it felt like a windmill, like a solar bank, something spinning up energy and storing it for use. Cynthier—a banshee friend of mine, she’s cool—said it felt like static electricity in the air, just waiting for a spark.”

She mulls that over. “That would be unusual.”

“And Others have been flocking since it was found by a hiker, all trying to get in the cave, all failing.” He turns down another street, and all of a sudden they’re in a little touristy mountain town, full of chocolate shops and themed hiking stores. “This is Estes Park. It’ll be your closest town,” he says, cheerfully switching away. “There’s an office here, but it’s only staffed during the snowy season, cause that’s when the ice bears come out and we try to stop them from killing the skiers.”

“And the cave itself?” She asks, desperately wanting some details, some actual details, not this dribble of information and hearsay.

“Well, they’re gearing up to try something new to get inside, that’s probably why they sent you when they did,” he says, again uncomfortable, as they inch past hiking tour guides and small country bars, to the one stoplight in the town. “Feketer got them to agree to bring along one Organization official, so I guess...I guess that’s you.”

She files that away, that Feketer went in between, and compares that nugget with how spooked and shocked he was. “I’ll have to arrange to chat with him before the meeting,” she says, still smooth. “I would love his perspective on anything.”

“He’s good people. That’s the best brewery out here.” He leans across the car to point. “When I’m up here I take a lot of meetings there. It’s worth the price.”

She blinks at that interruption, but lets it flow over her, collect in a pool in her mind for later thought. “And the danger?”

He falls silent, turning off the main thoroughfare and into significantly bumpier roads. “Well, the cave is supposedly not too complicated,” he hedges. “I couldn’t go in, but people who did said it should be traversable with basic equipment.”

The car jostles them, and the street is so shaded over she can’t see the sky. “Will I be provided with the basic equipment?” In terms of keeping people updated and with information they could use, Ollo seems to be at the bottom of the pack. “Or should I obtain my own?”

“Feketer said the expedition is providing it, said they have some experienced cavers, said that all the basics will be there. You’ll have to carry it, but you’ll have it.” Another turn, and they’re onto a dusty dirt road, the car rumbling over roots and rocks. “And here we are!”

She blinks, withdrawing out of the business side of her mind, looking out the window.

It’s a perfectly small, cute little cabin, with curtains in the windows and trees all around. A carved wooden tree stump is outside, in the vague shape of the Organization logo, obviously done by power tools. The walls are wooden logs, and there’s a wraparound porch with a swing.

Before she’s even processed the quaintness, Ollo turns off the car and steps out, stretching from the drive and taking a deep breath of the mountain air.

And, without warning, her palms are sweating, as she opens her own door.

It’s quiet, the only sound the crunch of Ollo’s boots on the thick leaves and a few birds flitting in the shafts of light. A chill runs through the air with the promise of autumn, and there’s the rich smell of pine and evergreens.

On the porch, a fluffy white and grey dog climbs to its feet, something between a wolf and a husky. It blinks at them, sleepily, before padding away silently.

“That’s one of the neighbor’s dogs. He comes and sleeps in the sun on the deck,” Ollo says. “If you sit on the swing, he’ll come get attention.”

She watches as the wolf disappears into the forest. “Neighbors?”

“About a quarter mile-ish. Dog that big can cover a lot of ground if it wants to lay in the sun. I keep dog treats under the sink.” He pulls her bag out from the trunk, not letting her take it to carry it in. “We know you’re moving in so there’s not much there, but there’s a guest bed in the couch if you wanna crash there.”

Along the side of the house, hidden behind a carport and a few trees, is a large, impressive-looking truck, the sort of truck that would be beyond impractical in Los Angeles, but given the dirt road and the mountains around them, is probably the most reliable thing.

She follows him as he climbs the steps to the cabin, jingling with his keys, before unlocking it and letting her in.

The door creaks open, and it gives a much bigger impression of something that was, up until very recently, incredibly dusty. A couch is pulled into a corner with floral print all over its plastic cover, looking older than she is. A desk, ancient and heavy, is against one side, with a tiny little dinette next to it.

She steps inside, and the carpet is plush underneath her combat boots, which she’s been wearing for far too long that day.

There’s a small kitchen, too small for more than one person to stand in, with an equally tiny oven and stove. A full-sized orange fridge rumbles next to it, completing the look that this tiny cabin was most likely decorated in the late seventies and never updated.

---