Page 50 of Katya and the Young God

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Katya says, immediately stripping off her jacket, swinging her pack down and pulling out her towel. “She’s a child, she’s scared, stop it.”

The girl reaches for the jacket, and Katya swallows past the fear, letting her grab onto the fabric.

Tender, keeping her between himself and Katya, Pieter puts the girl down on the ground, and she’s barefoot and completely naked, completely covered in blood. He takes the towel from Katya, rubbing it over her face, before she grabs it from him and shrugs into Katya’s jacket, her hands scrabbling in the sort of bone deep fear that Katya rarely sees. The sort of bone deep fear that should be in no child.

“It’s okay,” Katya says, crouching near, not wanting to touch, not with what happened to the caver, not without knowing anything, but there’s an ache behind her breastbone at the sight of the fear. “It’s okay, we got you.”

The girl nods, her eyes wide, but understanding.

She knows English. At least.

Pieter keeps a hand on her shoulder, a steadying force, and the girl grasps the hand back, bare skin against bare skin, but Katya’s not going to try that.

“It’s just a child,” she calls out, to Feketer with his hand in his pack and to the Magician with his copper knife. “We don’t need to do anything drastic.”

The girl nods at her, like she understands her, before tilting her head and looking at the dead caver, at her friend cradling her body. “She ran away,” she says, and her voice is trembling. “I tried to find her but she ran away.”

“Okay, creepy, but okay,” Katya says, soothing, as soothing as she can while the words make the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. “You’re not in trouble, we’re just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Beside her, Rory kneels as well, their towel in their hands. “Here, come here, we’ll get you cleaned up,” the Vampire says, their face creased with worry.

The girl reaches out, palm hitting Rory’s chest, on their shirt. Despite a flinch, Rory doesn’t keel over.

So. Either just skin touch or just to humans.

With a glance to Pieter, Rory gestures to the girl. “Hey, what’s your name, we’re gonna help, and —"

The girl reaches out and grabs at Rory’s face, and Rory has a split second of looking at the small hand on their skin before they convulse, like shocked by electricity, then slumping to the ground, pupiless eyes open and horrified and…

Katya’s breath catches in her throat. As easy as that, the Vampire is dead.

There’s a flash of movement, an oft familiar ratcheting sound, and Feketer holds out a gun, hands steady, the moment his friend keels over. “Back away,” he orders, and the girl hunches down, eyes uncomprehending but immediately afraid. “What are you?” He barks, all military orders, as he steps up towards them, the gun trained on the child. “What are you and what did you do?”

Without thinking, without even pausing, Katya stands, blocking his line of sight for the child. “Stop,” she says, holding up her hands, and her pack is on the ground and she can’t pull out her gun without revealing the girl. “Stop, she’s just a kid.”

She feels small hands on her back, the child reaching out, and Katya stiffens, her breath freezing within her, but…

Through her clothes.

She forces an exhale out the moment it becomes apparent she’s not immediately dead, but doesn’t move, doesn’t shift away, so Feketer can’t get a shot.

There’s stillness, the sort of stillness Katya only feels when someone is pointing a gun at her. Where every bit of concentration, every bit of strain and focus on that one barrel pointed at her, and at the small reaching for her back, like a child reaching for comfort...

“You can’t hurt her, she’s just a kid,” Katya says again, pitching her voice down, away from pleading, into the realm of a social worker intent on calming someone down. “Put down the gun, we’re going to figure this out, no one has to shoot —“

His fingers tighten around the trigger, and there’s a rush of air next to her, a rush of power, and she sees Pieter’s hand jerk to the side, at the same time the barrel of the gun bends askew, the hammer hitting the action uselessly.

Feketer stares at directly at Katya, before tossing aside the gun. He would have shot right through her.

“We don’t need her alive to bring the power out,” Feketer says, and his voice is somehow calm, somehow without emotion. “A dead child is easier to carry than alive.”

The small hand fists in the back of Katya’s shirt.

“We’re not going to come to that,” she says, resisting the urge to turn around and pat the child on the head, so instead she gently steps away, steps to her bag, deliberately turning her back on the Pixie, kneeling down next to the girl. “Please don’t touch me, but what is your name?”

The little girl looks at her, her large eyes watery and wide, and her mouth is trembling. “I don’t know.”

Katya meets Pieter’s eyes, where he stands, protective, immediately behind her. “We’ll figure something out.” She gives the child a smile, the sort of smile she hopes is reassuring, and the child smiles back, wobbly. “Are you hurt?”

---