Page 104 of Katya and the Young God

His eyes glitter in the light of her small reading lamp. “I’m not entirely certain your demon friend didn’t do something,” he says, disgruntled. “I don’t know how, but I’ll figure it out.”

And that does sound like the sort of dick measuring contest that the Archdemon would do just to be spiteful, but since it’s also useful Katya lets it slide.

“If I leave, will you be safe with her? I’ll drive to Laramie, get a bunch of clothing and jackets and maybe a bed?”

A fission of discomfort crosses his face, and he presses a soft kiss to her cheek, the sort of soft kiss that still feels totally new and totally strange and totally wonderful. “They could ambush you, we don’t know what sort of tracking they have.”

“All the more reason for me to go alone.” Katya pushes herself up on her elbows. “If something happens to me, Selene could still be taken care of.”

“No,” he says, soft, and his voice has a hint of a question, a hint of something deeper. “They split us, then that’s worse. You can shoot most people, I can get Selene away, and worst case, she can grab someone.”

“Dark,” Katya points out, but he’s not inherently wrong. “Would she need a car seat?”

* * *

The next morning,they fit themselves into Katya’s truck, and thankfully Selene has no problem sitting in the incredibly narrow back seat of the cab. Her eyes are wide as they rumble down the driveway, and she stares at the cabin behind them.

“Someone bad laid runes there,” she says, as they pass the protections.

And she really could be talking about Pieter or Not-Thomas, so Katya can’t really refute that. “But they’re friends, so calling them bad isn’t nice.”

Selene turns her large brown eyes to Katya’s rearview mirror, and it’s almost creepy with their intensity. “Why couldn’t we bring Stepan? I like Stepan. Stepan doesn’t run away.”

Pieter shifts, uncomfortable, next to Katya, but Katya ignores it. “Because it’s a long drive and dogs don’t like that.”

The answer stymies Selene for a few minutes, until she thinks of another question, then another, then another.

* * *

By the timethey’re in Laramie, the weather’s clouded over once more with the promise of more snow flurries. Katya ducks into the first Goodwill, grabbing the first moderately appropriate kid’s jacket, boots, and snow pants, pays with cash, then rejoins them out at the truck, allowing Selene to slip them over her hospital style smock.

The jacket is a gaudy pink and purple, with sparkly blue buttons, and glee crosses Selene’s face the moment she sets eyes on it.

“Can we walk around like normal now?” She breathes, and despite the shaved patches in her hair she looks so heartbreakingly like a standard child that Katya can feel her insides melting. “Can we go get —" she looks to Pieter, and Katya’s immediately reminded that he told her stories of the outside world, told her of things to do. “Hot chocolate?” She finishes, with a thread of insecurity lilting up her words.

And Laramie’s far from a metropolitan hub, but there are coffee shops within easy walking distance, and Katya’s sure not gonna deny a small child that. “Just keep your hands in your mittens and don’t touch anyone.”

“Unless they try to hurt you,” Pieter says, helpfully. “Or try to hurt Katya.”

And they’re going to have to have a talk about what constitutes a good time to do that, but the parking lot of a Goodwill with an overly excited child who’s been cooped in a truck for two hours is not the time.

So Katya gives Selene her gloved hand, and she grabs it eagerly.

“Or ice cream. Pieter talked about ice cream. Or pizza. Or borscht.”

“All Demigods are weird about food,” Katya says, and Selene grins at her, wide and happy, as Pieter wrinkles his nose. “It’s far too cold for ice cream, but hot chocolate is perfect.”

Selene all but bounces on her feet, holding onto Katya’s hand like a talisman as they walk across the empty parking lot. “Pieter says that hot chocolate is good because it’s always cold here,” she says, like she’s sharing a secret.

At her glance, Pieter shrugs, almost embarrassed. “I wanted to think of good things in there,” he says, voice soft, like his kindness is something to be shielded from the world at large. “Food was an easy one.”

“And blankets, and dogs, and trees, and movies,” Selene says. She has such boundless energy. “And school and —"

She stops dead in her tracks, yanking on Katya’s arm so hard that her other shoulder aches.

“That man’s gonna die,” she says, and her voice is hushed, but not hushed enough, as she points to an elderly man across the street.

The man looks normal, if old, walking with a cane, blissfully unaware of what was just said.

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