Page 107 of Katya and the Young God

Selene nods, pondering.

The glow around Selene is a soft, gentle, pulsing thing, and Katya doesn’t know why or when she does it.

“I can do this,” Selene says, holding her hand out with a furrow of concentration on her brow, and the glow leaves her body, focusing an inch over her hand, a soft, gentle light. She frowns at it, and the light ripples in her hand, like she’s playing with it. “The mean guy with the rocks did it in front of me.”

It’s similar enough to the Magician’s ball of illumination that Katya doesn’t doubt it. “Do you want to show me what else you learned?”

A brilliant smile crosses Selene’s face, with all the eagerness of a child who wants approval, and she scoots herself so she’s nearer to Katya, still outside of arm distance. “They all thought I was asleep but I saw so many things,” Selene starts, and Katya grabs a couch cushion from the bloody floral couch, fating herself to another sleepless night.

* * *

Pieter findsthem the next morning, with Selene asleep pillowed on a couch cushion, and Katya drowsing with her head on Stepan’s side, and he leans against the doorframe between the two rooms, his grey eyes lost and a little bit warm.

Katya smiles at him, only slightly disoriented but also in that strange place where she doesn’t want to move from her exact position, lest the wounds from the last week make themselves known.

“Good morning,” he says to her, still leaning against the doorframe, like he can’t walk without its support. “Your shoulder must be hell.”

“It will be,” she replies, and breaks the peaceful spell by trying to sit up.

Sure enough, pain spikes down her shoulder to her arm, leaving pinpricks of sensation down her fingers, and she fists them together to stop any spasms.

Pieter crouches down next to her, giving Stepan a companionable pat, and there’s something soft, something whole, something that she’s never seen from him before.

“I can’t believe I get this,” he whispers, soft, and he catches her hand and massages out the spasms, despite the hiss of pain Katya gives him. “This is more than I ever thought possible.”

And he’s the one out of the two of them who had world domination plans.

“What, a broken Organization figure and a creepy child god who, by the way, learns by imitation?” Katya says, as the pinpricks recede from her hand. “She wants to impress you.”

Before she can say another word, he presses a kiss to her lips, sudden, still massaging her hand, still ever so gentle with her, and the words die in Katya’s throat.

“That sounds perfect,” he mumbles against her lips. “Whatever you are, whatever she is, that sounds perfect.”

17

The next few weeks pass in a blur. A blur of navigating around Selene’s growing powers, of layering security after security on the small cabin, of healing and of taking care of themselves.

But also of figuring out which TV shows are good for children that Katya can find on Netflix. Of making an ill-advised trip to the Estes Park library and checking out a bunch of kids’ books. Of teaching Selene the alphabet, of teaching her how to piece together written words, of teaching her how to do basic math.

She devours all of the knowledge with the same fervor that she watches bright animated cartoons and plays fetch with Stepan, and Katya knows just enough about child development to know that she learns too fast, learns to read in a day, learning beyond the speed that children do.

On the third day, Katya removes the stitches from Pieter’s side, and Selene watches with wide eyes, like this is just another thing for her to learn, for her to absorb, just like the cartoons with messages of friendship and sharing.

After the third week, however, Katya’s phone rings with the number of the Denver Organization office, and she stares at it before letting it ring out.

Selene’s outside playing in the soft snow, easily viewable from the kitchen window, but Pieter gives Katya a raised eyebrow look. “That’s an expression,” he says, dry.

“I think Beatriz might’ve just tried to call,” Katya says, still staring at her phone, as it starts to ring again, from the same number.

The storm crosses Pieter’s face at the name. “Anything she says is a trap.”

“I know,” she says, but lets him come behind her and wrap his arms around her.

Her phone goes silent as the call goes to voicemail, before it buzzes with a text.

ANDREW OLLO (11:19 AM): Katya, are u still in the woods? There's a crisis in Longmont.

She feels more than hears Pieter’s scoff behind her. “Definitely a trap,” he says.

---