Page 23 of Practical Boots

Of all the questions Cat expected, the one Grace asked wasn't on the list. "What happened to her?"

Cat, very softly, said, "I don't know."

"Right." Grace wet her lips and stared at Cat in silence for a while. "This baby's your half-brother, then. Or half-sister."

Cat shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. "I just wanted you both to be safe."

"Why?"

"Because nobody was able to keep me safe." That, at least, was an easy one, albeit not an answer Cat had ever imagined giving anyone.

Grace fell quiet again, obviously trying to absorb all of what she was hearing. Eventually, carefully, she said, "So this baby is a…half-elf? Not…human?"

"We don't call it elfland, or fairyland, or anything like that, ourselves, but it's the best I've got in human words. We call it the Torn, and this place, the World. Those like me—like your child—are half of the World, rather than being half-human or half-elf or half-troll or half…whatever. I was raised there, so I'm called Torn-born. Your child will be World-born."

"But magical?"

"Probably."

"This is...a lot."

Cat ducked her head and chuckled. "Yeah. It is. You're taking it very well."

"I'm not sure I'm processing it at all. That rattle you gave me…?"

"Is magic. It would have pulled me straight to your side, if you'd had the chance to use it."

"Because you want to keep us safe. From your mutual father." At Cat's nod, Grace said, "Okay," and went quiet again for a long minute. "I have to think about all of this."

"I know. Can I give you my phone number? Just in case you need to talk about anything? Or want to?"

"That seems like a really good idea." Grace got her phone and Cat put her number into it, all without rising from her crouch. The backs of her leather-clad knees were sweaty, but nothing much was new about that. Grace sat again, looking at the surface of the phone, and, without looking up, said, "Is it going to work? You keeping us safe from him?"

"Welp." Cat exhaled heavily. "Trouble is, that motherfucker can't keep his word to save his life. He can'tlie, but he can promise something and not follow through, and I guess that's where we are right now. I'm going to go back to him," she said more quietly. "Give him another shot at my services, at keeping away from you."

"Why?"

"Because you and that baby deserve better than being tangled up with him, and I guess it doesn't matter whether he's an evil son of a bitch who can't keep his word. I can keep mine, and it'll help to protect you. After a while he might realize I'm always going to give him another chance, just to keep you safe, but I'll burn that bridge when I get to it."

"Cross," Grace corrected faintly.

"Oh no." Cat stood, finally. "No, I'm pretty sure it's gonna burn."

* * *

It took her father six days to make his way back from the Waste. Cat was waiting for him when he returned, sprawled across the chair in his sanctum, practical boots on his desk, eating an apple, studying the stories hidden in the walls.

She had eaten literally hundreds of apples in the past week, just to rock the casual, devil-may-care attitude of doing so when he arrived.

It was worth the gut rot she'd been paying for it, too. He stopped cold just inside the twisted arch of the entryway, rage contorting features that had long since lost their human glamour. His eyes veritably glowed with anger, cords standing out in his throat, and the best part was, he clearly had no idea what to say in the face of her audacity.

Cat gave him an absolutely withering once-over and drawled, "You look like hell, old man."

He whitened with fury and she smiled lazily in response. "Trouble traversing the Waste, hm? Well, look at it this way. I've heard if you survive it, you're destined for great things."

"Get out. From behind. My. Desk." Her father stalked into the room, an entrance that would have been more impressive with recently-washed hair and clothes she couldn't smell from ten feet away. Still, she rose, not with the speed of a guilty child, but with the insouciant calm of a—

Well. Of a cat.

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