Practical Boots (The Torn Book 1)

by C. E. Murphy

  Artifacts could, in theory, do nearly anything. Seven-league boots to walk the earth, or glass slippers to charm a prince; spinning wheels to change straw to gold, or to lay a sleep on the unfortunate who touched the spindle. Other things, too, not out of fairy tales, although she found Artifacts easiest to shape when they held something in common with an element from the old stories. Whatever form they might take, though, they challenged and changed the reality around them, to be sure; that was the purpose of an Artifact. But they didn't change the people who used them, and this…

  "I can probably do it," she said before his anger burst. "I can probably do it, but it's not going to be bloody fast or easy and it's not going to—" She broke off, looking for the words. "It'll work," she said after a moment. "But it won't work for long. Because if you want it to work permanently, I'd have to…" She went silent, staring at him again, and this time, although the anger remained in the angles of his face, he had the air of one who was willing to wait. "I'd have to make you mortal," she finally said. "I'd have to bind your blood to the blood of the World. I don't even know if that's possible."

  "What," he said in controlled, icy tones, "do you think you are, but my blood bound to the World?"

  Cat threw her hands in the air and spun in exasperation, striding across the room to plant her hands against a window sill, her head lowered and her body vibrating with agitation. "Dude, you have—"

  "'Dude'?"

  "Dude," she repeated, at volume, and turned back to her father. "I am your child. Maybe, just possibly, because your blood flows in my veins, as does that of the World, I might be able to shape an Artifact that'll allow you to tell lies. But it won't last. It would have to—" Her mind ran ahead of itself, trying to see the ins and outs of a challenge like that. "It would have to activate the commonality between us. It would have to—maybe a pin-prick, to send a drop of my blood into your veins. You wouldn't shrivel and die of it. Probably. But it would burn up within you, your body defending itself against the World's mortality. Five minutes, maybe? I could do that. Probably. But I can't make something that will just let you tell lies all the time."

  He stepped back and leaned against his desk, perhaps the most casual stance she'd ever seen her father take. Leaned, and studied her, and in time, said, "Five minutes?"

  Interesting, she thought. Interesting that that he focused on that, and not the possibility that he might shrivel and die of her iron-laden blood. "Give or take," she said. "I can't know for sure because I don't know how your immune system will react, but…I'd guess about five minutes."

  "Very well. Begin."

  Cat closed her eyes, exasperated again. "I'm going to need to go to the Waste. I'm going to need to go to the World. What you're asking…I don't think I can do it with just the stuff of the Torn. I'm sure I can't."

  "You are wearing a great deal of the World right now. It will do."

  "Dad, I'm wearing mostly leather and steel. Do you really want me to shape something that will burn you at a touch into your Artifact?"

  Something glittered in his gaze, and she knew that at some point soon, he would want her to make an Artifact that rendered him immune to iron. Or to try, at least. She genuinely didn't think she could do that, but there was no value in saying so now. "Use the leather," he said, and she sighed.

  "Leather will rot. If you want something that lasts, the materials have to last."

  "Artifacts don't fade."

  "Most Torn-made Artifacts are built from pure Waste. They're just pure shaped magic, and will survive as long as the Artificer does. But you're asking for something that bridges two worlds. Nothing of the Torn would permit you to lie, and the Waste is closer to the Torn than it is to the World. Trust me. If you want this to work, I need a permanent object from the World."

  "Make the object," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Add the thing of the World to it later."

  "You really have no idea how Artifacts work, do you?" A brief, betraying expression darkened her father's face and a bolt of clarity shot through Cat. "Shit, you really don't. They're not like this manor, Dad. You can't add bits to them as you see fit. They're singular, all or nothing. I don't even know what would happen if you tried to piecemeal an Artifact together, but I'm absolutely certain it wouldn't do what you wanted or meant it to."

  Something shone in his gaze again, and a sick certainty rose in Cat's stomach. "You've tried, haven't you? Or you've had people try. You…" Pieces fell into place faster than she could speak, and left her speechless. After long moments she managed, "That's why you were trying for another child. You thought the problem was not knowing how to put the pieces together. You thought that because I know how to do it, another kid like me would. But that's not how Artifacts work. It's not how they work at all. How many people have you gotten killed, trying it like that?"

  "Few enough, and none of import."

  "I bet they were important to someone." Cat turned away, went back to the window and stared bleakly at its impossible view. The tangled gardens looked entirely different from here, almost like an image, one that she couldn't quite bring into focus. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe it wasn't her heritage that let her make Artifacts. Maybe it was just the ability to envision and create what she wanted all in one effort. Or maybe it was both. "What else do you want? What other Artifacts do you dream of having?"

  "One to change my appearance."

  A low whistle escaped her. "So you want to be able to lie while hiding your face. Nothing good can possibly come of that."

  "Perhaps not for you, but that is hardly your concern."

  "You know, some of us occasionally consider the consequences of our actions."

  Her father's voice sounded like a smile made of knives. "Fortunately, as my vassal, you need, and indeed must not, choose your actions based on what you imagine the consequences are, as you know very clearly the consequences of failing to."

  "That's considerably less reassuring than you might imagine." He wasn't wrong, though. Cat had chosen the World years ago, and the Torn had never had much time for her. What her father did with his new Artifacts didn't—or shouldn't—make much difference to her, as long as it only affected the Torn.

  Except, of course, it did matter. “What do you want them for?”

  Her father’s eyes glimmered. “There are instabilities in the Torn’s power structure that I wish to take advantage of. You need not know more.”

  “Probably not, but I’m curious.” The words fell out of Cat’s mouth like toads, disconnected from the direction her thoughts took. She made herself keep talking so if her father could browse her mind, he’d be distracted by the importance of what she said, rather than the all-consuming realization that struck her. "I can make an Artifact of disguise now. It shouldn't need any other elements besides the Waste and my will."

  "And why is that one so simple, when the other is so difficult?"

  "Because almost nobody from the Torn with even a modicum of power even needs an Artifact for a glamour. That's a magic basic enough that we can wear it all the way into the World. But it also shines, doesn't it?" Cat finally turned back to her father. Her father, who needed an Artificer now, so he could take advantage of an unstable power structure.

  Assuming her half-sibling would even be able to manipulate the Waste and build Artifacts, they wouldn’t grow into that power for decades yet. Lives were long in the Torn, but moments of political instability were fleeting. If he needed Artifacts now, then he had never intended to wait for her half-sibling to grow up.

  He’d played her. The son of a bitch had played her, and she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. She’d voluntarily offered her oath, and stuck herself with years of service to him. It took everything she had to keep her voice lightly pointed, only highlighting her reasons for believing he wanted a disguise instead of honing the words to furious daggers. "We can see glamours, if we think to look for them. Maybe we can't see through them, but we can see them. You want something nobody else can see, or you would
n't be asking an Artificer."

  His eyes narrowed. "You may be more clever than I've given you credit for."

  Sarcasm was almost as good as the angry snarls she wanted to throw at him. "How flattering. Are you coming with me to the Waste, or can I just pop over, make your Artifact, and come back?"

  "I doubt I could trust you with that."

  "First, I swore an oath that somebody else's life depends on, so you obviously can. Second, I don't think you'd be able to recognize it if I booby-trapped an Artifact until it was too late, so you're gonna have to trust me anyway. Third, I want this done and over with as soon as it can be, so it behooves me to not fuck around. And fourth, it's not like you can't call me back anyw—"

  A scream like a fire alarm set her blood ablaze, and she was ripped from the Torn without further warning.

  * * *

  The Torn stretched and snapped around her, loosening its grip, the Waste clawed at her like a grasping corpse, and the World rushed by in screaming color, sky and earth and sound buffeting her as if a tornado had snatched her up and carried her to Oz. It lasted a horrifically long time, squeezing her limbs, twisting her body, rolling her up, all like it was trying to wring water from a dry rag. She landed hard somewhere dark, and for the first couple of breaths was only grateful that every cell in her body was no longer trying to vomit itself inside out.

  The third breath she spent on a luxurious, "Ow…," and the fourth she choked on because a familiar voice said, "Cat?" out of the darkness, in a near panic.

  "Rick?" Cat unclenched her eyes, which did less to alleviate the darkness than she'd hoped. "…Rick? What the…?"

  "I didn't know what to do." Rick's voice remained small and frightened. "I used the watch."

  "Ooh. Ooooh. Ooh." She felt like she was communicating, if only with herself. Ooh: oh, that's what that was. Ooooh: oh, that's what that feels like?! Ooh: oh, shit, he used the watch. "Okay. Okay." She sat up. Her throat felt like she'd barfed glass. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes? No? I don't know? Are you?"

  "Yeah." She swallowed, trying to soothe her throat. "Nobody's ever actually used one of the watches before. It felt a lot worse than I thought it was gonna. Maybe because I…" Maybe because she'd been in the Torn, but if anybody was listening, they didn't need to hear that. Cat felt at the small of her back, making certain her gun was still there. "How long did it take me to get here?"

  "Since I used the watch? About ten seconds."

  Cat, under her breath, said, "Pretty good response time," then, aloud, said, "How long have you been here, where is here, and how did you get here?"

  "I don't know, Casablanca if we're still where I was last, and…I'm in trouble, Cat." Rick's voice got even smaller. "I don't know what went wrong."

  "Casabl…well, hell, Rick, what's a nice guy like you doing in a gin joint like this." Cat stood cautiously, feeling for walls and the ceiling in the dimness. They were both close and low; she only had to stretch her arms to find the walls, and the ceiling was barely a hand's breadth above her head. "When did you last text Kallie? Recently or a while ago?"

  "A while ago."

  In Kallie's timeline it had been 'yesterday', but time moved differently in the Torn; Cat could have been gone for days without knowing it. 'A while' was certainly more than a day, though. "Are you hurt?" The walls were cool stone, and a modicum of light leaked in from somewhere, making the darkness a couple shades less than absolute. Cat didn't know if Casablanca had caves or catacombs or oubliettes to throw people in, although as she turned, that while one hand still brushed against wall, the other found iron bars.

  She could work with that.

  "I'm kind of beat up," Rick said. "But not hurt. Not bad."

  Cat crouched, trying to make him out in the darkness. "Tell me what you know." Cold tendrils seeped down her nape and she reached out thoughtlessly, grasping the cell door. The cold vanished instantly. Her father and his invisibility cloak could wait until later.

  "I've been on a long haul, right? Nothing illegal, I checked, Cat. I was careful. No drugs or anything. Just this rich dude who's like a five-time baby daddy and doesn't want anybody to find out 'cause he's supposed to get married or something. So he hired a dude who hired a fixer who hired a dude who hired a courier service to move around and drop cash, you know how it goes."

  Cat did. The layers protected the clients, who had no idea who was solving their problems at the ground level, and the people on the ground had no idea who they were working for. The money went through equally circuitous routes, almost always in cash so it couldn't be traced. "What went wrong?"

  "I don't know." Rick sounded genuinely bewildered. "Mostly I’m supposed to be making sure they’re set up okay, right? Like comfortable enough they can make it on their own and don’t go looking for their baby daddy, although I bet someday one of those genetics websites is gonna bite him on the ass. But anyway, I’ve been bouncing around checking up on them and, you know, like, making sure they bought the winning scratch card or whatever.”

  "Which isn't suspicious or impossible at all," Cat breathed. She could feel Rick shrug.

  "Well, it’s a fucking setup, of course it is, they’re not legit scratch cards or anything, but how it all works is the fixers, not me. I just make sure they buy a card. It’s not taking money from anybody or anything bad."

  "And yet here we are," Cat breathed.

  "Swear to god, I was just leaving a party and somebody grabbed me. Not like a mugging, though. They put a hood over my head and threw me in here. Said I'd give them what they wanted and they'd wait for me to break."

  The cold that had crept down Cat's nape reappeared, this time in freezing tendrils that laced through her belly. "Have they been back?"

  "No!" Rick's voice cracked. "How can they break me if they don't even ask me for anything?"

  "Pretty easy," said a heavy voice from the darkness beyond their cell. "We just had to wait."

  Cat dropped her head, teeth bared, and said, "Hi, Davos."

  * * *

  A hard, rumbling chuckle rolled through the cell bars, followed by a drawled, "Leandra. Long time no see. Funny meeting you here. All that shit."

  "What do you want, Davos?" Cat looked up from her crouch as their captor brought a light into being. It had the hard whiteness of an LED, like a phone's flashlight, but Cat doubted something that mundane was its source.

  Davos looked human, mostly. Not quite as much as Cat herself did, maybe, but still. Human enough. Huge, but human enough. Broad shoulders, thick body, massive limbs, and a skull of significant enough proportions that he managed not to seem pin-headed, despite the size of his body. He was handsome, in a giant thug kind of way. Last time she'd seen him, he'd shaved his head, which lent considerably to a generally terrifying vibe, but when they'd first met, he'd had flowing, romance-hero hair of old-oak brown. His skin was a few shades lighter than that, and his eyes very green in the darkness of his face.

  Cat had never asked what his heritage was, but he hadn't been born on this side of the Waste, and if he'd up and put down roots in front of her one afternoon, she wouldn't have been surprised.

  Rick scrambled to his feet beside her, whispering, "Leandra?" Cat glanced at him, making sure he was okay—scruffy, dirty, tear-streaked, and a little smelly, but mostly okay—and put the topic of her name on a long list of things she wasn't in any hurry to talk about, but would eventually have to.

  "I need your services," Davos rumbled. "But you're a hard elf to find. I had to go to some lengths."

  Cat muttered, "Not an elf," and rose, jerking her head toward Rick. "Let me bring him home and I'll do what you need."

  "You'll do what I need and then you'll bring him home. You're not in a good position to bargain, little elf." Davos's chuckle rolled up again as Cat's eyebrows lifted. "Now you're thinking, why not? You can step, you're a scrappy fighter, and it's hard to do you permanent damage. You know this. You know I know it. So why are you in no position to bargain? Tell me, pet human."
/>   After a heartbeat of silence, Rick said, "Does he mean me?" and over him, Davos continued, "Have you eaten well here, pet human? Have you been starved or forced to face thirst?"

  "No? I got some pretty decent grub, actually. I guessed they didn't want to kill me?"

  "Not quickly, at least. You'd have been better off starving, though."

  A sour taste filled Cat's throat. "What have you done, Davos?"

  "Nothing irreversible, as long as you're cooperative."

  "Don't." The bile in her throat should have made the word sharp, Cat thought. Instead it came out softly. So very softly. "You don't want to make an enemy of me, Davos."

  "Don't I?" The big man sounded genuinely curious. "There's not much I've seen that suggests you'd make a bad one."

  She could step. She could step, and he'd be dead before he knew it. Before his thugs could do anything about it. But then so would Rick, and proving a point to another of the Torn-born wasn't worth her friend's life. It didn't really matter whether Davos thought she was a bad enemy. Cat knew better.

  And eventually, Davos would learn that. "What," Cat said in the same low voice, "do you want me to do?"

  "My sister's gone missing."

  "My condolences." Cat kept her tone flat with effort this time. She'd liked Davos's sister, in what few interactions they'd had. "You're resourceful. I'm sure you can find her."

  "She went missing in the Torn."

  "I don't do reconnaissance in the Torn, Dav." Up until that morning—her time, at least—she'd been afraid to. Now it was more a matter of not letting anybody know she had a vulnerability, stuck working for her father for the foreseeable future.

  Davos smiled. His teeth were broad and flat and thicker, she thought, than human teeth, although they were arranged in a human-enough approximation that no one looked more than twice. "You didn't," he agreed. "But now you have a friend whose life depends on it, and so you're going to."