* * *
Seven crates.
Claire had saved seven crates of exocores before another wooden beam had crashed down. Every time she’d entered the warehouse, heat had assailed her skin. Her clothes clung to her, drenched in sweat, sizzling in the blazing inferno. She’d removed her mask and resettled it over her mouth, tying the holes at the back, but smoke still filtered through. Soon Claire had been hacking and coughing every few steps. She’d managed two trips inside and had already been wondering how she’d survive a third when the warehouse had given a long plaintiff groan and dropped the beam.
The building, too, might not endure long enough for Claire to save more exocores. But she had to try. Too many still waited inside, heat building around them, powerless to stop the melting death coming for them.
Claire wiped her forehead and basked another moment in the pleasure of fresh night air. The witches stared at her with wide eyes. Three had taken a crate on their way out, but they all seemed at the end of their strength. They had been discussing leaving earlier, when Claire had first reemerged, and she was glad they’d remained. One of them held cloth to Adèle’s bullet wound. The police officer looked past her, to Claire, her gaze somehow focused despite all the lost blood.
“Cl-Claire.”
For a brief moment, Claire thought she’d say “Claude”, and her heart had squeezed painfully. “You’re doing good. Keep on staying alive.”
Adèle grimaced. “Don’t go. The danger…”
Was she… worried? Finally. She wouldn’t care if she still perceived Claire as a dangerous criminal and an enemy. “I have to risk it. I can’t let them burn. Hang on.”
She could explain later. At the moment, lives depended on her—so many of them. Claire plunged back into the roaring fire. Every inch forward became a fight against the unbearable heat. She expected her clothes or hair to catch fire any time, or the roof to collapse, or flames to suddenly eat her. So many things could kill her in this smoky, burning hell.
Claire drew upon her almost depleted magical pool, speeding across the simmering floor to another group of crates. She tore the lids open with bare hands, gritting her teeth against the pain. She’d count her blisters once everyone was safe. Inside, the exocores’ gems reflected the fire’s light as if it was their own—as if they shone an angry red, calling for help. Claire piled three crates on top of one another and lifted them, wishing she could balance more. She had risked four on the first run and almost stumbled into the flames, however, and the constant use of her powers was taking its toll. She dared not risk it. The warehouse groaned as she hurried back outside.
She almost dropped the crates when she found the witches in a quiet panic over Adèle. The black woman Claire had pegged as their leader had both hands on the bullet wounds and ordered the others to back off. Claire dumped her load with the rest of the exocores and crouched near Adèle, taking their place. Sweeping cheekbones and bright eyes made the leader’s glare formidable, but Claire ignored it nonetheless.
“What’s happening?”
“She’s slipping and I can’t heal her.” She huffed and clenched the bloodied rag tighter. “The bullet is still inside, and I’d say she has internal bleeding, but without a proper hospital or my powers, I can do very little to save her.”
Sudden despair had constricted her chest at the description of Adèle’s state, but hope battled it. It wasn’t over, not yet. “You’re a healer? And a doctor?”
“Docteure Zuri Adaho, of the Hôpital Général de Val-de-mer, yes.” A tired smile curved her lips, and she lifted her wrists. “I cure ailments through both mundane and magical means, but these witch cuffs are keeping my powers at bay. They’ll slam me with pain and knock me out if I try.”
“That’s all?”
Zuri scowled at her dismissiveness. Claire ignored it, hooked her fingers under the metal band—one hand on each side—then pulled. The bands resisted. Claire shoved more her magic in her muscles, not caring if she couldn’t drag herself out of bed for days after. Adèle was dying. Searing pain lit in her hands as she tried to pull again, sizzling her skin and everything under. Claire’s sight whitened, her thoughts blanked. It hurt. Sudden intense agony, washing everything else away. Less than a second later, the band snapped, leaving her panting and dazed. Every finger throbbed. She swallowed down nausea and tears and extended her hands.
“The other wrist…” Her voice cracked, but she met Zuri’s gaze without hesitation. “She can’t die.”
Even knowing how painful it’d be, Claire couldn’t prepare for the second band. The metal seemed to sink into her hands when she activated her powers, burning skin and muscles into a crisp. One moment she’d grabbed the witch cuffs, and the next she was staring at a billowing cloud of dark smoke, blocking the night’s sky. The blinding pain had knocked her out. She rolled over and retched, and her palms burned as she set them on the ground. Claire risked a glance at them. Thick crusty lines of dark red crossed them and the tip of her fingers, and her hands shook uncontrollably. Her head spun at the sight, the edge of her vision blackened, and sounds grew distant and dissonant. At first, she didn’t hear Zuri talking to her.
“Please,” the doctor said, finishing a sentence forever lost to Claire. “She’ll be fine. It’s your turn now.”
“What?” Claire blinked to clear her mind and looked around. A golden cocoon enveloped Adèle’s belly, thicker above the bullet wound. The sight sent an immense wave of relief coursing through Claire. “You healed her.”
“I did. Give me your hands now.”
Oh! Of course. Claire offered her palms, her throat tightening again at their constant shaking. She could barely hold herself together because of the pain and exhaustion. She had no idea how she’d get through the night, but she needed to stay strong. Her gaze returned to the warehouse, its flames reaching high into the sky. If the good doctor could protect her hands, she might have the endurance for another run. The warehouse still contained a handful of crates.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, the ceiling gave a long, plaintive moan and snapped. The warehouse crumbled inward, its roof collapsing. Claire jumped to her feet with a loud “no!” but the world spun, pulling her balance away with it, and she fell back down. Zuri caught her and firmly forced her to stay on her knees.
“It’s over.” Zuri clasped her palms flat against one another then spread them apart slowly. A web of light emerged between her fingers. She picked at the strands, weaving them one into the other with quick movements, creating a tapestry out of nothing. As she worked, she approached Claire’s heavy burns and laid it over her hands. The immediate cooling sensation cleared Claire’s mind. The doctor smiled. “Help will be on the way soon. Someone’s bound to have seen the fire.”
Not good. Very few people worked in the Quartier des Grands Sapins at night besides guards, but the doctor was right; someone would come. Claire had to be gone before they arrived—she and the exocores. Those she had saved, at any rate. If only she’d been even faster and stronger. If only she’d continued, instead of stopping for Adèle. Would that have been enough? How long had she been knocked out? How many had burned because of her choice?
“I can’t stay. I… listen, I’ll need help. These exocores can’t go to the authorities.” They’d hand them right back to Montrant Industries. Leading a dozen women to her bakery could prove dangerous, however. Claire racked her brain for a solution. Her gaze eventually found Adèle, unconscious on the ground, and an idea emerged. The police officer would want to kill Claire over it later, but it was their best option. She turned to Zuri. “I’ll give you an address. Adèle’s sister lives there, alone in a huge mansion. She’ll take care of your group and hide the crates. Tell her I sent you. Just… explain what happened tonight.”
“Are you not coming?” Zuri finished her healing weave and leaned back, quick brown eyes studying Claire. “Your wounds could infect. You need a doctor.”
“I’ll drop in.” Claire struggled to her feet and managed to
stay standing this time. She stared at the still-burning ruins and wiped her forehead. In her mind and heart, she could hear the screams of the dying soul trapped inside. Emptiness filled her. So many lost, and she hadn’t even saved Livia. Perhaps… She hoped Zita was safe, running after Clémence like that. She ought to try and find them, but she’d had no idea where to start, and no energy to do so. “I need to be alone.”
“Be careful, then. Don’t uselessly touch anything.”
“I won’t.”
She had no strength left, and very little willpower. The weariness settling into her bone wouldn’t vanish anytime soon, if ever. It felt as though the dead souls had found her and solidified as guilt inside. Claire gave everyone instructions about how to reach Emmanuelle Duclos’ manor and turned away, eager to be alone.
“Wait!” The voice came from the red-haired teen who’d initiated the fire. Nir companions held nir up so ne could stand, and ne was still pale. “Claire, wasn’t it? Thank you. You saved us.”
Claire forced a smile on her lips. She had saved them, along with the hundreds stored in crates already out. She needed to remember that—to think of what she’d accomplished in a night, rather than what she’d failed. Or try to, anyway. No amount of self-congratulations could get through the numb emptiness in her heart.
“No problem,” she said. “Just don’t let it go to waste.”
Claire left the warehouse behind, sprinting away from it. Under the cooling weave, her skin felt like it was stitching itself up, adding a scratching itch to the continuous pain. She should slow down and take it easy, but burning through her reserves of magic left her with no time to think, no energy to review the events, consider the dead, and lose control over herself. She wanted to exhaust herself so much she would fall asleep without a thought once home—just collapse into darkness. Yet as she grew farther away from the warehouse, the weight of the night’s events overwhelmed her. She turned into the first isolated alley she found and leaned against the wall. Once certain she was alone, Claire slid down to the ground, knees to her body, and finally cried.
-16-
ON RESPIRE
Thick sweat covered Adèle’s body when she woke up. It had soaked the bed under her, and her nightgown was clinging to her. Her head hurt, as if a vice had tightened around it, her lungs were on fire, and her every breath turned into a prolonged, difficult wheeze. She grimaced and pushed herself up, eager to clean up and change. Sudden pain shot through her belly when she moved, drawing a yelp from her. Adèle fell back, shocked and confused, and her sluggish mind started piecing her situation back together.
She had gone into a warehouse following an anonymous demand for a meeting about Montrant Industries, expecting to find Nsia Kouna waiting. Instead of the journalist, she had discovered a group of witches, imprisoned and famished. Someone had shot her and threatened to finish the job—something about needing a death? Her memories blurred. There had been fire, her blood spilling, and then… Claire. Adèle closed her eyes. Claire had saved her life. Overwhelming pain had washed most of the night away, but she recalled the flash of purple slamming into her assailant. She remembered being carried out. Promising not to die. And Claire had gone back in. For exocores.
It left a bitter taste on her mouth. She had dumped everyone outside and plunged back for the cores—what else would have brought her there in the first place? At least she’d freed the girls, but they could have used moral support, someone to calm Celosia—general help, in short! But where one-tracked minds were concerned, Claire would win competitions. Hard to believe her level of obsession. There had to be a reason, but Claire had vanished again, and Adèle was… where was she, even?
She frowned and propped herself up long enough to examine the room. What had happened after she had lost consciousness? They hadn’t brought her to her flat or to a hospital. Could this be Claire’s place? Paintings decorated the walls, and the furniture seemed recent and of high quality. Perhaps Claire had been selling exocores after all, even if they hadn’t traced the source. Or she’d always been rich. But something about the overall disposition and tastefulness felt both familiar and reassuring, and although Adèle had never been here she found the room relaxing.
The door clicked as Adèle examined her surroundings, and she held her breath. Latent exhaustion and pain muddled her mind. She wasn’t ready to talk with Claire. She knew she’d miss important clues and get emotional—mistakes she couldn’t afford if she wanted to reach the bottom of this.
Emmanuelle stepped into the room, carrying a small tray with a glass of juice and porridge. Aurora slipped in behind her.
“Em?” Adèle half-gasped the name. “What are you–” She stopped her question. No wonder the surroundings felt familiar. “Am I at your manor?”
Em chuckled, sweeping closer to the bed. “Awake and questioning already, I see. It’s good to have you back.” For all the teasing, worry shone in her eyes. She set the tray on the side table, dragged a chair nearby, and picked up Adèle’s hand. “It doesn’t matter how often the medic assures you your sister will be fine, it doesn’t ring true until she smiles again. Or starts interrogating you.”
Adèle laughed, and the movement sent jabs her pain in her sides making her gasp before throwing her into an awful coughing fit. Blackness spread across her vision as she struggled for oxygen. Em pressed something hard into her hand—her medication chamber.
“Steady,” Em said, and the familiar snap of a vivifiant followed. “Now breathe it in.”
Adèle obeyed, bringing the chamber to her lips and inhaling as deeply as she could. Distantly, she marvelled at how wonderful it was to hear her sister’s voice again—to be here, alive, even through the pain in her lungs and throat and side. She squeezed Em’s hand as the drug loosened her airways, allowing her to breathe a little easier. Em watched in silence, eyes still bright with tears, and Adèle needed all her patience not to remove the chamber immediately to speak. She counted up to sixty, slowly, forcing herself to remain calm before she tore it away.
“For a moment, I thought you’d have to bury someone again and…” She stopped, a huge lump blocking her throat. She was a mess—fear and pain and relief crashed into her all at once, as if they, too, had waited for her to finish with the vivifiant, and tears spilled down her face. At least everyone should be allowed to be a mess in front of their siblings. She wiped her tears away. “I’m glad you’re the first person I see upon waking.”
Although the smile remained firmly set on Em’s lips, her eyes became glassy too. Neither sister said anything for a while. Adèle would appreciate the silence more with a cleaner bed and gown, but she didn’t mention it. She’d almost died, and that put perspective on her discomfort. She spat out some of the horrible goo still clinging inside her throat, stifling another full-blown coughing fit. Aurora—Em’s newest cat—jumped on the duvet and curled up at Adèle’s feet, sadly out of reach. Adèle wondered if her short fur did feel like suede, but she’d have to discover it later. Minutes slid by, peaceful. Part of her wished they could last forever, but as the cobwebs in her mind cleared, she found the pressure of work waiting.
“Em… how did I wind up here? Where’s Claire?”
“Beats me.” She shrugged and yawned. “A group of people, mostly ladies, knocked at my door in the middle of the night, carrying crates of exocores and you. Apparently Claire didn’t want me to sleep last night, either. She gave them my address and promised safety.”
“She sent everyone here.” Adèle’s mouth turned dry. Did she think this was a game? Last night had proven that the people behind this would kill without hesitation, and Claire had pushed the threat right to her sister? Adèle gritted her teeth together. “It’s dangerous, Em. You can’t get involved—”
“Yes, Adèle, I gathered this entailed a high risk when I laid eyes upon your dying body.” The sharpness in Em’s voice surprised Adèle. Her sister scoffed, then started fussing over her, helping Adèle sit up and placing the pillows behind her back to make he
r comfortable. Her abdomen was a constant series of sharp and stinging tugs and she struggled with the pain as her sister went on. “I am hereby choosing to get involved. This is big, and these people need a safe place to stay. Claire’s instincts are good: I have no intention of turning them away. Besides, I want to know what’s in those exocores, why they were keeping witches prisoner, and why Claire risked crushing fiery death on several occasions to salvage what she could.”
“That was always what she was after. She said it herself.” The new position made her head spin, but Adèle refused to lie back down. Not yet, anyway. She’d need more sleep later, but she wanted to get her bearings first. “If she has a good reason, she hasn’t deigned to share it.”
“Then we shall piece it back together ourselves. But first you need to eat.” Em grabbed the porridge and offered it. Adèle threw a doubtful stare at it, suspecting it wouldn’t stay in her stomach, but there was no mistaking the look in her sister’s eyes. Em would brook no refusal. Adèle set to work, her hand shaking horribly as she brought the spoon to her lips. She hated her own weakness. This wasn’t worth the effort. As if reading her thoughts, Em added, “Docteure Adaho said your stomach would remain upset for a while, but it’s essential that you eat anyway. Don’t try shirking on it.”
“Yes, mom. I promise.”
Adèle smirked at her sister, then forced the food down her throat. Em shifted the conversation to the group of witches she now housed while Adèle ate. They had broken the witch cuffs and put her numerous guest rooms to good use. Most had been delighted to receive a warm bath, clean clothes, and a comfy bed.
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