“Exhausted.” Hard to rest properly when your lungs felt like smoke still coated their insides and no amount of asthma medication cleaned it out entirely. Adèle touched the bandage over her wound. It had begun hurting again during the last hour, and she hoped Docteure Adaho would swing by soon. “I hurt, and I keep coughing, which doesn’t help my stomach at all. Otherwise well enough.”
“Perfect.” Koyani headed for the bedside chair Emmanuelle had occupied in the morning and sat in it, back straight. Her posture didn’t match the outfit, and the inherent tension in her stiff shoulders worried Adèle. Would she get scolded for going to the warehouse alone? “We’re glad you’re safe, despite taking an incredibly risky and hotheaded decision.” Scolding, then, but without the anger Adèle had expected. “This is exactly why you never leave without a partner.”
“I know.” Nothing could have prepared her for what she did find, though, even with the obvious risks involved. “I thought the anonymous note came from Mx. Kouna. They did not seem dangerous, and I feared wasting the opportunity.”
“You can get other opportunities. You can’t get another life.” Koyani’s clipped tone would not allow for more protest. “I have no desire to lose our new team member so fast.”
New… team member? Koyani rarely acted like Adèle belonged, and she had been clear that Claire’s case was a test—one which Adèle might not want to pass anymore. Yet her capitaine had just casually included her, as if the decision about her had already been taken. Warmth and excitement spread through Adèle. Maybe, for all the scolding, Capitaine Koyani approved of her impulse. Maybe it wasn’t anger that drove her but worry. Adèle could accept that.
“I’ll be careful,” Adèle promised. She knew she wouldn’t, and she suspected Koyani did, too.
“Good. We’ll drag Nsia Kouna’s ass back to the interrogation room to ask about your anonymous tip. You can make your full report once healed, but is there anything I should know immediately?”
“Mx. Kouna didn’t shoot me. Someone else was there. A tall person, very muscular, with short blond hair and a dapper vest. Hard to tell gender—maybe it was the pain, but I think that’s just who they are. Claire… saved me.” She’d hesitated. She didn’t have to explain everything, not now. Talking and keeping her head clear was already difficult. “The exocores are souls, capitaine. Witches that were transformed. I found kidnapped people in there, with witch cuffs.”
Koyani accepted the new information with perfect stoicism. Her eyebrows quirked, but she did not gasp or blanch at the idea that someone had shoved people into gems. Perhaps she didn’t believe it.
“This doesn’t make sense. Why send you a note with a location where you would discover something if they only aimed to trap you? Why not a random warehouse?”
Adèle frowned. Her head pounded, but memories flittered at the edge of her mind. “Perhaps they’re not related or… they said something about needing a death. I don’t understand either.”
“I don’t like it.” She pushed herself to her feet, her frown deeper than ever. “I will leave you to your rest. I’m surprised you’re in such good shape, but more sleep cannot hurt.”
“One of the witches freed can heal,” Adèle said, and the corner of her lips twisted in a half-smile. “A sliver of luck in my night. You’ll have me back in no time, capitaine.”
She didn’t want to stay away. What if they decided to continue prioritizing Claire? It felt wrong to rest after she had busted so much of this case open. She wanted to finish the job—to find proof beyond doubt of Montrant Industries’ crimes and expose them.
“Excellent. Your dedication is noted, but don’t come back only to fall over. There’ll be plenty of work no matter when you return.”
Adèle laughed—a sharp bark that turned into wracking cough, sending pain down her stomach. She grimaced and promised herself to have her inhaler boiling soon. “I believe you.”
Koyani’s smile matched hers. She wished Adèle a pleasant evening and strode out, more relaxed than ever before. Perhaps the civilian clothes were adding to that impression, but Koyani had never felt so approachable before. Or perhaps, and here Adèle could only hope, she was truly becoming part of the team.
-19-
LES LABORATOIRES
Reaching the elevator had been easy enough. Either these scientists didn’t worry about people stealing their research, or most of their security protected the floors they actually worked on. Claire had to evade a single guard at the entrance—a massive man engrossed in a tiny book—and had then slipped unseen into the Centre de Recherche’s corridors. Two main elevators flanked by stairs led upward, but Zita had been clear on which one Claire was looking for. It was marked as broken.
Heart pounding, steps as light as she could, Claire kept searching for the disguised portal. Only the emergency lights remained in most corridors and she clung to the shadows, hoping she wouldn’t come across anyone. The longer she stalked this building, the more stressed she became. Why hadn’t she asked Zita for specific directions? Claire groaned. As much as she wanted to blame it on exhaustion, she knew thinking ahead wasn’t part of her strengths. At least she had brought her smokesticks this time, just in case. She gritted her teeth and continued looking until—finally!—a single elevator stood at the end of a darkened corridor.
A sign with “HORS SERVICE. ATTENTION” warned people away, and a huge lock kept it sealed. Claire crept to the web of rusted metal bars blocking her path and peeked down. Not much to see from this angle, except more darkness. She grabbed the lock and prayed to the nine saints that the guard up front wouldn’t pay too much attention to the strange noises she was about to make. At least she’d had to get deep into the building to find this elevator, so unless it echoed all the way to the entrance, she should be good. With a long breath and a burst of strength, she snapped it in two and flung it away.
Claire slipped her fingers into the grate holes and pulled it open by force, cringing at the loudness of it all. Even with the distance… Better to hurry, before someone checked on the elevator. She strained against the web, and as soon as the space sufficed for her small belly and her, she squeezed through to the other side. The elevator must be all the way down, hidden in the darkness, but she didn’t want to risk calling it—not when she had a better, more thrilling option. With a smirk, Claire jumped down. Her hair caught in the wind as she sped towards the bottom, drawing a grin out of her. The brief and intense thrill of the fall could almost make her forget where she was heading—then she felt a shift in the air, like shimmering freshness, come and gone in an instant. Portal magic. She grabbed the iron cable, gritting her teeth against the burning friction piercing through her gloves as she slowed her descent. Her poor hands would deserve weeks of care after these last days. Still, better that than making a racket twice. Claire climbed down through the hatch atop the elevator and smiled as she found the grate there opened. Her relief vanished as she entered the secret labs proper.
A strange smell permeated the air, as if the stiff odour of acid tried to mask a more disturbing scent. Dulled white ceiling lamps cast an uncertain glow on the area, illuminating two rows of working space half-covered in glass containers. What weird shapes. Claire wondered why a regular bowl wasn’t enough for them, but discarded the thought. She could speculate on evil scientists’ habits another day. She moved on, heading for the double doors across the workspace.
As Claire approached, the stink of acid grew stronger. It irritated her throat and squeezed her heart. She paused at the doors, her itching left palm set against it, and steeled herself. Tiny windows allowed her to glimpse cylindrical shapes on the other side. She did not want to get closer, not in a billion years, but she had to.
The doors swooshed as she opened them, and Claire noted the clothes at their bottom, trailing the ground and blocking the small space under. To keep odours out, or worse? Should she have a mask covering her nose and mouth too, in addition to most of her face? Zita hadn’t fallen sick, though. Not yet, a
t any rate. Claire clung to that fact as a reassuring shield and advanced, into a noticeably colder room.
She strode down one of the main aisles, flanked by rows of tanks—massive contraptions of metals, more than eight feet tall, with a ventilation system on the side and a dozen tubes connected to the top. Blue electrical lights lined the floor and cast a cold light upward, just strong enough for long shadows to turn into darkness as they reached the ceiling. Each tank had a glass container, human-sized. Her pace slowed as she realized what would be within, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Stillness followed. Nothing but Claire, standing in the middle of dozens of tanks holding humans, acrid vapours stimulating her too-wild imagination. It didn’t matter how hard she focused on the blackness behind her eyelids, her mind filled with horrible imagery—frail human bodies resting in every container, hollow, suffering. Claire exhaled, slow and steady, preparing her already erratic heart for the real sight.
Voices caught her attention before she opened her eyes. They came from farther down the aisle, moving closer.
“This is a fiasco,” the first speaker stated. From the timbre, Claire guessed she was likely a woman, her voice soft, calm, and cold. “We lost hundreds of exocores in a single fire, you were sighted, and the witches escaped. I hope you have an explanation for this.”
Claire dashed for the tanks on her left, creeping into the shadows away from the aisle. Relief flooded her, spinning her head—she didn’t have to look at the bodies just yet. She could focus on this conversation, and perhaps steady her shaking hands.
“I have no idea how your police found the warehouse.”
Claire froze as she recognized the second voice. Clémence. Now that she’d heard it again, she would never forget ols voice.
“Anonymous tip.” Disdain filled the first speaker’s words. “Mx. Kouna might think themself wise, but I know they’ve been digging in our yard. I should have taken care of them sooner. What were you doing there, however?”
“I needed a new test subject. The process’ efficiency caps and using powerful witches only means we lose more of their energy. I didn’t want to waste assets while I was trying to circumvent our current issues.” The way Clémence spoke of other witches as nothing but resources to plunder chilled Claire to the core. How could ol forget the people ol had once protected? “I don’t have much hope. This is becoming too dangerous. You should quit while you’re ahead.”
“I won’t, and you can’t.”
A long silence followed the unmistakable threat. The voices had reached her level, and Claire inched forward to get a glimpse at the pair. What a strange combo. Clémence, tall and muscular, was speaking with a tiny woman, dark curls framing a delicate face. Yet the woman clearly held the upper hand in this conversation, and Clémence shifted away from her to busy olself with the tank before ol. Ol readjusted a tube, then reluctantly returned to the discussion at hand.
“Our current transformation process is too slow to replace the exocores lost in time for the Pont des Lumières’ grand opening,” ol said.
“Find a solution, or you’ll be the one explaining to the gouverneure why her pet project has failed.”
Claire stifled a gasp. La gouverneure. Of course Montrant Industries had political support shielding them from investigations and public questioning, but you could hardly have a higher office than this, unless you asked the Queen herself.
Despite ols height, Clémence seemed to shrink back before the woman’s gaze. “I have one—the ice witch—but we won’t be able to turn her into an exocore.”
A deafening buzz exploded between Claire’s ears at “the ice witch”, drowning out what followed. Livia. Had they experimented on her? Others? What did they mean to do with her? Where was she now? The questions bounced around her mind, disorganized and fleeting, until Claire realized their answers might be in the very conversation she’d stopped paying attention to. She cursed herself mentally and forced her focus back.
“Make sure they’re all ready for the big day,” the woman was saying. “If we’re not the main source of power for every large-scale project in the country after this, we’ve failed. You have failed. Understood?”
“Yes. You don’t need more threats.”
Panic drummed through Claire’s head. They were shifting the subject. She’d never forgive herself if her instant of distraction had caused her to miss invaluable information about her twin. Not that she’d know. The conversation also grew harder to hear as they moved away from her, and Claire straightened up. She needed to stay close.
“Sometimes I wonder,” the curly-haired woman answered. “Adèle Duclos found her way to her sister’s mansion, yesterday. Your escaped witches might be with her. I’ll get an address to you as soon as I can.”
Claire gritted her teeth. How did this woman know so much? Claire had chosen Emmanuelle Duclos’ house to avoid detection, not to send Montrant Industries to her door. Unless Emmanuelle had always been involved… No. Claire brushed the idea away as soon as it popped into her mind. She refused to believe it. Adèle’s sister had been the first to help Claire understand Montrant’s horrible scheme. Claire trusted her sense of people, and by extension, she trusted Emmanuelle. Doubts and second guessing would lead her nowhere. She stalked after the pair, eager to know more.
“I will see to it. What about that thief? You were supposed to—”
Claire’s foot hooked in a thick tube running along the floor. She hissed from the unexpected stab of pain and caught herself on the nearest tank. A hollow metallic echo travelled through the lab chamber, killing the conversation.
“Élise. Someone’s here,” Clémence said.
An annoyed huff followed from Élise, then the click of a gun’s hammer. Claire’s stomach dropped like a weight. She strode backward, one carefully silent step at a time, and tried to keep track of the pair’s shuffling feet. They spread out, Clémence walking down the aisle while Élise slid between the tanks. The room’s shadows no longer seemed large enough. Claire froze, panic cementing her feet to the ground until Élise reached her column of tanks. Her instincts kicked in, and she hurried to the next series, ducking before they spotted her.
How long could she play this game of cat and mouse? If she slipped past them, she could dash for the elevator, but they’d notice her going through the double door and follow. Clémence might be armed and ol could cancel her magic. Claire didn’t like her odds against two guns. She reached into her stomach pockets. Super strength and speed had saved her often, but she had other tricks in her bag. She hadn’t been forced to smoke anyone since breaking into Adèle’s flat, but it’d combine wonderfully with the uneven lighting to provide cover.
Claire cracked two of her smokesticks, flung one across the room and a second towards Élise, then sprinted off. Gunshots greeted her when she passed Élise’s row. One bullet whizzed through her hair to tink into the tank behind, and Claire marvelled at the woman’s accuracy despite the smoke and super speed. At least the glass behind hadn’t shattered.
She stopped before reaching the lit aisle and leaped upward, grabbing the metal top of a cylinder and heaving herself onto it. Claire fought her nausea as she set her feet between thick tubes. Body warmth emanated from the tank under, a subtle reminder of its content. Was this Livia? Was she even here? Claire wished she hadn’t stumbled. She wanted to know where the tubes led and to comb the entire place for her sister. Instead, she had to flee. And her only way out wouldn’t be safe in the slightest—not with Clémence in the main passage, gun at the ready, waiting for her to show up.
Her muscles tensed as she prepared to jump, magic building up in them. If she could leap across the aisle, Clémence might not have a good shot at her. One jump, then she’d dash into the smoke created there and use it as cover while she padded her way to the exit. All she needed was to make this leap.
Claire sprang from her perch as a strange feeling slid into her, like a thick and distant sickness—like a vital part of her suddenly missing. My powe
rs, she realized, but it was too late. Her magical strength vanished before she’d fully launched herself, and she jumped only to flail midair and slam hard into the ground, right in front of Clémence.
She was going to die.
Claire tried to push herself up anyway. If she was meant to die with a bullet to the head, she wouldn’t die waiting for it. A hard boot kicked her belly, and pain snapped through her, sapping away the strength in her arms. She fell back, curling in on herself, her mind cursing her body’s weakness. A second kick stole her breath and left her stunned. Claire stared at the heavy boots and more delicate shoes next to her, wondering how long she had before they put an end to this.
“Kill her,” Élise said. “She heard too much.”
“Only because you talk too much,” Claire retorted, and while she couldn’t believe the words had crossed her mouth, she was instantly proud of them. Why not sass them? They didn’t need to know the terror crushing her insides right now. “Shouldn’t be my problem.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
Clémence tapped the ground with ols heavy boots, but reluctantly pointed ols weapon at Claire. “I could use her for experimentation,” ol said. “Her magic is weak, but she’s our ice witch’s twin. It’s as good a test subject as I’ll get.”
Élise’s eyes narrowed. “You know who she is?”
Claire froze, her throat tightening. The tests terrified her as much as immediate death did, but something here was terribly wrong. How did Clémence know she was Livia’s twin? Did it mean ol had discovered the bakery and the rest of her life? If so, why hadn’t ol destroyed it already? But even disregarding the horrifying prospect of Clémence knowing exactly who Claire was, ols pretense of needing a twin to experiment didn’t work. Clémence would realize they weren’t identical twins, that their family link didn’t matter for science. By now, ol must have understood their magic was nothing alike, either.
Clémence stared briefly at Claire, ols eyes calm and calculating, before turning to Élise. “Not really. I know she’s the first one’s twin, but that’s the extent of it.”
Baker Thief Page 18
