Baker Thief

by Claudie Arseneault

  “I can, I have, and I will again.” Élise shrugged, as if none of her previous actions mattered. “Starting with Emmanuelle Duclos, but leaving no one alone.”

  Zita flinched. “Claire is… she owns—”

  “Paddlefish, enough.” Koyani’s commanding voice cut her off. More softly, she added, “It’s okay. You can do this. Hold it in. Élise’s word isn’t worth shit. Just remember what I asked earlier and ignore her.”

  Zita bit her lower lip. Her gaze shifted from Koyani to Adèle, seeking permission. Asking silently if she could let the threat on Emmanuelle go unanswered.

  “You don’t have to talk,” Adèle said. The words burned her tongue and heart, but she allowed them out nonetheless. She had to trust her sister to protect herself.

  Élise stared at each of them in turn, her discontent obvious. Her gaze lingered longer on Koyani, frustration shining in her blue eyes, along with… envy? She must realize she could never exercise the same pull as their capitaine, even with an official sanction from the higher ups.

  “Too bad,” Élise declared. She gripped the door, ready to slam it shut.

  Zita’s head perked up. A slight movement—eyes widening, lips parting in surprise—and Koyani picked up on it. The moment Élise’s position shifted the revolver away from her, she sprung into action, leaping from her seat.

  The gunshot rang loudly in the carriage’s cramped space, and their ride rocked hard before Adèle could get a sense of what was happening. There had been a metallic ring and a flash of red—the bullet hitting Koyani—then the capitaine crashed outside with Élise, landing heavily in the gravel. Adèle leaped up, her heart pounding.

  “The sleep witch!” Zita called as an explanation, scrambling up as Adèle jumped out.

  A policeman almost fell on top of her, sliding off the top of the carriage. Knocked out? Adèle raised both cuffed hands over her right shoulder and motioned for Zita to stay inside as she tried to get her bearings. Quick orders from police officers preceded a salvo of shots—not as many as there should have been, considering their escort. A brief scan of the area revealed several police officers had slumped to the ground, snoozing. Two of those left promptly set each other back-to-back, moving towards cover. They managed three steps before they stumbled and fell, asleep like the others.

  “And two more down!”

  Marcel’s high-pitched voice was the sweetest thing she had heard in… well, an hour at most. Claire’s “kiss me” might forever hold that title, even though the continuous banter of Koyani’s team was its own blessing.

  “There’s no point in a competition with you,” Inha called back. “You don’t even need to aim!”

  Marcel tsked. “Don’t be a sore loser, friend.”

  With a tired smile, Adèle refocused her attention on Élise and Koyani, still struggling on the ground. The capitaine was losing, stuck under the other woman, unable to wriggle free. A red stain spread across her shoulder above the prosthetic, growing as they fought. Élise punched her hard, twice, unleashing some pent-up frustration. Adèle dashed in before she could land a third, barrelling into Élise. Pain flared back to life in Adèle’s stomach as they hit the dirt, and Élise dug an elbow right into her gunshot wound. Adèle’s vision blanked at the sudden agony. She felt the scream rip out of her mouth but never heard it under the ringing of her ears. When her sight returned, she found herself once more staring at the barrel of a gun. Élise wasn’t looking at her, however, but at Koyani, half-standing and obviously about to spring back into the fight.

  “One move and your beloved recruit is dead,” Élise threatened.

  Well. Calisse. The last thing Adèle had wanted was to become the hostage. She gritted her teeth and turned her head, ignoring the increase of ringing pain that created. Gunshots no longer echoed around the nearby building, signalling the end of the battle. Yuri and Inha stepped around the carriage, and their respective pride transformed into uneasy shock when they witnessed the scene. Zita scrambled to Koyani’s side, equally horrified.

  Only Marcel didn’t seem fazed. He exhaled a dramatic sigh and placed fingers on his cheek. “Élise, darling. That’s not going to get you anywhere.”

  “To Hell, maybe,” Inha said.

  Élise snorted. Adèle’s stomach squeezed and she prayed to Val-de-mer’s nine saints and God above them. Air barely made it through the mucus in her throat, but she wanted to keep breathing, damnit.

  “This is your last chance,” Marcel warned.

  “Until what?” She scoffed again. “None of you are in a position to threaten me unless you want Adèle to die. I don’t know how you found us, but this is over. This case is closed, this unit will be dismantled, and no one will ever… hear of…” A slight frown marred her delicate features, and she crumpled without finishing her sentence, landing on Adèle’s right.

  “Until that,” Marcel answered.

  Zita whooped and rushed to Koyani, insisting on supporting her. The stain on her shoulders continued to expand but Koyani ignored it. “Good job, Marcel.”

  He saluted with a flourish while Adèle pushed herself back into a sitting position. When Inha’s strong arms helped her up, Adèle leaned against the other woman without complaint. Her head spun from pain, exhaustion, and lack of oxygen, and she was glad for a colleague’s support. “So… Marcel’s a witch.” It sounded like an obvious conclusion, but right now Adèle needed to voice things to make them tangible.

  “Aah, yes, I do believe my little secret is out,” he said. “One could say the capitaine and myself have been sleeping on this one for years.”

  Collective groans followed his declaration, but Adèle only grinned. She’d been convinced she’d never hear another of Marcel’s bad puns again, and she couldn’t resent this particular one. Marcel’s power also reassured her about the group’s stance regarding exocores and witches. “How did you know to rescue us?”

  “Two things,” Inha said.

  “Nsia Kouna tipped me off, for a start.” Yuri turned to their capitaine. “I returned to them and confirmed your suspicions about Élise’s interrogation. She focused on the warehouse and Claire, disregarding orders to get Nsia Kouna to cooperate on Montrant Industries. Not that successfully doing the latter was easy. They rightfully didn’t trust Élise and extended that attitude to me and most of the team. I couldn’t draw anything out of them, except that yes, Montrant Industries was up to no good.”

  “We found a package at their private house, however,” Marcel said. “A paper trail of Montrant’s involvement in exocores. Many tiny elements spread over the years. And the last ones…”

  “They had our friend’s name on it,” Inha completed. “Sometimes in covert words, sometimes her handwriting. Nothing direct, but she’s so close to us—”

  Where Marcel’s voice had trailed off, Inha’s cut off, the wound still fresh. She glared at the unconscious girl at her feet, anger and anguish mixing in her expression. Marcel ran uneasy fingers through his hair, so pale he looked nauseated. They had all worked with Élise for years and finding out she’d betrayed them had to be difficult. Yuri crossed his arms, and when he spoke, his tone was steadier than his two colleagues’.

  “While one could say we’ve never understood Élise at all, we do know her. We collaborated for years. We barely debated whether they were authentic papers. We’ve watched her unravel cases, follow leads, tease out truths and answers from complex crimes. We’ve learned how she thinks, where she’d hide clues, how her mind functions. These papers… they rang true, somehow. I showed part of them to Nsia Kouna, and they opened up. They’ve been tracking the money to magistrates and political figures, all the way up to Gouverneure Lacroix. This is big, and the purpose her reinforcements would serve became obvious. We moved out.”

  Koyani smiled. “As efficient as ever. We have our work cut out for us. Where is Mx. Kouna?”

  Yuri rolled his eyes. “Probably listening in from behind the carriage, thinking they’re subtle.”

  “Well, now. I�
�m certain no one except you noticed!” came the answer, and Adèle had to repress a laugh. She hadn’t, but with the messy state she was in, she shouldn’t count. Nsia Kouna strode around the jail carriage, notebook and pen in hand. “I’m sure you will excuse my nosiness, considering how it has served you thus far.”

  “Forgiven,” Koyani said. “We’ll have some choice scoops for you, but I’d like to discuss when and how you publish them. I don’t want Montrant catching on about how far we’ve dug sooner than necessary. It could stop us from reaching the top of this chain.”

  “I understand. Capitaine Koyani, I know what these exocores are. I value hundreds of lives over a good scoop, believe me.”

  “We’re bound to get along, then!” Koyani replied with forced cheerfulness. “First, we need somewhere to settle down and work from. We’ll build our case out of sight and present it to the mairesse once we’re solid—you didn’t have any dirt on her, did you?”

  Kouna shook their head. “You can never be sure, but nothing leads me to believe the Spinster is involved.”

  “Good. I trust her. She forced the creation of my unit, and I think that means she wants people to clean up corrupted messes when they find them.” Koyani rubbed her face, as if trying to push away the exhaustion slowly weighing down on her. How much did her shoulder hurt? “I suspect they’ll break the portal magic leading to the labs, so we might never have that as proof, but I’m certain we can dig up more.”

  Silence stretched between the team as their resolve formed. Several of them glanced at Élise, sleeping in the middle of their circle, and after a moment, Inha searched her for the handcuff keys. They stood still as she freed Koyani, Zita, and Adèle. Despite the shade cast by the carriage and the surrounding buildings, the street was hot and stuffy, and Adèle could feel her skull buzzing. “Capitaine, the docteure who cared for my bullet wound could heal yours, too. My sister has many rooms in her manor, and she’s already housing the witches I freed from the warehouse. Zita can lead the way if you don’t remember the address.”

  “With great pleasure!” Zita said, before grabbing Koyani’s forearm. “You have to get your shoulder seen to. You were shot! I’m sure that hurts a lot.”

  Koyani managed a smile. “It does, yes. I assume that, if you are not guiding us, Adèle, it is because you intend to join with the last person in the know?”

  “I-I do.” She shouldn’t be surprised Koyani had caught on to her goals immediately. Now that the team had Élise under control and somewhere to go, Adèle found herself thinking of Claire and the Croissant-toi more and more. “I need to know she’s okay, and I need to tell her I am.”

  Zita emitted a half-restrained squeal then clamped both hands over her mouth. Koyani rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Paddlefish. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it in due time. Good luck, Adèle.”

  “Thank you.” Adèle cast the group another long look, half-expecting one of them to protest, then turned heels and left. The first few steps demanded a lot of energy, but the farther Adèle walked from the team, the lengthier her strides became. A tiny part of her wanted to stay behind and work with the others as they unravelled her case, but her desire to see Claire took precedence over all. A strange pain gripped her chest, fear slowly bubbling up as she made her way through the city. What if she said the wrong thing and hurt Claire? She was a mess, her nerves frayed by the terrible week, and she doubted Claire would be in a better state, especially now. The memory of blood stains at the bottom of the elevator surged to the forefront of Adèle’s mind, and she quickened her pace.

  The Croissant-toi had been her safe place ever since she’d moved to Val-de-mer, and she couldn’t wait to reach it, sit down with Claire, and recover from the last days.

  -25-

  PARTENAIRES

  Claude stared at the bloodstain on his bedsheets and the occasional drops across his floor. He’d tried to bandage the bullet wounds before his quick nap but his skills in the area left something to be desired. Even on someone else, he’d have botched the job, but on himself? Disastrous. Blood loss turned him almost as light-headed now as he’d been when crashing down earlier. With a weary sigh, Claude slid out of bed, struggling to muster the strength to fight the underlying nausea, remain standing, clean his bandages and redo them.

  His feet dragged him to the bathroom. He had no idea what time it was—his sleep schedule had been thrown to the winds, and he hurt from wounds, exhaustion, and excessive magic. He’d used too much, leaving himself empty, a husk whose limbs felt distant and heavy, almost detached from his body. A dull buzz rang through the base of his skull, slowing all thoughts, and when he moved his head, it was as if the world waited a split moment to shift—as if his vision didn’t quite keep up with the rest of him. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall, unconvinced he’d notice himself stumbling fast enough not to fall.

  Claude’s first-aid kit had remained opened on the floor of his bathroom. With a weary sigh, he started putting it back together. His stomach rumbled in a low protest. Food. Right. He should eat too. Later, after this—after tending to his bandages. One thing at a time, he chided himself, or he would never finish any of them. His hand hovered above the kit as he tried to remember what should go next, but his thoughts kept slipping away—sometimes to the labs, the tanks, Clémence or Adèle, and sometimes to sweet oblivion.

  Loud knocks on a widow snapped him out of the reverie. A customer? They did that a lot, hammering despite the Fermé sign, but no. This came from another window, at the back, one you had to scale the tiny backyard fence to reach. Police wouldn’t warn either, or at least they wouldn’t wait after knocking. Except one. One police woman definitely would.

  A surge of adrenaline and anxiety rushed through Claude. She’d done it. She had escaped Élise, and marched straight to the Croissant-toi. The ground spun under him and Claude set his hands flat on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut until the bout of dizziness passed. He’d thought he’d have more time, that he’d be rested and fed and a little better equipped to deal with this, but no such luck. Better that than Adèle remaining in handcuffs, however.

  Claude struggled to his feet, paused to make sure his blood pressure wouldn’t crash, then slunk out of the bathroom and towards the back door. His familiar home felt so strange, distorted by his nausea and fatigue. He stopped once more with his fingers wrapped around the knob, the metal cold against his feverish skin. His chest hurt, but not in the same fashion his arm and leg did—these burned and throbbed, whereas his heart constricted from hope and fear. They had come such a long way.

  “Please.”

  Adèle’s voice was so soft the door almost muffled her word completely. Claude heard, however, and it sent a jolt of courage through him. In a slow, shaky movement, he turned the knob, pulled the door open, and stepped back.

  She stayed in the doorway, staring at him, her expression schooled into a fragile calm. Claude had to wonder what she saw—what she thought of him. He stood there, in the middle of his dimly lit room, shoulders hunched from the exhaustion. The loose shirt on his back didn’t conceal his unbound breasts and blood stained the sleeves. Sweat and grime had turned his hair into a heavy tangle, and he’d caught sight of streaks of purple in them—leftovers from the last days’ magic. What a mess. His gender presentation had scattered to the high winds, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

  Adèle had seen better times, too. Her uniform sported several new tears, and stains and dark circles hung under her eyes. She studied him for a second or two, and these seemed to stretch into eternity. Then their gazes met, and her mask fell. She closed the gap between them and cupped his cheek in her hand, pulling him close.

  The gentleness of her movement shattered his last barriers. He didn’t have the strength to keep himself together anymore, to ignore the cumulative burdens of his magic drain, imprisonment, wounds, and the emotional vulnerability of letting Adèle in, of trusting someone else so completely with himself. He crumpled into her arms, and she caught
him, holding him firm as he sobbed against her.

  She said nothing, just tightened her grip every now and then, giving him the space he needed to piece some elementary thoughts together.

  “Welcome to the Croissant-toi,” he whispered. “I’m afraid it lacks coffee at the moment.”

  “I’ll survive.” She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging a little to unravel its tangles. Claude closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation, and in her warmth so close. Adèle squeezed him. “I’m glad you’re here. And I imagine you’d like to talk… about us, and you, and the last few days, but I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re frazzled like this. Have you eaten? Slept? I can fix your bandages. How wounded are you?”

  “Quite.” Inside and outside, Claude added mentally. But Adèle wanted him to recover. He had time to find his words and stability—to just feel more like himself. “Bullets grazed me. A lot. I’m bad with… healing stuff. Docteure Adaho fixed you, not me.”

  “Then let me fix you,” Adèle offered, before leaning back to meet his gaze. “Just… Should I call you Claude or…?”

  “Please.” He forced a smile out to reassure her. “I’m genderfluid. Claude is good at the moment.”

  “All right. That’s all I need to know for now. Everything else can wait until you feel better. Sounds good?”

  It sounded wonderful. Claude nodded, and her lips curved into a gentle expression that sent his heart hammering and his blood boiling. She’d always been beautiful, and now her kindness wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

  “Good. You stay put, and I’ll gather everything. I’ll let you know if I need you to hold anything for me. We’ll be a team—a real one, now.”

  A team. Claude’s eyes watered at the thought, and he managed a weak nod. He settled down on the nearest couch while she went to the bathroom, to get his first-aid kit still sprawled there. Soon he found himself holding gauze, scissors, and other bandage implements while Adèle disinfected and cleaned his wounds, her deft hands working in soft and firm movements. How strange, to have someone care for him wordlessly, tending to every little woe. Adèle’s presence allowed him to relax. She built a shield around him, the unspoken promise like a barrier against future fights. They were a team. They might need to talk, but she would never let him down.