“Do you, now? You must be Capitaine Koyani.” Just like Koyani, she made certain her firm and cutting affirmation would be heard by all. Adèle gritted her teeth and forced herself not to look in her direction—to continue staring at the crowd ahead. The bridge still cast bright light upon it. She hoped Claire would find Livia before this monstrosity could drain too much of her sister away. “I was told to expect a rogue police squad—people who haven’t hesitated to kill Lieutenant Élise Jefferson after she took over their investigation. To think you would ally with witches, too! You, Capitaine Koyani, have no authority to place me under arrest. You have been discharged.”
“She has my authority,” Denise Jalbert declared, stepping forward. When the gouverneure glared at her, she countered with a smile. “You are on my city’s grounds and have perpetrated crimes against my citizens. I trust Capitaine Koyani’s team above all else, and I—”
Thundering hooves interrupted the mairesse, growing closer by the moment. The gathered residents understood what they meant immediately and surged towards the exits, eager to flee, but the Bernéais National Guard blocked their paths. They stood proudly atop their horses, rifles at the ready, their lines cutting off every road leading out the plaza. Adèle’s grip tightened on her pistol. Denise Jalbert had no authority over these soldiers—only the gouverneure did.
If the Spinster realized that, she didn’t show it. She turned to Koyani with a smile. “I did warn you they would bring the cavalry.”
Koyani grinned back. “Right as—”
A gunshot cracked across the plaza, coming from the Pont’s heights, and Yuri gasped. He stumbled back, his grip on the gouverneure slipping as blood flowed out of his side. In the second it took for Adèle’s brain to scream sniper, Koyani dove to catch her man before he hit the ground, and Gouverneure Lacroix dashed away. The attack command followed—”À l’assaut!”—and the national guard rushed forward.
Immense walls of fire burst before them, intercepting their charge and causing the horses to rear. Inha’s calm orders rang even above the screams of citizens and high-pitched neighing, and Adèle struggled with her desire to help fight the police back. They’d predicted all but the sniper, and everyone on the team had their role. She needed to trust that Inha and Marcel could direct the witches with sufficient efficiency to regain control of the plaza. Her job was to grab the stage, unravel the conspiracy, and arrest Gouverneure Lacroix. Yet here she was, standing still on the wooden boards with Denise Jalbert, an obvious target.
“Madame la mairesse, get to cover!”
Adèle spared a moment to check on Koyani, and, once certain her capitaine was carrying Yuri away, she sprinted in the opposite direction, running after the gouverneure. The woman had made a beeline around the scene, avoiding the crowd in favour of the back ways through which Adèle’d sneaked in moments ago. Adèle followed, trying to predict the route, and her stomach twisted. The only person anywhere near their entrance and the gouverneure’s path was Emmanuelle, waiting for her turn in their planned speech. Her sister would never allow the gouverneure to escape without a fight, no matter the risks.
“I’m not letting you through.” Em’s voice echoed down the small alley, firm and confident.
“You’re not? Now that remains to be seen.”
Something in the gouverneure’s tone chilled Adèle to the bone, and her strides lengthened. She could sense the woman’s threat—her absolute certitude that she was escaping safe and sound—and that didn’t bode well for Em. If only Adèle could arrive in time…
A second gunshot rang, and Adèle turned the corner as her sister buckled. She fell to her knees with a moan, and standing behind her, gun smoking, was Élise. Free and smiling. Their gaze met, and Élise shifted her aim immediately. Adèle flung herself back into the building’s cover just in time to avoid the bullet.
“Adèle Duclos, my dear new colleague. I do believe your sister is bleeding to death. Are you really going to stay hidden?”
Despite her quick dash and the frenzied beating of her heart, Adèle felt cold. Ice in her veins and muscles, ice in her mind, slowing her thoughts, allowing only for one: Em was dying. And it froze her in place, her back against the wall, her numb hands around her own firearm. She couldn’t move, couldn’t imagine a solution.
“Took you long enough,” Gouverneure Lacroix said to Élise. “I was starting to worry.”
“Then you’ll want to review your national guard’s efficiency. They hadn’t gotten the message about leaving me in charge and disputed my authority.”
“Heads will roll. Now do your job and silence this. People have already heard too much.”
They needed to hear it all, Adèle added mentally to herself, and Em should have explained the science to them. She couldn’t, not if she died. Adèle gritted her teeth, and her hesitation thawed away. She might not have Claire’s superspeed or the years of experience Koyani boasted, but she knew a few tricks, and she understood human nature. She risked a glance to evaluate the two women’s positions. Élise had moved closer to cover, while the gouverneure was striding over Em, out in the open.
And then she noticed that Em was staring right back at her, eyes open and quite aware. Pain contorted her expression, but as soon as her gaze met Adèle, she nodded. Relief flooded through Adèle, and she flicked a thumbs-up at her sister. Emmanuelle’s hand snapped out, grabbing the gouverneure’s ankle and yanking her off her feet. Lacroix cried out, and Élise reflexively reached out to catch her. As soon as she left her cover, Adèle leaned forward and shot twice. The first bullet hit the wall, but the second touched Élise’s arm and caused her to drop her gun. Without wasting a moment, Adèle stepped entirely out and pulled her trigger again, aiming for Élise’s leg. Her old partner fell to the ground with a yelp of pain, but she immediately stretched towards her firearm. Adèle sprinted, arriving just in time to kick it far, far away from Élise.
“This is over,” she said, pointing her gun at Élise. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
The gouverneure had wriggled back into a sitting position, leaning on the wall, but she didn’t seem of a mind to run again. Perhaps she wasn’t keen on her knee becoming like Élise’s.
“Adèle…” Emmanuelle’s voice was weak, and the red stain at the back of her sky-blue dress worried Adèle, but her sister smiled. “We make a great team. Do you know… how far Zuri is?”
“Not far,” she said, even though she had last been on the other side of the area. She hoped Docteure Adaho had noticed Yuri fall and had run in their direction. The cries from the plaza seemed to have calmed. “Hang in there. Someone will be there soon.”
It ended up taking several painfully long minutes. Adèle wished she could help her sister and apply pressure on the bullet wound in her back, but between the fire burning in Élise’s eyes and the gouverneure’s tense stance she didn’t dare. The moment she relaxed her vigilance, they would jump her and escape—or the gouverneure would, at least. Emmanuelle seemed to understand. She stayed unmoving, her teeth gritted, and at one point muttered something about “not being in shape for her speech.” As time passed, Em was obviously struggling to cling to consciousness, and Adèle could feel her heart shrivelling as her sister slipped away. They had come all this way to save Claire’s sister, and now Adèle risked losing hers? It wasn’t fair, and she couldn’t accept it. When Mairesse Jalbert finally rounded the corner, she snapped, unable to contain the panic rising in her.
“Get Zuri now! Docteure Adaho. Please.”
Denise Jalbert’s gaze went from Adèle to Élise, then the gouverneure and Emmanuelle. She nodded, her wrinkles deepening as she frowned. “Of course. No one is dying today—not Monsieur Osinov, and certainly not Madame Duclos.”
She turned on her heel and left as quickly as she’d arrived. As they fell back into waiting, Adèle could only hope her words would come true.
* * *
Claire clung to the solid metal bars keeping the Pont’s impressive glasswork together. When she’d told
Adèle she would improvise, she hadn’t expected to be climbing the front façade of the Pont des Lumières with Zita holding on for dear life on Claire’s back, her arms wrapped around her neck. But that happened, when your best friend recognized your twin’s signature magic within the Pont after weeks of searching for her.
They had been in the middle of yet another planning session, this time right under the Pont’s shadow, led by Inha and Marcel, who were intent on discussing tactics to keep control of the plaza and how to spread around it, ready to act once things became heated. Claire couldn’t have cared less. She had been staring at the looming structure, trying to decide how to enter, when Zita had pulled her sleeve. “Claire! I can feel her. It’s very faint but I can feel Livia!”
Just a few words, and any pretense of caution Claire had had vanished. “Where? In the Pont?” A nod from Zita. “Do you need to get closer?” Another nod. “Hop on my back, then.”
She had flooded her muscles with magic, and before any of Koyani’s team or the accompanying witches could protest, Claire had dashed for the Pont and started climbing. Darkness had shrouded the entire structure for now, waiting to be lit, and it was the fastest way to reach the estimated location. It might not have been her best decision. Magic compensated for the slim holds and the extra weight of Zita on her back, but already her strength had diminished. She’d only climbed about halfway up the towers.
“Are we close?” she asked, hoping Zita’s Seeking powers would have homed in on Livia.
“No, I—it’s so hard! I’m sorry, I catch hints of her but there’s so many others!”
“Don’t worry. Just—”
Intense light erupted from behind the glass and transformed Claire’s words into a surprised cry. She squeezed her eyes shut at the bright assault, freezing where she hung, well in sight of those below. Zita screamed even louder, her fingers digging holes in Claire’s shoulders, her voice turning hoarse from the high-pitched plea.
“No please stop—it’s too much! I can’t…”
Zita trailed off and her grip loosened. Claire could swear she felt every finger slip one by one, and the pressure from her friend’s legs vanished. Claire released one of her thin holds, twisting over, her heart stuck in her throat as her best friend peeled away, falling. She caught Zita just before she was out of reach, her fingers stabbing into her friend’s darker hand, clinging so tight the skin whitened around their edges. Magic surged through Claire’s muscles, compensating for the shock and extra weight, and she wished she had a power to steady her frenzied heart.
Far below them, policemen lined up, raising weapons in their direction. Claire yelped as the first gunshot rang. A thousand colourful swears crossed her mind, but even alone with the unconscious Zita she couldn’t bring herself to utter them. Her shoulders hunched in a desperate attempt to make herself smaller, Claire braced one boot against the metal railing and kicked hard at the beautiful stained glass. It shattered under her enhanced strength, leaving an opening barely large enough for her and Zita despite their size. Claire pulled her friend up and into a close embrace, her nerves flaring with every new bang from a gun. They would die. She would get hit by a bullet and her fingers would relinquish the too-thin hold and they would fall to their deaths.
Familiar shouts echoed from below. She couldn’t parse the words at this height, but Adèle’s voice went straight to her heart, cradling it reassuringly. She wasn’t alone, not truly. Holding Zita tight, Claire shut her eyes and swung her body through the hole, barely squeezing through. Two sharp blades of pain flared in her forearm and side—the broken glass taking its toll for their passage—then she was on the other side.
Falling.
Her stomach heaved as they plunged downward and she regretted the forceful swing through. Claire twisted her body midair, wrapping her legs and arms around Zita to cushion her as best as she could. Her friend moaned, slowly coming back to her senses. Just in time for the pain, Claire thought. She had a brief glimpse of the scope of the room—wide walls glowing red despite the bright light inside—then they hit the ground. Claire’s breath snapped out of her lungs and sparks flew before her eyes.
For a long moment, everything went black and silent. Claire lost track of time, of everything except the burning in her back and the sharp flare in her chest every time she tried to breathe.
Sounds returned first. Zita’s weeping, to be exact. Claire’s eyes opened but couldn’t focus past the blur of her bright surroundings.
“No, please. There’s so many… Everywhere—I can’t…”
Zita’s voice cracked with every word, interrupted by the occasional sob. Claire shifted her head towards her, and the bulky brown mass of her friend slowly became an actual person in her swimming vision. She was clenching her head, eyes squeezed shut.
“Zita,” Claire croaked. “Zita, what happened?”
Zita turned her ears as if to better listen. “I can… I feel them all.” She gestured at the wide room around them, and it hit Claire.
The red glow. She hadn’t paid it any mind when falling, but now her gaze came into focus, and every gleaming exocore jumped before her eyes. So many. Entire walls embedded with them, one row after another, stretching to the very top then across the ceiling, where they hung like red eyes in the shadows. Had they stolen witches from all across the country? In Tereaus too? There had to be hundreds… and all of them had been brutally awakened when they’d turned on the bridge, leaping into Zita’s consciousness and overwhelming her.
Claire struggled to her knees, wincing at the pain, and crawled to her friend. She squeezed Zita’s shoulder, hoping the firm hand would anchor her.
“I’m here. I’m right here. Zita, listen to me. You can control it. Shut it down.”
Zita answered with a keen moan and leaned into her. Claire wrapped her arms tight around her. This had happened once before, when they were still teenagers. Witches from every quartier had gathered for a quick competition, as they used to before the Meltdown. Zita’s unhoned skills hadn’t handled the massive amount of magic well. She’d panicked, unable to deal with the sudden surge of pain, and—
Just like then, Zita’s head snapped up, as if something had caught her attention. She scrambled up, pushing Claire away, and sprinted straight for the closest door. Her strides were uneven, as if she was drunk, and more than once Claire thought she would fall back to her knees.
“Zita, wait!”
Claire struggled to her feet, the hot pain from her glass cuts almost keeping her down. She gritted her teeth, fighting against the spinning world and the blackening of her vision. Her best friend was stumbling away, panicked and agonized, and Claire had no idea how many soldiers patrolled inside the Pont. They would all be on high alert now, perhaps ready to shoot Zita on sight. Claire couldn’t risk leaving her alone, no matter how much blood was gushing from her wounds. She dashed after Zita through a side door, down a narrow corridor of pristine grey walls, and into a second, much smaller room.
Two very distressing sights awaited her.
First were the three witches held into a vertical apparatus by a translucent film: two masculine figures on the left and right, and stuck between them, Livia. The film also glowed red, giving all three humans a striking and nauseating resemblance to functioning exocores in their sockets. Livia’s cheeks had turned unnaturally thin, as if the device sucked away her physical form as well as her magic power. Claire stared at her sister’s sickly brown skin, the brutally shorn hair, and her bone-thin wrists, unable to move beyond the horror the sight inspired her. All along, she had known what she’d find. She had known what was happening, what they were doing to her, but no amount of preparation could have saved her from the shock. Darkness encroached at the edge of her vision, threatening to overtake her, and she started shaking so hard her legs almost gave in. Claire tore her gaze away from the sight to focus on Zita—the second disturbing element.
Her friend stood next to Clémence, tears streaming down her cheeks, clinging to ol and strugg
ling to breathe. Clémence had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Claire couldn’t tell if it was meant to hold Zita or comfort her. Both, perhaps.
“Let her go,” she growled.
Clémence straightened and snorted. “I’m not restraining her. I’m appeasing her.”
Zita wiped her tears away with a wide gesture and turned to Claire. She managed a slight smile—not the most reassuring expression. “I-I’m sorry. It was just too much. All those exocores… all those witches suddenly flaring to life. Then I felt Clémence, and that perfect sphere of emptiness, and I ran. I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Claire gritted her teeth. It made a lot of sense, and she was glad Zita had found some peace, but she couldn’t bring herself to be relieved Clémence was in the Pont des Lumières, not to mention right next to Livia. “It’s fine, Zita. We should have expected this and avoided bringing you here. This entire building is like a catacomb of exocores. And we know who’s to blame for that.”
If she could have drilled holes in Clémence with a glare, she would have. Zita must have caught her meaning because she stepped aside, away from her old friend. Clémence lifted ols chin, and if ol had any guilt over ols actions, none of it showed.
“Is he safe?” ol asked.
“Of course. We wouldn’t have let them hold a kid hostage just because I hate your face,” Claire said. “Now can you free Livia, or must we have this conversation while this accursed bridge drains away her entire being?”
Clémence clacked ols tongue. “It’s not that simple.”
Claire was upon ol in a flash. A burst of speed carried her into the range of Clémence’s nullifying power, and even without enhanced strength, she grabbed the much-taller Clémence and pushed ol until ol slammed into the closest wall. Zita let out a terrified exclamation and implored her to stop, but Claire didn’t listen. “I don’t care if it’s complicated. We rescued your brother, and you’re going to save my sister. Do whatever it takes. It’s already stretched on too long, and soldiers will be on their way. Do it now.”
Baker Thief Page 29
