Baker Thief

by Claudie Arseneault

“Don’t worry. I have thicker skin than that.” After she’d tried and failed to stomp the corruption at the backbone of her last police corp, she’d heard worse than the speculations of a small team about their new colleague. “Shall we start, Élise? I can’t wait to dig through these theft reports and see what we can uncover.”

  A slight smile curved Élise’s lips, while Inha laughed again. “Ah, the enthusiasm of newcomers,” the older woman said. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “Words of wisdom from our family’s grandma.”

  Adèle couldn’t tell if Élise was being sarcastic or not. Inha must have thought so, because she gave her a playful shove with a heavy-booted foot. Then she slid down her desk and clapped her hands—a signal the whole team immediately obeyed. They scattered back to their respective desks, all well within earshot, and soon Adèle’s new colleagues had opened their case files and jumped into work. Only Élise remained in front of her.

  “Let’s decide how we approach this, and then you can go fishing for information while I close my other case.”

  There weren’t a billion ways to handle thievery cases, and Claire’s wouldn’t be any different. They settled on a classic strategy to begin: first, they had to sort through and organize what they knew. Make lists of everything she’d stolen and everywhere she’d stolen it from, to see if patterns would emerge. Many thieves weren’t careful and picked targets too close to their homes.

  Élise showed her where they stored large cork boards, then helped her find a map of Val-de-mer. Adèle didn’t waste a moment to start, reading through the victims’ reports and listening to her colleagues’ frequent banter. Those who had to stay at the office chatted as they worked, ate together, and continued their on-and-off conversations in the afternoon. The helpful dynamic Adèle had witnessed during the morning’s reunion never really died, and the team alternated between unravelling cases and discussing their private lives. Yuri recounted his weekend shopping for binders with Marcel while Inha shared her night in the Quartier des Sorbiers’ clubs with her two polyamorous partners, hoping to meet new women. Half the time, Adèle found herself forgetting her work to listen in to the stories. She loved the group’s ease with one another.

  At the end of the day, Adèle’s desk had returned to a more normal state for a detective: it was covered in files to read and scribbled notes. She stared at the mess, then at her map, on which she’d pinned several of the locations Claire had presumably stolen from. These were her weapons—information and her wits. More than the revolver at her belt would ever be. Koyani had called the case hopeless, but only determination filled Adèle. They would find the thread connecting these thefts, and they would arrest Claire.

  -4-

  LES DESSOUS DE MONTRANT

  The factory loomed before Claire, its massive walls blocking out the stars. Grime clung to its bricks, left by decades of harsh winters and dusty summer, and rust half-covered the side entrance’s door. Everything in the Quartier des Épinettes had this rundown look—most street lamps no longer even functioned—but if Claire had walked past this particular building unknowingly, she would never have pegged it as Montrant Industries’ local exocore production factory. She turned to Livia with a frown.

  “Are you certain this is the place?”

  “It’s the right address,” her sister answered with a shrug. “They could have moved, but there’s only one way to find out for sure.” She gestured at the door and grinned, unable to quite hide her excitement.

  Claire snorted. On Livia’s second day in Val-de-mer, while Claude had distractedly prepared coffee and croissants for customers, she’d ensconced herself at the public library, browsing through newspapers and records for everything she could dig out about Montrant Industries. Most of the articles had been published almost two years ago, when the exocores had officially launched, and apart from a couple in Le Quotidien du Val few newspapers bothered to give more than surface information. Mairesse Jalbert had visited one of their factories, however, and journalists had been granted a one-time opportunity to tour the premises. Neither Livia nor Claire had such an authorization, but judging by Livia’s excitement, this only made the excursion better.

  Claire had to admit she would rather have come alone. Standing next to her twin while wearing her mask, purple hair, and heavy black cotton skirts and cape felt weird. Besides, Livia had always been the expressive and noisy one, and Claire would wager stealth would prove difficult tonight. They had found a second piece of cotton to hide her face and Livia had changed from her flowing skirts into more straightforward pants. What a strange turn of events—never had Claire expected to break into a factory with her twin. And yet she suspected things would only get weirder from now on.

  “Ready?” Livia asked.

  When Claire nodded, Livia stretched out her left hand towards the metal door. Ice covered her fingers, reflecting moonlight, then jumped through the air and onto the knob. It crackled as it spread across the surface and slipped into the lock, and the door gave a long, plaintive creak. Claire gritted her teeth as it echoed in the otherwise silent night, hunching her shoulders as though taking up less space could quieten the door. Livia’s hand balled into a fist, and the ice expanded into the lock until it gave in with a final crack. Smiling, she stepped to the door and opened it with a slight shove.

  “Here we go! First obstacle crossed.”

  “I hope no one heard that,” Claire pointed out, before heading into the building. “Let’s not wait to find out.”

  Livia followed with a shrug. “I doubt busting it open with your strength would have been any more discreet.”

  True enough. Whether they’d forced the door with ice or muscles wouldn’t have changed the noise it would have created. They only needed to become more subtle now. Claire gestured for her sister to stay silent as she scanned their surroundings. The back-entrance led into a wide area with several conveyor belts and large machinery. The relative obscurity concealed most details, and she cursed the destroyed street lamps outside. Grime in the windows kept any starlight out of the factory, and they would need their own source to navigate the factory. Nothing to do about that, however. Claire reached into her outfit’s front pouch and slipped a torchlight. She pointed it to the ground before spinning the crank on its side, generating enough power to bring it to life for the next five to ten minutes. Sweat covered her palms by the time she finished, and she wiped them both on her skirt before sweeping the beam around.

  The factory looked bigger than she’d expected, as this area spread over two stories and most of the floor. She spotted an overseer’s office above, across from them, but the huge machines blocked most of their view to the right, towards the entrance. Nothing was moving at the moment, not even clouds of dust, but Claire could easily imagine the place teeming with workers operating the equipment, their conversations buried under the continuous humming and clanking of exocore production.

  “The newspaper’s picture had the mairesse in front of a large, closed off room labelled as the charging station,” Livia said. “We could start there, or we can sift through the papers and hope for a clue.”

  “Do you think… how would they do that? Charging with witches?” Claire hadn’t exactly thought of what she expected to discover here. Would they keep witches prisoner? Did they need to be alive? Her stomach tightened as she tried to imagine the repulsive process—she didn’t want to consider anything remotely close to this. She had forced herself into emotional numbness since finding out about the cores, stalling the horrendous possibilities her mind sought to conjure with the familiarity of her bakery work, but she could no longer maintain that state while standing in Montrant’s factory. Nausea gripped her, and her mask and cape felt hot and stuffy.

  “Can’t wait to find out so I can wreck it into tiny pieces,” Livia answered, deep anger almost turning her voice into a growl. “I want to ice this whole place over.”

  “I’d rather we find who did this and ice them. Let’s check the office first.”


  Claire started off again, careful not to illuminate too far ahead. She stopped every few steps to listen to the surrounding sounds, convinced a security guard would come by sooner or later. The eerie silence troubled her, fraying her nerves further. Shouldn’t the factory be under constant surveillance, considering what they were producing? Why wasn’t every door watched? They couldn’t be that confident no one would find out. Who would take that risk? The longer she and Livia explored, walking around conveyor belts and past large cisterns without interruptions, the more stressed Claire became. Her heart was hammering so loudly she half-expected that to raise the alarm. When they reached the stairs leading to the overseer’s office, Claire sighed in relief. She couldn’t wait for this to be over.

  Livia forced the door open with ice once more, and they stepped into the tiny room. It held a single desk facing the wide window, offering them a diving view of the main area below, a chair on wheels, and a filing cabinet. Dust covered every surface, and the only paper on the desk was a blueprint of the factory.

  “Take the desk. I’ll check the cabinet,” Claire said, striding across the narrow space. Something about this place didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to stay for long. The first drawer resisted her when she pulled, and she let her magic strengthen her arms before trying again. The lock snapped, revealing folder after folder of paperwork to Claire. She grabbed a few and flipped through the papers. Delivery schedules, lists of equipment, suppliers… All utterly fascinating stuff. She scanned it, not too optimistic, until she noticed the dates marked on them. None of these were more recent than the last six months. Had they not had a single delivery since?

  Claire set the papers down, frowning, and moved to the next drawer. This one had employee files! Her heart sped at the thought, and she flipped through the folders eagerly, opening each in turn, checking for the position within the industry, and closing back anyone who wasn’t part of the management team. She didn’t care about the lowest rung—they likely had no idea what they were producing here. But the bosses? Those were the names they sought. Except… none of them seemed to have files here, not even the overseer. Who occupied this office, then?

  “We have any names on who’s in charge here?” she asked Livia. “Anything personal in the desk?”

  Her sister straightened, then shook her head, dismayed. “I’m half-convinced no one’s ever sat here. Everything’s so orderly.”

  “What did the newspaper articles say? Who guided the mairesse and journalists?”

  Livia’s frown deepened as she tried to remember. “It talked about a representative. I’ll check when we get home.”

  Claire shoved the drawer closed, and the sound of it slamming shut spread through the empty factory, an echo of her frustration. She cringed at the loudness of it, then ran a hand over the lower half of her face, slipping her fingers beneath her mask to brush some of the sweat away. “I hate this place, and I’m not spending hours squinting at pointless papers in the dead of night. Let’s see this charging station.”

  Livia checked the factory’s blueprint for its location, and they left the overseer’s office behind. Part of Claire feared they had missed important clues, but she convinced herself they could return if needed, later tonight. She followed her sister as they headed to the right portion of the production area.

  A belt lead straight into the wall in front of them, only to reemerge five metres to the right. Between them was a display area, with several indicators and, in rusted letters above, the words “Zone de chargement”. Despite the bright light on them, Claire couldn’t read what any of the gauges meant. She gave up with an annoyed grunt, instead shifting her attention to the door just beyond the belt’s exit, with the telltale “personnel autorisé seulement” on it.

  “We’re about to authorize ourselves,” Claire said. “I’ll take this one.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She shouldn’t, really. Livia’s magic ran so deep she could draw on it almost endlessly, but Claire’s power was more limited and replenished more slowly. She hadn’t quite recovered from the bursts of speed she’d used to dodge Adèle’s shot two nights ago. At least she wouldn’t need as much energy tonight. With a flicker of thought, Claire infused her muscles with extra strength, grabbed the door’s handle, and pushed. The lock snapped, and this time the echoes bounced off surrounding walls instead of losing themselves in the night’s air. Claire hissed at the loudness of it, and both sisters held very still. Seconds passed. No cries of alarm, no footsteps rushing. Nothing, so much nothing that Claire almost threw the door at arm’s length, just to see if that would provoke a reaction.

  Livia released a breath and ran a nervous hand through her hair. “I want to scream,” she whispered.

  “Same,” Claire said, and she smiled, glad Livia had followed after all, and that she didn’t have to endure the oppressive silence alone. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She strode into the charging room with a grand sweep of the torch, like a detective revealing the last piece of their puzzle, and found… nothing? A handful of empty crates lined the wall, and in the centre stood a single machine, with cables leading in and out of it. The conveyor belt entered on one side and exited on the other, but it didn’t look any different from all the industrial apparatus outside. A few newly charged exocores lay on the exit belt here, too, and Claire reminded herself she needed to steal them. Livia stepped over to it with a frown and placed her hands on each side of the central piece. Claire fought to keep the thousand questions on her lips silent as her sister moved her palms to different portions of the machine. What was she doing? Could she sense anything? Shouldn’t this room be more? Though more what, she would be hard-pressed to say. Livia removed her hands and cast her gaze about.

  “I don’t understand. I can’t feel anyone within it, or in the tubes. Not even something diffuse to help me tell how the energy flows.”

  “Maybe it’s empty because it’s turned off.” Claire didn’t want to turn it on, either. What if it required setting the entire production chain in movement? And wouldn’t it just create more exocores? She refused to sacrifice whoever would get shoved into a gem while they figured it out. Livia drummed her fingers on the conveyor belt while Claire strode to the crates and sat down. She cranked the torchlight again and examined her surroundings once more, hoping for a clue of how to proceed, more than a little discouraged. “We might have to search the entire factory.”

  “No… I don’t think so.”

  Livia scooped up one of the charged exocores from the belt. Determination had replaced confusion in her face, and a satisfied smile curved her lips as she held the core. Claire leaned forward. She’d recognize that expression on her twin any day—Livia wore it every time she won an argument between them. She flipped the exocore up, catching it again with a grin. “This is a fake, Claire. There’s no one in it.”

  “But it glows, and it’s after the charger… Why would—oh. You think it’s all make-believe?” It would explain why the entire factory was empty. Why hire guards when you had nothing to hide? Maybe a single man made rounds every now and then, but any more than that would be money wasted, and Montrant already injected loads of cash into this facility every day. “They’re paying workers and power and rent to run this place, all for a façade? No wonder these things cost a leg and an arm.”

  “It’s handy when you need to give a mayoral tour of your premises, or when journalists want to snap a few pictures of this brand-new product. Too much mystery and everyone tries to unearth your secrets. But this? It’s enough to convince anyone without magic of its realness and keep intruders snooping around satisfied.” She set the exocore down on the belt again. “I wish we hadn’t broken the doors, though. Now they’ll know we came this far.”

  “We wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise,” Claire pointed out. She slid down her crate. “It’s okay. It also explains why the papers in the office were all outdated, and why they don�
�t have any real management. Think it’s worth staying?”

  Livia scanned the room one last time, as if worried she had missed something. “No… We could tour some of it, to be sure, but let’s leave soon after. Then we discuss Plan B around one of your marvellous coffees. I suspect we’ll need a lot of those in the coming days.”

  Claire laughed, less nervous about the sound level now. Even if someone caught them, she and Livia could escape, and they would get nothing more out of this place. It irked her to have run into a dead end immediately, but their investigation had only just started. Considering the lengths Montrant Industries was obviously willing to take to cover up the true nature of exocores, Claire doubted they would fall easily. With Livia by her side, however, she knew they could unravel their lies one by one.

  -5-

  POINT DE CONTACT

  Claude’s simple shirt had felt wrong to wear all day, and the feeling had only worsened now that the sun had set. Nights had been Claire’s long before he had started stealing exocores, and over the last few days his gender had slipped firmly to woman. He had picked up his shirt with embroidery and laced a purple ribbon into his hair—little reminders of femininity that helped him deal with the wrongness brought by male presentation—until he could bust out the skirts again.

  Tonight wasn’t one for stealth and thievery, however. He and Livia couldn’t get to the bottom of this by sneaking into Montrant Industries’ factory, that much was clear now, so they’d chosen their next tactic. They had discussed their options in the early hours before dawn, while Claude rolled and folded the dough for his next batch of croissants. Livia had watched the process with fascination, more than once losing track of her exocore-related plans to ask questions about his technique. The morning’s work had taken twice as long as it should have, but explaining the importance of the butter’s temperature for its incorporation or how the many folded layers became flaky pastry down the line had kept him grounded. They used the mundane as a shield against the horrible and managed to discuss human souls imprisoned in gems for power by a secretive corporation without being overwhelmed by the scope of it all.