At least Em never had to make that sacrifice. Thirteen years ago, she had designed coal chambers twice as efficient as those widespread across the country. Her invention had come two years after the Meltdown Massacre, when Val-de-mer’s magic-powered reactor had exploded, razing the Quartier des Épinettes, killing thousands, and annihilating the city’s main power source. Adèle remembered grabbing a newspaper every morning, trying to follow the chaos propagating through Val-de-mer, worried sick about Emmanuelle. Then the letter had arrived, late in the afternoon: Emmanuelle’s husband, Julien, had been stabbed to death while defending fleeing witches. Adèle had seen Emmanuelle three times since: once for Julien’s funeral, another when Em’s new invention had earned her a national award, three years later, and for a family reunion almost eight years ago. On all occasions, she had seemed exhausted—stretched and thin. As Adèle strode up the slow ramp and to the ornate door, she prayed time had given Em the space to recover.
She used the bronze slammer to announce her arrival, half-expecting a butler to answer, but after a minute she heard the clack-clack of high heels, and Emmanuelle threw the door open. The last five years had metamorphosed her. The long curls once tumbling down to her shins had been snipped and now bounced at shoulder length, while round glasses perched on her nose. Emaciated cheeks had turned round and full while her arms had thickened. Her breasts remained small—almost flat—but she had gained a large belly, giving her a pear shape. The fat enveloped her, cocooned her. Adèle recalled the spindly woman, stretched by stress, grief, and exhaustion, and she thanked the Saints for the change. Em laughed, and Adèle realized she’d been staring in silence, too shocked for words.
“I wish you could see your face!” Em said. “But wow, Adèle, it looks like I changed for the both of us. You’re the exact same.”
“Minus some naive illusions, yes.” The admission slipped out before Adèle could hold it in, and she wished she had kept the subject far from the conversation. Adèle had hit her first solid lead on political corruption a month before Em’s award ceremony and thought she could unravel it all. And she had, only to see her entire operation and case shut down as they prepared to prosecute. “You’re fabulous, Em. Your letters don’t do justice to how much you’re glowing.”
“I’m happy, yes. More than I have been in a long time. And now my little sister lives nearby! Letters aren’t the same.”
“Definitely not.” Adèle grinned and stepped inside, wrapping Em into a hug. “Letters don’t allow that.”
Em squeezed back. She smelled of mint—fresh and sweet all at once. Adèle probably stank of sweat and coal and stress. But that had always been the case with them: Adèle in pants and dirt, Emmanuelle in lush dresses and perfume. Even today, despite Adèle’s efforts to pretty up, Em outclassed her. She wore a gorgeous yellow robe with delicate white laces, with a simple and elegant cut. Gold ribbons twirled among her curls, tying part of them back to keep the hair out of her face. Adèle admired her talent. With the right outfit and make-up, Em always managed to shine.
Emmanuelle clasped Adèle’s hand and pulled her out of the entrance hall and into a small vestibule. Tall windows allowed the slanted light of the setting sun, casting a warm glow on two pristine, wide armchairs. They flanked a low table of forged iron, and large potted plants completed the scenery. Two orange cats had piled atop one another in one of the two armchairs, and Adèle smiled; Sol and Gaia still didn’t miss an opportunity to laze in the light. Emmanuelle didn’t need much more in decoration: the mouldings around every frame and crossing the room halfway were all intricately carved and provided the place with the extra touch that made it beautiful. Emmanuelle always managed to balance her taste for complex and sometimes overbearing motifs with a room’s or outfit’s needs of simplicity.
“I should have you decorate my flat,” Adèle said, knowing full well she preferred it as it was: barren, save for a few items.
“As if you’d let me hang a single painting on your walls.”
They laughed. Emmanuelle displaced her two cats to settle into their chair, inviting Adèle to do the same. Sol left the room, but Gaia jumped back on Em’s knees the moment she could. While her sister petted the fluffy orange cat, their chatter moved to the latest details of Em’s scientific life. There had been an important energy conference in Val-de-mer over the last week, with a large focus on renewable, witch-independent technologies. Apparently, speculation about the exocores’ fabrication methods ran wild through the community.
“We’re like teenagers with an incomplete bit of gossip,” Em said. “Everyone wants to discover the rest, but we don’t even know who’s the genius behind the tech! The brevêt is under Jean Tremblay—not a name anyone in our community bears, and as fake as they come if you ask me. Besides, no teams have published anything like it. These things just appeared on the market, proper papers all filed in, and now Montrant Industries are cashing in, their secret held tight.”
“Jealous?”
Em laughed at Adèle’s teasing. “Curious, more like, and a little nostalgic. My name is no longer enough to keep our team’s funding intact. They don’t care how many breakthroughs we make: my tech would first require witches to collaborate, and no one wants anything to do with magic anymore, even if it’s emulating it. But without it, I have no idea how we could catch sunlight!”
Catch sunlight. Adèle smiled; what a beautiful thought, yet it seemed ridiculously impossible. What even was sunlight? It shone down on them and kept their planet warm, an invisible force they could neither deny nor explain. Like magic, really.
“A gearhead like you? You’ll find a way.”
“I know.” Em grinned. “I have all it takes: a cool head, a good method, and the right spark of imagination.”
“Don’t forget the Duclos’ legendary stubbornness!”
Em laughed again, and Adèle joined in. Her sister’s easy happiness was contagious, washing away the week’s hardships and the tight knots they’d left in Adèle’s neck and shoulders. She’d missed family reunions, with the warmth and inner peace they often brought. The six Duclos siblings rarely fought, and while Em’s motherly nagging sometimes annoyed Adèle she wouldn’t trade her sister for anything in the world. They were lucky everyone got along so well. What a shame they hadn’t bothered to gather in years.
“I’ve missed you, Em. We ought to write the rest of the family and hold a bigger party. Something grand. You have the room to house everyone, don’t you?”
“Them and a whole other family, if need be! Have you seen the size of this house?” She threw her arms up. “I hire students from the Académie to clean with me. This helps pay their bills, and I get to talk about science I’m not immersed in all the time!”
“Oh, so that’s why you insisted I should live here. It has nothing to do with the house being empty. You just want hands for the dirty work!”
Em laughed and gave Adèle a little shove. “I would never. I miss family, is all. You’re right about seeing each other more. Even six cats can’t make up for all of you.”
They moved into the dining room, and it was all Adèle could do not to gasp. The massive table could have held fifteen, and heavy wooden chairs flanked it, with soft red cushions. A large chandelier occupied one end, shedding bright light on their silverware. And amidst all that luxury, in a big iron pot, the most traditional of their mother’s meals.
“Tourtière!” Adèle exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t eaten any in… I don’t even know how long!”
“I figured,” Em said, grinning, “so I wrote Mom and asked her the recipe. What you have here, my dear Adèle, is my first attempt at a Duclos tourtière, as per traditions handed down through our ancestors by the Lac.”
“It looks delicious. I can’t wait to taste it!”
“Then don’t.”
Adèle hurried to the table, and within minutes she had two spoonfuls on her plate. Three types of shredded meat had stewed with small potatoes and spices for hours, all wrapped in
a delectable crust. She breathed in the greasy, homey scent before reaching for the sweetened canned beets and tomatoes and pouring a ton on a corner of her plate. Emmanuelle laughed at the heavy addition—she never put anything on her tourtière, going as far as calling them contaminants. With the delicious meal came a red wine so deep it seemed to absorb the candlelight. Adèle had no doubts about its quality.
Adèle dove into her plate. After the quick and cheap meals she’d eaten all week, this dinner was an explosion of flavours and memories. She relished each bite of the sweet beets mixed with the salty goodness of the tourtière, and for a moment her conversation with Em gave way to food and wine.
When they restarted it, they talked of their youth growing up around the Lac Saint-Damase—of their moms’ small house on its bank and the first spring dip in its cold water, of David’s wooden cabin in the great oak tree, of picking up blueberries in the fall, along with the one time Adèle had devoured so much she’d been sick. One memory led to another, until they’d retold every classic family story in the repertoire, laughed at the endless antics of six children in the same house, and drank almost two bottles of wine. Adèle had no idea what time it was or if she could take two steps without falling, and she didn’t care. A happy buzz covered her thoughts, erasing the stress of the last few days.
Em brought it all back in a single question.
“But enough of the past. How has the city been treating you?”
Heaviness crashed back on Adèle’s shoulders. She grimaced, inebriated enough not to try to hide her pain. “Badly.” She sighed, filled her glass with the last of the bottle, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Some purple-haired thief broke into my flat the night before I started working and stole my exocore. Couldn’t stop her, even though I had my firearm pointed at her, and now some high-placed chump wants her in jail. She’s landed my first special case—but only as a colleague’s shadow.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? You’ve seen her. Won’t it make finding her easier?”
“She had a mask. Unless someone’s parading in lilac hair around Val-de-mer, it won’t help me much. Thievery cases are the hardest because of how little clues they leave behind, and if I fail this one, they’ll shove me back into a mouldy underground office with a shitty job.” Thinking of it clenched her stomach. Proving her worth to Koyani’s team stressed her; she had never desired a position so hard in her life. “I can’t lose this new job. It’s everything I dreamed police work would be! This unit knows the meaning of teamwork. They trust and respect each other, and they wanted me to join.” She flattened her hand on the table, staring at it with an intensity born of the high volume of wine consumed. “I can’t let them down.”
“You’ll do great. It’s not even your case, Adèle. Breathe deeply, calm down, and contribute however you can. Besides, if thieves are so hard to jail, they’ll understand if it takes time, no?”
“They might.” Adèle avoided looking Em’s way. Her sister was already trying to cushion her potential future fall—to break the pressure Adèle was putting on this particular case. “I don’t want them to have to.”
“Adèle…”
“Have you ever been to Croissant-toi?” That was the least subtle change of subject in existence, but Adèle didn’t care. She knew the lecture that would come—about putting too much pressure on herself, or too much weight on a single event. Em thought it was unhealthy behaviour, but she’d already made her name and fortune. That single event had happened for her, and she no longer needed recognition from her peers. “It’s a nice bakery near my flat.”
“We weren’t talking about—”
“With an even nicer baker,” Adèle continued, pushing the topic firmly into a territory that would catch her sister’s attention.
“Oh?” Em perked up, a knowing smile spreading on her lips. “How nice?”
Adèle would regret this maneuver. Em loved romantic gossip too much to let Adèle hear the end of it anytime soon. But, well, Adèle had clung to fresh croissants, hot coffee, and friendly talk all week. Claude’s tranquil warmth was an oasis of calm in her rough days—a feeling Adèle already cherished. She would be a fool to deny she’d love to know him better, maybe even start something with him. Thinking of all the ways it could go wrong dropped stones at the bottom of her stomach, and she tapped the table with her fingers to pass some of the discomfort.
“His name is Claude. He’s peaceful and kind. Always has my coffee ready in the morning and listens to me ramble. I know I’m a customer, but he treats me like an old friend—like my coming to the bakery is a personal pleasure to him, too.”
Em clapped her hand, and Adèle suspected she’d fought her desire to squee. “Maybe it is personal. You’re cute and bright and entertaining! He ought to see that.”
In addition to cute, bright, and entertaining, Adèle turned a deep shade of red at the idea’s Claude’s kindness could hide more. Had he noticed her? Claude treated everyone with the same care. Part of his job, and part of who he was. Surely Em was getting ahead of herself and imagining things. Adèle cast her gaze about, looking for another convenient topic change, and spotted a calico cat slinking through the room. Its fur was extremely short and wavy, and Adèle didn’t remember ever seeing it around.
“Who’s the new cat?”
“That’s Aurora. She’s very friendly and petting her feels like suede, but she’s nowhere near as interesting as your baker. You should ask him out.”
“Aurora, you said?” Adèle replied while her mind all but panicked at the idea of asking Claude out. They barely knew each other! She grabbed her glass of wine and downed it, hoping to camouflage part of her intense flush. Emmanuelle was not so easily duped.
“You heard me, Adèle Duclos, and I won’t let Aurora be your distraction.” Em grinned from across the table, cocking her head to the side. “Why not, really? Go on a date. It’ll be fun, you’ll get to know him elsewhere than at work, and it could evolve into more! Who knows, you might even add sexy to his list of qualities after a while.”
“One can hope.”
Em laughed at her answer and Adèle cursed herself. She hadn’t meant to imply she was that interested. She was, but did Em need to be encouraged? Hell no. Besides, Claude might never draw any flutter of desire from her. He had a beautiful smile and laugh, and was easy on the eye, but her mind balked at the idea of kisses or more this early on. They hadn’t known each other all that long, though, and she was demisexual. Strangers did not raise goosebumps across her arms, or send her heart hammering with want. When it happened to her, it was with people she felt deeply connected with, and was wrapped in a need for a new kind of intimacy. Even without that attraction, however, her romantic interest in Claude was undeniable.
One look at Em’s insistent stare warned Adèle her sister demanded more than a vague agreement and wouldn’t let go until she had a concrete promise. Adèle clacked her tongue.
“All right. I’ll set something up with him and investigate. Happy now?”
Em clapped her hands. “Sure am! It’ll be good for you. You can let off some steam from your work.”
Adèle wondered if she would be exchanging one type of stress for another but pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to rush Claude and would pick something casual, from which either of them could escape with ease. It’d be great: fun and simple. Exactly what she needed these days.
With a slight smile, Adèle raised her glass of wine. “To my future date, then.”
Em clinked her glass to Adèle’s. “May Claude the Baker prove worthy of your attention.”
They drank to that, the last of Adèle’s wine joining the rest of the alcohol in the pit of her stomach and the heady spin of her mind. Walking home tonight promised to be its own adventure.
-7-
UNE FRACTURE DANS LA GLACE
Claude sped through Val-de-mer’s streets, his muscles screaming as he pushed his vélocycle to new extremes, boosting himself with magic whenever he climbed steep hi
lls. He cursed the old lady who had hung around his shop way past closing time, and his generally wonky sleep schedule. Between his illegal thievery at night and the bakery from dawn to mid-afternoon, Claude didn’t have a lot of time to rest. He often counted himself lucky to have five full hours of sleep. Today, he’d meant to cut it even shorter in order to make the rendezvous with Clémence and Livia, and instead he had snoozed right past the time.
He’d be late no matter how much he sprinted, but he hoped to catch the tail end of their conversation. At least Livia would have spent another day investigating Montrant and talking to witches while he ran the shop. She’d be well equipped to question Clémence about the disappearances. Yet Val-de-mer was Claude’s home, and he’d touched dozens of exocores. This was his fight, too, and they would always be better together.
He rounded the last corner, releasing his magic as he turned onto the rue Saint-Agathe, in the Quartier des Mélèzes. The smooth lane sloped down then circled around a park filled with lilac trees and the quartier’s great larch, its Soul Tree, towering above them. The soft scent of lilacs already drifted up to Claude, calming him. Far behind, slightly on his right, the Pont des Lumières loomed over the city’s roofs. No lights illuminated the massive frame, belying its name and leaving nothing but a black shape against a dark sky.
Claude preferred it this way. A wide tower rose above the bridge on this side of the Bernan-Tereaus Détroit, with intricate glasswork at its center, and would one day spread its light on the water below. They’d promised lamps along the entire frame—a brilliant monument to the most recent advances in power technology: exocores. The whole Pont des Lumières was meant to be powered by hundreds of cores, and the thought of it shining in the night sickened Claude. They had two weeks left before the grand opening. He and Livia needed to get to the bottom of Montrant’s machinations before hundreds of souls burned for so-called progress.
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