“You’re drunk,” she said, trying to buy herself time, to find a way to escape. “Is that how you like to work? Hammered to deal with the lies and corruption you help cover?”
Adèle scoffed, and her weight shifted as she leaned back up. “I’m coming out of a pleasant evening with one of this city’s most upstanding citizens. Someone entirely unlike you.”
The sneer underlying Adèle’s tone hurt more than Claire was willing to admit. Adèle sounded so different from when they chatted every morning. That Adèle worried about the wild cats meowing all night, debating the best option to feed them extensively. Yet now that she was talking to a thief, spite replaced the woman’s compassion. Claire scowled, pushing away memories of the week’s banter. If Adèle could see the thief but not the person, then Claire would force herself to see the officer, and not the woman wearing the uniform. She hated it, but Livia needed her to.
Claire drew upon her powers, imbuing her muscles with sudden strength and speed. She twisted her hips, reaching for Adèle’s arm and tugging her forward. Without magic, she’d have no grip and no angle to put weight behind the move, but with it she surprised Adèle. Two seconds later they’d flipped around, with Claire on top, staring at Adèle’s confused shock.
“I don’t have time for you.” Livia didn’t have time for her, she added mentally. She had to go—what if Clémence fled? Took Livia with her? Every second counted.
Adèle glared at her. “Too many jewels to steal? Too busy depriving people of their wealth and power source?”
A bitter laugh escaped Claire. It hurt that Adèle would think this was about money, even though she had stolen more than exocores specifically to mislead others. The judgment was a punch to her guts, and more than her nerves could endure tonight.
“You have no idea what’s going on!”
Her voice pitched high with anguish. People were kidnapping witches and shoving them into exocores, draining their lives to power the city. Her sister had been taken just a few hours ago. She was here, so close, within reach. But here was Adèle, snarling at her for a handful of necklaces, as if they mattered in this overall mess. Claire’s anger built, and her grip tightened as it did, until Adèle could no longer hide her pain. Her face contorted, and Claire realized she’d been squeezing her harder against the ground, magic still coursing through her muscles. She released her hold.
“I’m sorry, I—”
She stopped herself. She didn’t have to apologize, even if she hadn’t meant to hurt Adèle. Claire pushed away her purple hair, leaning up and gritting her teeth, forcing pride into her shoulders and face. She was doing this for Livia; her motives were good. As her focus widened from Adèle, she discovered they were no longer alone. The stragglers from earlier had gathered on each side of the alleyway, too cautious to come closer but too curious to miss the show. Claire cursed and jumped to her feet, releasing Adèle entirely. Clémence was bound to notice the noise under ols window. Ol might even be in the crowd right now.
Adèle struggled up as fast as her drunken balance allowed, keeping one hand on the wall. Despite the slump in her shoulders, her heavy breathing, and the dirt smearing her white blouse, she managed to look both imposing and incredibly sexy. Or perhaps because of it. Sometimes it was best not to question these things.
“Claire.” Adèle laced her name with anger, bitterness, and disbelief. “If I’m so ignorant, enlighten me.”
Could she? What would happen if she told Adèle about Livia’s disappearance? The exocores? Would she stop chasing Claire and help instead? She wanted to believe it, but she couldn’t know for sure. The way Adèle had hardened earlier, smashing Claire to the ground, full of spite and anger. Claire would trust the Adèle she saw every morning—quick-witted, compassionate, helpful—but that woman was nowhere tonight, all because she was talking to a thief, not a baker. What if Adèle thought the same of witches as she did of criminals? Many believed these two went hand in hand, and police officers had often returned home to join witch-hunting militias. Claire barely knew Adèle, and Livia’s life was hanging in the balance. She couldn’t risk this, nor could she waste time around with witnesses and a police officer. She needed to get out now if it wasn’t too late already.
“I can’t,” she said. “Not now.”
“Then you’re coming with me.”
Adèle lunged for Claire, but the drunken swipe had nothing against her augmented speed. Claire dodged out of the way with ease. She forced a smirk back to her lips, willing the bold, mocking Claire to resurface.
“Sorry to disappoint, Madame l’Officier, but I have other plans. May we meet again!”
With a burst of magic, Claire leaped to a balcony above. Adèle’s enraged cry followed her, and she glimpsed the officer patting at her side as if she had a revolver. Claire climbed to the rooftop in a hurry, her heart speeding as she recalled the close shot Adèle had taken the first time around. Anyone willing to shoot her down like that could not be trusted.
She sprinted off, leaving the area she’d been so eager to investigate, dashing across the relative safety of Val-de-mer’s roofs for a few minutes. She didn’t want to get too far away, knowing she’d need to return and search for Livia. Deep down, Claire suspected Clémence was gone, but she had to check and be sure. What if ol was still there, or even Livia? What if she found clues about their location? She skidded to a stop on a roof near the fortification and sat down, her legs and heart heavy. She could only pray to the nine saints that Adèle hadn’t ruined her best chance of saving Livia. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive her.
* * *
Adèle watched the dark shape vanish over the rooftop, impotent rage coursing through her muscles. She cursed, one loud and heartfelt calisse, before leaning on the wall behind her. Alcohol spun her head and her shoulder throbbed from being thrown to the ground, but her pride hurt more than either of these.
She had been so close.
Fifteen minutes of silent stalking through the streets had given her a golden chance to catch Claire, and she’d wasted it. It confused Adèle that she’d even managed to remain undetected for so long despite her shaky balance, but her target had never once looked back. And while tailing her across Val-de-mer, Adèle had imagined herself bringing Claire in, showing Koyani’s team how she could seize an opportunity and solve cases and savouring the unexpected, blessed victory of securing her position within the team and arresting the thief who’d broken into her home in less than a week. The perfect way to conclude an already successful evening.
“Madame? Madame l’Officier, can I ask you a few questions?”
The question snapped Adèle back to her surroundings. Now that the rush of adrenaline had passed, it became hard to focus under the pleasant throbbing of one-too-many glasses of wine. She turned towards the crowd gathered at the alleyway entrance and her gaze settled on a tall and slim, dark-skinned person with short curly hair, holding a fancy graphite pencil and a notepad. A journalist. Adèle grunted. Bad news, that.
“My name is Nsia Kouna, they/them pronouns, and I work for Le Quotidien du Val. I just witnessed what happened here,” they said, “and I can’t help but wonder: who is this caped person? Are they behind the series of stolen exocores in this neighbourhood?”
Adèle stared at them, silent as her mind slowly registered the questions. She was in no state to engage journalists in a verbal spar. “I’m afraid I can’t answer your enquiries.” She hoped her voice didn’t slur horribly. “I have to go.”
“You seemed quite familiar with her.”
Adèle gritted her teeth. Reporters rarely gave up easily. “I said, no comments.”
“But you do have answers, do you not?” Kouna strode forward, detaching themself from the crowd still eagerly listening in. Curiosity lit their eyes, and in a moment of drunken stupor, Adèle marvelled at how expressive they were. “She called you Adèle—would that be l’officier Adèle Duclos, recently added to the special unit led by Capitaine Koyani? Was your team not just assigned
a new case that concerned the numerous break-ins and stolen goods throughout the city?”
Calisse. This time, she kept the swear inside. How did this journalist know so much? This wasn’t widespread information; they must have done research. Brief panic jolted through Adèle. She met Nsia Kouna’s confident gaze and swallowed hard. Calm down, she berated herself. “I’m off duty,” she repeated, her tone harsh. “No comments.”
She turned heels and started in the other direction, hoping Nsia Kouna wouldn’t pursue her. Koyani hadn’t discussed what her politics related to journalists were, and Adèle knew from experience that the best would be to say as little as possible. Not that the case had progressed much over the last few days. Until she’d caught sight of Claire leaping between roofs, Adèle had had no idea how they could find her. Tonight’s opportunity should have sealed the deal. Claire would be in custody now if not for her unnatural strength. No one magicless could have reversed her grip like this. Adèle tampered her frustration with this new knowledge: Claire had magic. She’d dodged Adèle’s bullet on their first encounter with it, and used it just now to escape again.
The murmur of conversations died behind her as she got farther away, and Adèle focused on this information. Perhaps the possibility should have crossed her mind earlier, but very few witches remained in Val-de-mer. Many had fled when the reactor had exploded, killing hundreds and destroying the Quartier des Épinettes. More than a decade had passed since, but the scars from this event ran deeper in Val-de-mer than anywhere else in the country. Revealing your powers here always carried a risk. People often assumed most witches had gone into exile and congratulated themselves on getting rid of them.
What could have brought Claire here? Or had she always been around, keeping her powers under wraps until necessary? Adèle frowned. How many witches still lived in Val-de-mer, hidden? She’d never stopped to think about it, and now it bothered her. These things shouldn’t have to remain a secret. Citizens should be safe no matter what, but Adèle wasn’t foolish enough to think the police force could or even would protect witches if they needed it. They certainly hadn’t in the past—many officers had helped organize and led the militias hunting down witches. Adèle only hoped none of her new team had done so, or would in the future.
She reached her home and slipped inside with a sigh. Her head throbbed, her inebriated elation destroyed by the encounter, leaving nothing but a fog. How much of Claire’s escape was due to Adèle’s alcohol level? Would she have reacted faster? Been less angry and controlled her words more? But she couldn’t have predicted this encounter, or how it would unfold.
Adèle’s mind kept returning to Claire’s exclamation—you have no idea what’s going on—and the raw emotion in it. In that moment, her smirk and easy banter had vanished, and the fear behind had been a punch in Adèle’s guts. She believed Claire. She shouldn’t, had no reason to, but she did. This case had an extra layer to it, one she couldn’t see yet. That was fine. Digging deeper was part of her job, though she might need help to do it right. That reporter… Adèle wracked her mind for their name. Nsia Kouna. They knew more than expected and might have clues. Afraid she would forget again, Adèle moved into her office and scribbled the name down, using the very birch ink pen Claire had tried to steal. Adèle stared at it, her determination building. She’d get past the surface, to the heart of this case and the key to catching Claire.
-9-
À LA UNE
Claude didn’t remember going through the motions of opening the bakery, yet for the second morning in a row since Livia had disappeared, he was standing behind the counter, greeting customers with a smile. The latter came naturally to him—even on his roughest days, Claude always found the strength to smile—but it was empty. A reflex without meaning or depth, its usual mirth stolen by Livia’s absence. He had returned to the Quartier des Mélèzes the following night, hoping to find a clue, risking detection from journalists, policemen, and residents on high alert. He’d broken into four large manors—just in case—and drained his entire reserve of super speed to search them from top to bottom. But Clémence was gone, and the mansions contained no hint about whether or not Livia had even been there. Claude had almost decided to close shop for the day, but he felt listless and lost. Better to keep himself busy while he tried to figure out the next step. He was rearranging his display for the third time when Adèle entered the bakery for her usual coffee and croissant.
Claude’s smile stiffened.
She hadn’t come on the first day, perhaps nursing her hangover too much for his rich pastries, and he was grateful for it. It was hard not to blame losing track of Clémence on her ill-timed interception. He’d reviewed the night’s events in his mind, over and over, and each time he grew a little angrier at Adèle. Yet when her gaze fell upon him and the crease of worry on her forehead smoothed, giving way to a genuine smile, Claude naturally relaxed. He scolded himself—this was the police officer trying to arrest him, and a smile shouldn’t melt his willpower like this!—but thoughts of an arrest only brought back memories of her strong, lean body pressing against him. His cheeks burning, Claude busied himself with his percolator, eager to hide his sudden flush of desire.
Adèle didn’t come straight to get her order, instead moving to the side counter, where a few stools allowed customers to pause. He didn’t have much of a bistro area—two tables and six chairs near that counter—and he couldn’t afford more space for it, but many enjoyed resting at the counter itself, to read the newspaper or chat with him. Adèle had always preferred the latter, but this morning she reached for the newspaper and started flipping through the pages, examining each of them with great care. He wondered what she was looking for.
“Do you have yesterday’s?” she asked as she neared the end.
“I do. I keep them because customers love the extra-long game section in weekend issues.” He retrieved one of the copies of Le Quotidien du Val from under the counter. “Is something up? You don’t usually read any of them.”
Adèle’s gaze flicked up. “I should have. We often run into journalists during our work, and it’s good to know who writes what.”
Except she was actually browsing the articles, searching for something, sparing titles only a glance before she moved on. Claude would have sworn it was related to the exocores, but he didn’t dare ask. Fear built in the bottom of his stomach, climbing up his throat. Had a reporter spotted him that night? What did they know? Should he look over his shoulder for a tail the next time he crossed the city? Claude moved away from Adèle, towards the back of the counter, and squeezed his eyes shut. Almost two days had passed since Livia’s disappearance, and he still didn’t have a clue what to do.
Adèle closed the Quotidien with a rustle of paper, and Claude straightened in a hurry at the sound. He snatched the ready percolator, serving Adèle’s coffee as if he hadn’t been lost to his slow-building panic moments ago.
“So, how does this morning find you?” she asked, leaning forward.
Numb, anxious, and minus one twin. He silenced the thought before it could cross his lips. He’d considered confiding in Adèle about Livia’s disappearance while omitting details, but any investigation would involve digging into his life—if they even looked into a vanished witch. The moment they discovered his basement or the nature of his powers, however, Adèle would connect him to Claire. Part of him still wanted to tell her everything—for help, and to shove the consequences of her interruption in her face.
“Claude?”
Worry tinted Adèle’s question, and her voice drew him back to reality. He’d been so focused on not either snapping or spilling everything, he’d forgotten to answer at all.
“Good, good,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. You’ve been staring into space.”
He had always been a terrible liar. Livia teased him ceaselessly for it. Or she had, anyway. “I haven’t slept well. Bakery life can be unforgiving.”
He tried to laugh, b
ut even to his ears, his chuckle sounded empty and strained. Claude tapped on the counter briefly, the awkwardness weighing on him, then he hurriedly grabbed a croissant out of the pile and put it on a plate. Adèle sipped her coffee, staring at him over the rim. She set the cup down as he handed her the pastry, and shattered the remnants of his professionalism with a few words.
“Do you want to go out with me?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He stared at her—her long nose, pretty freckles, and beautiful smile—his heart in a frenzy. That was the last thing he’d expected this morning, and he wasn’t ready for the mix of want and stress it brought. She wanted to go out? With him, and his very aromantic ass?
“To talk about it—about what keeps you from sleeping.” She closed her eyes, obviously trying to control the flow of awkward words. Claude stared at her in amazed disbelief. Two nights ago, she had interrupted his best chance at rescuing Livia, and now she was asking for a date. “I’m sorry. Was that too forward? I’m not used to this. It’s my sister. She keeps telling me if I want someone, I need to stop pining and go for it and—”
“You want… me.” Each word came out slowly, weighed by Claude’s doubts. Adèle was hot—undeniably, breathtakingly so—but this would be a mess. How many layers of complications could a night out with her bring? Besides, she wanted a date, not an escapade, and his gut twisted at the idea of romancing Adèle.
“Maybe?” she replied.
A shy smile flitted across her face and sent his heart racing. Claude clenched the counter, struggling to control his feelings. His mouth had gone dry as he considered his situation. He had more at stake than someone misunderstanding his aromanticism. Claude had no desire to get involved with people without being open about his genderfluidity, but if he let Adèle in… Livia was missing, and juggling a nascent relationship, no matter its shape, with the risk of an arrest didn’t sound pleasing.
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