“None of them had been beaten after their capture, and apart from Celosia, they managed to keep their magic in check and avoid the witch cuffs’ punishment,” Em said. “Food was minimal, however, and they didn’t know what their purpose was. We don’t think it’s safe for them to go back to their families and friends, so they’ll stay here until we figure out better. I’ll be buying more food and clothes this afternoon.”
“Good. I agree. Whoever found them once could do it again.” Montrant had more resources than a local company should have, if they could pay for so many witch cuffs and kidnap people without anyone noticing. Did the exocores bring in that much money, or did they have outside sources that predated their quick economic rise? The questions floated in her head, but no trace of answers showed up. Adèle set her spoon down with a sigh. Her sluggish mind couldn’t analyze properly at the moment. “I need more sleep. I’ll never figure it out in my current state. I can’t even add one and one.”
“You do that. I might, too.” Her sister stifled a yawn, and Adèle suddenly noticed the bags under her eyes and the slump in her shoulders. Em gathered the leftover porridge and empty glass on her tray and headed for the door. She stopped before leaving. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Someone has to.”
And that was Adèle’s job, wasn’t it? To solve the cases everyone avoided, because someone had to. With Claire’s case turning into Montrant Industries’—the rising star of Val-de-mer’s and even the country’s energy technology sector—this would become truer than ever before. Even Élise hadn’t wanted to push this, but what choice would they have now? Someone had tried to kill Adèle and people had been kidnapped. She would need to send word to Koyani about what had happened and at least let them know she was safe. But as Adèle struggled to figure out what else to say—what mattered, truly, in the confusing string of events—her migraine returned in full force. She closed her eyes to focus, and sleep claimed her immediately.
-17-
ET TOMBENT LES MASQUES
Huge, bright red blisters covered Claire’s palms, and she wondered if she’d ever manage to hold something again. A tad overdramatic, perhaps, but damn did it hurt. Even with Zuri’s quick healing, her hands throbbed and every movement shot searing pain up her arms. No baking today, for sure. Or tomorrow. At first, she’d thought not to return to Zuri, but since the doctor’s protective cocoon had vanished, she had barely been able to function. She’d stayed in bed for the whole day, emerging from her cave only as the sun set once more. As worrying as entering Em’s manor a second time was, she needed the doctor’s help, and it’d allow her to make sure everyone had made it there safely.
The mask chafed at her face and she wished she could trade her cape and skirts for the comfort of cotton pants and a loose shirt. A day of rest hadn’t put Claire back on her feet. She didn’t think anything ever would, not after last night. Questions persecuted her, as tiring as the constant pain of her burns. How many had died in that fire? Had they suffered when their physical support was destroyed? Or was it like falling asleep, getting slowly less and less tethered to the world? None of them should have had to find out. She wondered if she could have saved more. How much time had she wasted on Adèle? Should she have carried out another pile of crates instead? She’d sacrificed so many souls for a single friend—one who might hate her once she knew the whole truth. How could Claire justify that?
She wanted out. She wished she could spend a day kneading dough, putting bread in the oven, and relaxing as the delicious scent spread through her bakery, playing a tranquil game with Zita and Livia. Being herself, at home, with friends and family. Or perhaps offering coffee and a croissant to Adèle, as she used to before Livia’s kidnapping. Anything ordinary. She’d slammed her hand into heavy machinery when she’d stolen that first exocore, and now it threatened to eat her entire arm.
She wished she could escape it and have her simple life back, and, as she longed for that pause, she wondered if her gender was shifting again, or if her growing urges to bind and present as a man stemmed from how strongly she associated that with the bakery. Sometimes circumstances pushed the fluidity, sometimes it happened on its own; either way, she’d rarely felt less like a woman than she did now. Admittedly, she felt more like a wretch than anything else, but that was another problem entirely. No matter how intense her desire to give up, she knew she couldn’t.
Sharp knocks, coming from her back door this time, stopped Claire before she could leave. She’d always had a second entrance into the building to go in and out of her home without having to pass through the bakery, even though she lived right behind it. Only a few friends knew of this access, and her heart sped with hope. It had to be Zita! Claire hurried to the door, reaching for the handle. She stopped before she could pull wide open, remembering just in time she had her mask on and skirts and purple hair, and if this wasn’t Zita, opening it would destroy her cover. She peeked through the peephole, and the distorted face of her friend left her grinning. As her palm met the cold metal of the handle, though, Claire gritted her teeth and flung the door open.
Zita hopped inside, and the spring in her steps warmed Claire’s heart. It spelled good news at last. “Please tell me what put you in such a mood. I need it.” Despair laced Claire’s tone and knocked the smile off Zita’s face.
Zita studied her, her frown deepening with every passing second. “You first. You don’t sound okay, and one should always start with the bad.”
On most days Claire would have agreed; now it irritated her. She didn’t have the strength to argue, though. “Downstairs, then. I’ve yet to tell the witches in exocores.” Guilt over those she’d lost had slowed her. Guilt and exhaustion and pain. Zita’s mere presence and the promise of good news helped to drag her out of that ditch, however. She couldn’t stop now—couldn’t let her grief sap her energy before the fight was over. How many more would die if she gave up? Keeping everyone safe and unravelling Montrant’s network was all… It was too big a burden. At least she had Zita with her. She didn’t have to deal with it alone.
She made her way into the basement with her friend and settled onto the couch, gathering her thoughts before retelling the evening. Claire started earlier than necessary for Zita in case people in the exocores were listening. Words followed one another in rapid succession—Clémence and Adèle, the fire, the crates, removing the magic-suppressing witch bands, giving them Emmanuelle’s address. She skipped nothing except her breakdown, but, by the time she’d reached the end of her night, tears were running down her cheeks again. She really needed a croissant break. Maybe she could show Zita how to bake. She had some leftover dough in the cooler, after all.
“Now I have to return for more healing, and bring the crates back here, so everyone can be together and safe.” Everyone except Livia. Livia and the hundred exocores that had burned down the previous night. In short, not everyone at all. Claire sighed and wiped her tears. “I hope that’s very good news you have, Zita, because I could use it.”
Zita reached into her pockets and offered Claire a handkerchief. “How much do you love her?”
“What?” That was not a logical question to continue this conversation.
“Adèle. You rushed in there without second thoughts and you burned your entire palms to save her. I was promised more explanations, and I want the juicy bits!” Zita grinned, then gestured at the exocores. “Come on. Confess it before witnesses!”
“I’m not going to put myself in another romantic relationship. I’d hate it.” Zita would understand more than anyone else. They’d tried dating for almost an entire year before admitting it didn’t work. The experience had instilled a constant sense of unease in Claire—as if everyone expected something new of her, a different kind of feeling, and it refused to show up. She had struggled to get “je t’aime” past her lips, and even then she had known on the deepest level that she did not mean the same thing as others did. She had felt like a liar and hated herself for it. “She’s important to me, though.
I wish it was simpler, that I could work something out with her! Instead I’ve found myself lying through half of our relationship and I’m afraid I’ve ruined my chances. But I can think more about that and what to do with it, if anything, once Livia is safe and Montrant Industries’ atrocities have been exposed.”
Zita stifled a laugh. “Sounds reasonable. And the time might come sooner than you think! Ready for the good news?”
“More than you know.”
“I found their factory. Not the publicity stunt one—the real thing.” She paused, turning a haunted gaze to the exocores on the table. “It’s smaller than I’d expected, and perhaps not the only one, but it’s definitive proof of their… process. And research, if I’m not mistaken.”
Claire froze. A factory. Imagining it made her nauseous, but her heart rate picked up. At last, a breakthrough.
“I need to see it. How did you get there? Clémence?”
“Yes. I tracked ol all night, and at dawn ol went there. It’s under the Centre de Recherche, where Clémence works. Ol has had a team studying energy-related projects—not sure what, the science is always too much for me and ol stopped trying to explain. But it’s not… really there, either. You access it from an elevator, but I could sense the portal magic as I passed through.”
Claire gritted her teeth. It felt weird for Zita to speak of Clémence as an old friend, no matter how true. Plus, she didn’t like this lab business—it meant Clémence worked in the same building as Emmanuelle Duclos, on similar topics. What were the odds they didn’t know each other?
“I wish I could give their secret factory the same treatment we did the warehouse.”
“You don’t. They have people in there. Unconscious, encapsulated in a weird tank, with tons of tubes going in and out. Don’t ask me what all that shit does, though. All I know is that it blocks my Seeking, and once I noticed, I reached around.” Zita closed her eyes and allowed a tense silence to stretch on. Claire struggled not to push her forward with the story. “It extends deeply and contains a lot of people. I think… Claire, they might have Livia somewhere in there. I’d concluded Clémence kept me from detecting her, but these tanks also fill that purpose. It makes more sense than someone staying near her at all times!”
“It… it does.” They had located her. They must have. Somewhere in these labs would be Livia, and Claire would find her. She’d been right about Clémence—following ol had led Zita to Livia! “Let’s go! We need to save her.” Claire jumped to her feet, but dizziness slammed into her at the sudden movement. She slumped back into the sofa with a groan.
Zita couldn’t help but chuckle. She put a hand on her forearm and smiled. “How about we heal your palms and secure the other exocores first?”
“But—”
“It’s been a week, Claire. And even if one more day does make a difference, you’re not in any condition to go. How will you climb, sneak, or lift anything with those blisters? You’re on the verge of collapsing and in no state for heroics.”
Claire opened her mouth to protest, but Zita glared at her. She shut it again, knowing how right her friend was. Exhaustion had crawled into her being and settled in her bones. Just an hour ago, she had yearned for a break. If she rushed headlong into these labs, she would get herself killed and no one would be saved.
“All right.” One thing at a time. Healing, exocores, rest, and then the factory. “Let’s pay Emmanuelle Duclos a visit.”
* * *
They stared at each other for several minutes, heavy silence crushing the words before they could cross their lips.
Adèle couldn’t believe Claire had just strode in. Right through the door, as if she owned this house and wouldn’t be intruding. Then she remembered they’d first met in Adèle’s new flat, and that Claire’s conceptions of property and privacy were fundamentally skewed. Claire walked into forbidden places every day of her life. Why would one more bother her? Yet no carefree smile lit the face under her cotton mask today, and a new slump weighed her shoulders. A strange pang twisted Adèle’s stomach—sadness, tinged with confusion. Perhaps Claire’s unapologetic behaviour had been an act, projected to keep others from seeing the person behind it. Now the thief seemed a shadow of herself, bathed in the golden glow of the healing magic cocooning her hands but radiating no life herself. Adèle tried to think of something meaningful to say—after the events of last night, she should have dozens of ideas—but her tired mind came up short.
“Docteure Adaho told me how you got your burns,” she eventually started. It had bothered her. Not only had Claire saved her life in the warehouse, but she’d repeated the exploit immediately after. Twice in the same night, despite Adèle’s relentless attempts to arrest her. “Why would you…?”
Claire flinched away, almost as if Adèle had punched her. “Why? Is that an actual question?”
The profound hurt in her voice surprised Adèle. It shouldn’t have, really. She had just suggested Claire was the kind to let her die even if she could help it. Adèle pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back into the pile of pillows Em had set up for her. She’d slept most of the day and her fever had passed, but sitting in bed was starting to make her restless and rude. “I’m sorry. What I mean to say is ‘thank you’. I owe you my life.”
“You promised not to die. I like to think not all policemen are liars.” She flashed a grin at Adèle, and the dynamic Claire who’d first broke into Adèle’s home returned. Her eyes shone, her shoulders straightened, and the entire room seemed to light up. Adèle’s breath itched, and her mind tried to complete Claire’s face with the top half she’d glimpsed the previous night, blurred though it had been. Warmth curled at the bottom of her stomach, tingling, and Adèle found herself staring again.
Somehow, despite the limited time they’d spent together, Claire’s demeanour had become deeply familiar. A smile, and Adèle noticed the detailed changes in her posture, the release of tension, the way she flicked her hair back as she chuckled. As if she’d seen these movements dozens of times, not a handful. She tried to pinpoint where the familiarity emanated from, without success.
“I did my best,” Adèle said. “We all do, no?”
At times, the best way to get someone talking was to open a door and let them step in, especially with a sheen of compassion. Claire bit her lower lip, her gaze lost in the distance. Come on, Adèle thought, tell me what your best is.
“It’s not always enough,” Claire said.
Adèle frowned. So much guilt had laced those words. What had Claire failed at, despite saving Adèle? What could her best have left behind? “They escaped, didn’t they? Whoever assaulted me.” Hours in bed had given Adèle time to piece her memory back together. Claire hadn’t been alone in the warehouse. Someone else had helped, someone who’d thrown objects at their attacker while they were strangling Claire. Wait. Not just anything. Exocores. And suddenly, Claire’s voice echoed in Adèle’s mind, spinning her head.
You can’t just fling those. They’re people.
“People,” she whispered, before snapping her gaze to Claire. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? They’re people.”
Claire froze, her body tensing as soon as the affirmation crossed Adèle’s lips. She stared at her, her mouth thinning into a line, and even with her upper face covered, Adèle sensed the emotions battling in her—should she deny it? Admit it? But her hesitation only convinced Adèle she was right, that this was why Claire had gone back into the warehouse to get the exocores. She waited, hoping Claire would choose to share what she knew.
The thief’s shoulders slumped. “Witches, to be more precise.”
Adèle closed her eyes, nausea itching its way up her throat. How could anyone transform a human being into a power source? Even disregarding how cruel the idea was, the very process seemed beyond their current technology. Em was struggling to create a physical matrix from magic, so how had Montrant managed that feat? But she remembered Basir, how he’d instinctively transferred himself into his crys
tal shop to save his life. Perhaps they’d found a way to force and bastardize that. Were the people in the warehouse being prepped for this? How many more were imprisoned across the city? How many had already been shoved into tiny red gems?
“That’s horrible.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Claire stepped closer, then changed her mind about advancing and stayed put. Adèle wished she would sit near the bed. “We think they’re sentient. That they’re… aware of their surroundings, at least. And I… I left so many crates in that warehouse. It just collapsed on them.”
“Oh. Oh no.” When Em had spoken about the crates now in her manor, she’d said she’d never seen so many exocores at once. How many more had burned in the warehouse’s inferno? Adèle stared at Claire, perceiving new depths to the weight burdening her shoulders. No wonder guilt laced her every word. “Then why did you save me? Why choose me, of all people, over them?”
A wistful smile passed over Claire’s face. “Who knows?” She shrugged, but her casualness felt forced. She knew, and it bothered Adèle. One of Claire’s masks might have fallen but several remained, blocking Adèle out. If only Claire would let her in more—let her help with this! “Montrant Industries is behind this. Their official facility is a fake. We think we’ve found the real one, however, and I’m investigating tonight. You should rest.”
Adèle scowled. She didn’t intend to stay back while Claire dug deeper into this mess. “No way. Give me a day and I’ll be right there.”
“Madame l’Officier, I mean to break into a highly protected compound, steal, and possibly destroy private property. You cannot come.”
“Then you’ll have no legal proof. Let me get a warrant.”
Claire laughed, but no mirth filled her voice. “If this goes to court, I’ll pay and they will walk free. I’m not out for a trial. I’m out to dismantle them. Run them into the ground.”
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