Baker Thief

by Claudie Arseneault

  Claude closed his eyes and leaned against Adèle’s shoulder as she finished her work. She slid fingers into his hair again, tugging at the countless knots in it.

  “All you need is a comb, and you’re good as new,” she said. He heard the smile in her words.

  “You never have that problem, I bet.”

  “Neither do I have your glorious purple hair.” She gently pushed him back. “Permission to steal croissants from your stocks?”

  “They won’t be fresh.” He hadn’t baked pastries in a while, and he didn’t have the strength to now. The thought of providing anything but fresh croissants to Adèle bothered him. Some standards in their relationship should never change. “Besides, I’d rather not risk people seeing me through the display windows. Another day, perhaps. A better one.”

  “Understood, Master Baker. I’ll prepare a little something else. You grab some rest.”

  Claude pouted. He didn’t want to sleep, not with Adèle finally here, yet his energy levels still lay dead on the floor. And the solid sense of security she provided removed any urgency he had to drag his feet about and stay ready for a potential attack. He stretched out over the couch, pushing back his reluctance. “I suppose if I want to recover… but don’t let me sleep too long.”

  She agreed, brought him a pillow and a blanket, and he nestled into them. A small voice whispered that Adèle would also need rest, that she seemed as pale and shaky as him, but he ignored it. He couldn’t function at the moment. They could take turns, and he’d make sure Adèle woke up to fresh croissant once it was hers. He always had a frozen reserve, just in case. Satisfied with his decision, Claude slipped into blissful sleep.

  As it turned out, he and Adèle had very different definitions of “too long”. The sun had dipped low in the sky when he emerged from his rest. For one confused moment, Claude didn’t recognize his surroundings. He jolted up, fingers digging into his sofa, eyes sweeping the area. His home. A cozy living room with two sofas, a bookshelf full of baking tomes and weird, sometimes creepy tales, and the large painting of a majestic cat in a forest of birch. The fear dropped as fast as it had surged forward, leaving him panting and slightly embarrassed.

  Adèle came running, holding a long knife with both hands. She relaxed when she didn’t spot any strangers. “Bad dreams?”

  “Not really. I’m fine.” In fact, now that the initial rush of fear had passed, he felt refreshed. The fog muddling his mind had vanished, and when he focused on himself, he detected a small swirling of magic. “I’m good, even. But still starved.”

  “Got you covered.”

  She grinned, and that alone could’ve staved off Claude’s hunger for hours. His gaze lingered on the curve of her nose and the way the corner of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled until Adèle disappeared into his kitchens. She returned with a large plate of delicatessen, cheese, and fruits, along with a bowl of cut bread. Claude calculated how long ago he’d last baked a baguette and winced at how stale this one would be—until the characteristic rich scent of warm crust wafted over him. Adèle cleared her throat when his eyes widened.

  “I… took a few liberties, and you had dough labelled,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No! Not at all.” He had missed bread so much. Ridiculous, he knew, but it had always been a part of his life—from emptying the crust of fresh loaves as a child to preparing his own at dawn, it had accompanied every up and down, every hurt, and every success. Since Livia had been captured, however, the bakery had become an afterthought. He missed it and the peacefulness of his routine. Not as much as he missed his twin, though.

  Claude’s thoughts darkened as he shoved the first piece of baguette in his mouth. After all this time, he had finally learned where to find her. Le Pont des Lumières. Not a monument to human ingenuity, but one to their atrociousness—their willingness to do anything to profit off those they hated. And at the heart of it, to power its lights, Livia. He had less than a day now. The last weeks might have been difficult on her, but once they lit the Pont, she would never recover. Claude swallowed his bread hard, and its delicious interior tasted staler than it should have.

  “There’s still something else you don’t know,” he said. Better to get it out now—to put all cards on the table. “Throwing Montrant Industries to the ground isn’t my main objective. It’s nothing but a nice bonus, or a target for a later time.”

  “Then what…”

  “Livia.”

  Adèle’s skin paled and horror settled into her expression. He didn’t need to explain the basics. She knew enough to understand Livia also had magic and figure out what Montrant would want with her.

  “Her magic is deep and powerful. She vanished a week ago. Shortly after you met her when we started to dig the truth about exocores. I… only just found a trace of her.” Claude snatched a slice of apple from the plate and picked at it, trying to focus his thoughts. He didn’t want to dwell on what they’d done to her during that time. “She was with Celosia and the others, in the warehouse, before we arrived. Burning it down created a hole in their plans, however. They needed a new power source. For the Pont des Lumières.”

  “But she’s not… is the process that fast? Can they make an exocore in a matter of days?”

  “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. They would lose too much of her potential doing so. Instead, they found a way to use our bodies directly. Just… plug us in, and as long as we stay alive, we’re batteries that recharge themselves. And someone with Livia’s abilities? They’ll burn her soul to light up the entire bridge, from one country to the other.”

  Anger kept Claude’s voice from breaking. He hadn’t even had time to tell Zita about this and hearing himself made it more real. This immense construction they had presented as a great prowess would be powered by their magic. For what? To further trade with Tereaus? Give them another handy source of witches? He used to believe the Pont was a huge waste of money, but now its looming shape filled him with dread.

  A cool hand drew him out of his thoughts. Adèle squeezed his forearm and searched for his gaze. “The grand opening is tomorrow at dusk. We have time.”

  “We do.”

  Claude had no intention to waste it. Security would already be tight around the bridge, even more so after their escape. The gouverneure would expect trouble and want none. How many police officers would patrol the area? They’d encouraged the public to go and might plan for a riot in addition to infiltration.

  Adèle squeezed his arm again and removed her hand. She hesitated for a moment, then her fingers slid into his hair, drawing out one of the remaining purple strands. Everything else had returned to their usual brown. “How do you do this? Magic?”

  “A hard trick to master, but yes. I loved the colour too much not to learn.” He pulled the strand from her and reached into himself, for the thin pool of magic he’d regained while asleep. Fresh energy resting inside him, helping him stay focused. The purple spread from the strand to all of his hair as a quick demonstration, then he cleaned it all away. He didn’t feel much like it right now.

  “It’s strange to see you use magic,” Adèle said softly.

  A wave of unease washed over Claude, and he needed a moment before he could put words on what bothered him. He shook his head. “You’ve seen me do so plenty of times. I am not a different person. Claire and Claude… they’re the same. They’re both me. Different aspects, if you will.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m not used to thinking of you as one.” She’d raised her hands as if holding two separate things and then squeezed them together with a sigh. “I’m glad you told me. Je crois en toi.” With a tired smile, she met Claude’s gaze. “So do I. I believe in you. I did even when it was just Claire in my head.”

  “I know. That’s why I could finally reveal this to you.” Claude ran fingers through his messy hair. “Before the warehouse, you always treated me… I didn’t feel human to you. I couldn’t risk telling you—not with Livia’s life on t
he line. What if you hated witches? Or felt too betrayed to consider I needed help? But you freed the trapped witches in the warehouse, and that let me trust you. I just never had a chance to go through with all the details.”

  “Zita told me. She said you trusted me.” Adèle whispered the words, with a wistful fondness to her tone. Claude turned squarely to face her, and couldn’t help but snort.

  “Of course she did.”

  The matchmaker had gotten the better of his friend. Even knowing he had no interest in romance proper, Zita had pushed for them to speak. She wasn’t wrong. Adèle had carved a special place in Claude’s heart. She made him want to take risks, to open up and allow her closer. To let her see his life, changing and fluid and complicated as it was. And this relationship with Adèle didn’t resemble anything he’d experienced before—not his tight friendship with Zita, not his sibling back and forth with Livia, and not the short-lived attempts at romance he’d endured. “I love you” would never be right for them, but they had their own words—Je crois en toi—better and more tailored to him. They fit him, and he hoped they’d fit her too.

  “Do you remember when you asked for a date? What I said about me and romance?” He waited for her to nod. Adèle stared at him in complete attention, listening like nothing in the world would be more important than what would follow. The sofa felt too small for both of them, yet he wanted her to stay every bit as close. “I’m still aromantic. I-I guess it’s one of those layers of complicated, if you kissed me looking for romance. I—” His heart thundered across his chest, stealing his words. Adèle had always had a crush on him. What if they couldn’t work anything out? He almost stopped and told her to forget it. He wasn’t even certain what he wanted, so how was he supposed to figure out what to ask for? What he was ready to risk? But he wanted something, of that he was certain. “You do partners in the police, don’t you?”

  Adèle blinked, stunned, then a wide smile spread across her face. “We do. I’d offer you the spot, but… police partners usually don’t kiss. Wouldn’t we miss out?”

  A little catch in her voice sent Claude’s heart leaping, and his throat dried at the idea of more kisses. His body remembered how she’d pushed him against the test tank—of her surprising hunger. “Good thing I’m not police, huh? I like breaking rules.”

  This time, Adèle laughed. She slipped a hand around his waist, pulling him closer, and dropped a kiss on his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned into it until she retreated. “I’m becoming a pro at ignoring the law, too.”

  For a moment, the thrill washed his exhaustion away. He was home, on his couch, safe from Montrant Industries and law enforcement alike. Adèle dragged him close, and her warmth spread to his body. Under the pungent stink of sweat—an odour for which they were both responsible—she smelled of almonds and something darker, spicier. He allowed himself to daydream of cuddling for hours in the sun, perhaps under the Quartier des Bouleaux’ massive birch Soul Tree, then forced his mind back to more difficult conversations.

  “Aren’t you… angry at me?”

  Adèle stiffened by his side and took painfully long to prepare her answers. “When I think about it, I am,” she said. “You… you lied to me. I walked in your bakery distraught from finding a thief in my brand-new home, and you offered me a croissant and a coffee with that damn sweet smile, as if you had nothing to do with it! All those times I talked about Claire and how we progressed… And you even needled more information out of me at that non-date!”

  Hot shame flushed Claude’s cheeks, but he lifted his head and met Adèle’s gaze without hesitation. He wouldn’t deny any of these things, not when he stood by his reasons for them. “I had to save Livia.”

  “I know.” Adèle’s voice had become hard and pressing when she’d tried to explain, but now it regained its softness. “You don’t need to justify yourself. I understand why. It stings all the same. Besides, I treated you like shit, too, and I don’t even have an excuse beyond my personal hurt. I’m okay, Claude. It’s already forgiven.”

  “Let me show you something. It’s good for perspective.” Even if she didn’t seem like she needed it.

  Claude grabbed the plate of cheese and fine meat then straightened. A bout of dizziness rooted him in place, and Adèle placed a gentle hand on his back. He offered the food to her, choosing a last slice of bread before he moved towards his office. She followed without a sound, a silent observer, still taking in information rather than commenting. He glanced at her—whenever Adèle listened to others or tried to unravel a puzzle, her face turned into this gorgeous expression of concentration. Lips pinched, slight frown, deep eyes tracking connections only she could see. They stared at him now, and a hot wave coursed through his body. He wanted to pause—to stop everything and kiss her again. Instead, he opened his trapdoor and climbed the ladder to the basement.

  He relaxed at the sight of his mound of exocores, still safe in his home. When had he stopped seeing these lives as a stressful burden? Coming here while searching for Livia could almost paralyze him with fear. It had been so much to carry for his lonely shoulders. Not anymore, though. First he’d shared with Livia and Zita, and now Adèle was with him too. And behind them were Emmanuelle, Celosia, Docteure Adaho and the other witches—even Koyani. Claude had started this alone, sneaking into the night to safeguard exocores, but his secret had spread and support had come.

  Adèle gasped when she reached the bottom and almost dropped the leftover food. Claude turned to her and sketched a smile. “My kidnapped friends,” he said, echoing Koyani’s initial reaction to learning these were people. Then he cast his voice out. “I’m alive, lovelies. Sorry I kept you waiting. I got caught, escaped, and had to rest. It’s a long story, but first you should know Adèle is with me now. I mean, right now, with us, in this room.”

  Claude turned to Adèle. She startled, pointing to herself, then cleared her throat. “Hi. It sounds like I don’t need an introduction…”

  “I’ve been telling them everything. Their existence depends on it, so I figured it was only fair.”

  Adèle walked past the table, straight to his map of Val-de-mer and the exocores he’d tracked down. She touched the pin over her flat before moving on. Her eyes flitted from one pin to another with growing horror. “There’re still so many left,” she said. “So you gathered them, hid them in your basement, and talked to them? Told them our story?”

  “I started that recently, sort of. Livia guessed they might be sentient, but I hadn’t grasped what that could mean until we chatted with Basir and your sister told me more about her science. I have no way of proving they can hear and understand me, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” Claude reached out to one of the many red pins—exocores still in the city, in one rich mansion or another—and thumbed it. “It hurts to think of how many are being drained out there. Stealing was like chipping away at a self-regenerating monster, though. Montrant Industries would have continued to produce exocores, and they would have shoved them into the Pont des Lumières no matter what. This is better. We’re stopping it once and for all.”

  “You are.” Adèle turned to him, her bony face hardening into a determined expression. “We are. I’m glad I won’t be a hindrance any longer.”

  No, she definitely would not. Claude resisted the temptation to tell her she’d never been one, just to reassure her. He might not have lost Clémence in the first place if she hadn’t drunk-tackled him on that first night, however, and Livia would be with him—with them—tonight. He saw no point in lying to Adèle and no reason to coddle her feelings.

  “We’re better together,” he said, “and with the increased security we’ll find at the Pont, we’ll have to be at our best.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Adèle asked.

  “Get there, sneak in, save Livia, destroy Montrant Industries?” When was he supposed to have figured this out? Claude had never seen any schematics of the Pont and didn’t know the first thing about security details on large events. Pla
ns didn’t agree with him. He rushed in and improvised. “Sorry. That’s all I have. Better pray to the saints it’ll be enough.”

  “It’s fine. Zita, Nsia Kouna, Koyani and the rest of the unit can figure out the best approach.”

  “They’re all… together right now?” Claude raised a hand to stall Adèle’s answer, then gestured at the exocores. “You know what? We should grab a seat and start at the beginning. Last I told them, I was leaving for the labs. We have quite a bit of catching up to do.”

  Doubt flitted across Adèle’s face, but she nodded. “All right. First, we explain. We might even figure it out as we talk.”

  Claude didn’t think so, but he started without waiting. Adèle would find it easier after hearing him detail his expedition in the labs, the conversation he’d overheard, and Clémence’s actions. As he recounted his time strapped into the test tank, Claude reminded himself he owed ol a service, and should speak to Zita. It didn’t matter what atrocities Clémence had pulled: ols little brother didn’t deserve to pay for them. Livia was not the only sibling to save in the coming day.

  -26-

  EN BONNE COMPAGNIE

  The long talk with the exocores had left Adèle in a daze. Her life had taken a brutal turn for the weird and her mind still hadn’t fully accommodated yet. Too many twists and brushes with death for them to sink in deeper than superficially. Lending her words to these events while retelling them had made everything more concrete but no less strange. She had sat with Claude next to a pile of exocores, explaining how Koyani’s team had discovered Élise’s treachery and rushed to the rescue, now aware that the anonymous papers that had saved her life had been another blessing from Claude. How close they had all come to failing! But it wasn’t over, and, as they’d completed the narration, Adèle realized how much work still waited ahead of them.