The Black Coats Page 5

  She sat down, and the desk gave a tiny creak. Mirabelle raised her eyebrows laughingly at Casey, who ignored her. Moving faster than Thea thought was possible, Nixon crossed the room and flicked Mirabelle’s lips; she blinked in shock but said nothing. Nixon calmly wiped the pink lip gloss off her finger before turning back to the group. “You will not bully here, Barbie.” Mirabelle looked completely taken aback, and Thea raised her hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

  Nixon stalked to the front of the room again. “Moving on. How did each of you get through the door during your initiation? Past Sahil?”

  Their answers were varied: Mirabelle went first with a nasty grin, trying to conceal the embarrassment flushing across her cheeks. “I tackled him and dragged him in behind me.”

  Casey barely looked up. “I punched him between the legs and then tripped him forward.”

  Louise: “We fought hard, but eventually I was able to reach the handle.”

  Thea added her own voice to the mix. “I basically ran through him.”

  Nixon watched them each silently, perched on the back of a chair like some sort of glamorous gargoyle. “I’m glad you are all so proud of yourselves. However, the shortest time among the four of you was six minutes. Six long minutes to pass through a door guarded by a single unarmed male who was of smaller physical stature than some of you.” She nodded at Bea, who was staring at the floor and anxiously kneading her hands together. “Bea passed through the door in one hundred and sixty-two seconds, without anyone ever laying a finger on her.”

  The others sat back in surprise, except Mirabelle, who glanced skeptically in Bea’s direction. Nixon tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Your team was carefully selected, with thought given to every weakness and strength. Right now you are utterly useless, but you won’t remain that way. Any in-team issues will be stopped short with immediate expulsion of all parties, is that understood?” Her eyes flitted to Mirabelle.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Team Banner.

  Their introduction continued. “I’m your president. There are two other teams of Black Coats: Team Emperor and Team Swallowtail. They are led by Presidents Kennedy and McKinley, respectively. You will have very little interaction with these other teams.” Nixon began passing out pieces of paper. “We are a new team, and you can expect there to be some animosity at that decision. As for all the papers, please know that we don’t use computers inside the Black Coats. Everything is handwritten or typed and then burned. Computers and the internet make it easy to leave a trail.”

  Nixon opened a simple manila folder and slid a piece of pretty cream paper across Thea’s desk. “Here is a sample Balancing sheet. Your team will receive one of these when a Balancing is ordered by the luminaries. It can be once a month or three times a week, depending on the need. Thea, can you read for us?”

  Thea’s voice caught in her throat as she read.

  TEAM BANNER, CODE MORNING

  TARGET NAME: John Doe

  DATE OF BALANCING: June 24, 9:00 p.m.

  OFFENSE: John Doe has been found guilty of constant sexual harassment of his female employees at White Dog Coffee Shop. Charges were pressed, but John Doe was let go on a technicality.

  BALANCING: Threatening, blackmail, intimidation.

  Thea’s heart pumped with exhilaration.

  Nixon paced as she continued her lecture. “These sheets are printed specifically to help you understand the delicate system of Balancings. The punishment must fit the crime, and we must fill the void where law enforcement has failed. Thus: threatening, blackmail, and intimidation as listed.”

  Louise’s hand popped up.

  “Yes?”

  Louise lowered her eyes in submission to Nixon. “Do you ever have women targets, ma’am?”

  Nixon stopped moving and turned to face the girls. “Occasionally, we will have a woman target. There are, unfortunately, women who hurt women out there and they are owed justice just like any man. It’s rare, but it has happened. Men commit eighty percent of violent offenses in this country. The odds are in your favor that it won’t be a situation you will have to face. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” exclaimed Louise.

  “As you can see, the levels are represented by escalating times of the day.” Nixon resumed her pacing at the front of the room. “A Code Morning means no violence will be used. It represents a nonviolent offense—online bullying, sexual harassment, stalking, and blackmail. We will not lay a hand on our targets. We may have to touch them for one reason or another, but we do not harm them. Their solutions are simple, yet enough to ruin a life and change the behavior. It’s best to think of them as old-fashioned public shaming. Though violence is never used on this level, threatening it might be. The vast majority of your Balancings will be Code Mornings.”

  At the word violence, Thea felt a shiver pass down her spine as a tendril of doubt whispered in her mind. Am I honestly ready to hurt people? Then she remembered the photographs in the domed room, and Natalie’s picture clipped to the easel. Hell yes, she could be ready.

  Nixon stopped walking. “And then we have Code Evenings. A Code Evening is where violence will be repaid with violence, along with some of the punishments listed for the lighter transgressions. This is for cases of domestic violence, sexual assault, rape, and murder. I will be with you for your first Code Evening, and you won’t be sent on one until I feel you are ready. This is obviously a more complex Balancing, and it takes experience to know how much violence is enough.” Nixon paused, rocking on her heels. “This is why over the course of your training I will be picking a team leader. One of the most important jobs of the team leader is to know when to say enough.” The girl with the dark eye makeup slowly raised her hand. “Yes, Casey?” said Nixon.

  Casey held Nixon’s gaze steady. “What about murderers? How do they get what they deserve?”

  Nixon’s eyes went cold. “The Black Coats are interested in justice. We will repay these men for what they have done and, most important, make them so afraid of us that they will never do it again. We ruin their lives, but the Black Coats do not kill. You are not assassins, and murder is far too messy for this organization.” Thea turned this over in her mind, thinking about the implications for Natalie’s murderer. Nixon continued. “A Code Evening can never turn into hiding a dead body. Never. Are there any questions?” Stunned into terrified silence, Team Banner sat quietly, no girl daring to raise her hand.

  “The Black Coats mostly operate at night,” Nixon explained. “Getting in and out of your houses is your responsibility, whether it’s saying you are going out with friends or climbing out a window.”

  She grabbed her black coat from the back of the chair and swung it around her slim shoulders. “Now, I want you to throw those sheets into the fireplace. Training begins now; we are not a group that likes to waste time. Classroom instruction is important, but learning to interact as a team, that is more so. Let’s rise, Team Banner.” She gestured with her hands for them to stand. The girls climbed to their feet, some slower than others, not at all the synchronized movement that Nixon was expecting. Bea somehow tripped on her desk, and Casey dropped her paper on the way to the fire.

  Nixon sighed. “We’ll get there someday. Follow me.” They filed out the classroom door and followed the snap of her black stilettos down the winding hallway.

  As they walked, Nixon proceeded with the lesson. “This house was originally owned by the Texas Historical Commission. Through some tough negotiating by the founding members of the Black Coats, it came into Robin Peterson’s possession in 1981. We take pride in this house, and it is to be treated with respect.”

  Thea was the last in line, her curiosity leading her to appreciate each perfect detail.

  Louise spoke quietly. “How much money do these people have?”

  Thea glanced at a marble lion guarding one of the doors. “A lot, I’m guessing.”

  Nixon sharply gestured to a huge door on the right. “And this is where our alu
mni and luminaries meet: the formal sitting room and library.”

  Thea poked her head in as they walked past, gasping loudly in amazement and regretting it immediately. Standing in front of a massive bookcase was a black iron staircase that twisted up to a second level, its bannister painted with foxes, moths, and fleurs-de-lis.

  Mirabelle leaned over her shoulder. “I bet this is where they ritually murder deserters.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and Thea smiled in spite of herself. “Hey, you go to Roosevelt, right? I recognize you,” queried Mirabelle.

  Thea almost laughed. Of course Mirabelle would barely remember her. It’s hard to remember peasants when you’re the queen. Her tone was dry as she responded, “We have second period together on Tuesdays.”

  Mirabelle tugged a piece of her hair. “Huh, okay. I guess.” Her eyes widened. “Wait, weren’t you Natalie Fisher’s cousin?”

  The words punched through Thea. She froze in the middle of the hallway outside the sitting room, the grief catching her off guard like it so often did. She fought it, every ounce of her self-control working to push away the uninvited shudders that curled up her spine. A sob rose in her throat as she struggled to hold in her tears, embarrassed beyond words. Thea gestured at Mirabelle, choking out her words. “I’m sorry. Please, just go.”

  Mirabelle shook her head in confusion before moving ahead, leaving Thea standing in the hallway. Thea took a deep breath and struggled to regain her composure, wiping away a hot tear with the back of her hand.

  “Now, why on earth do I have a young lady crying outside my room? My, my, my.” Thea leaped back at the voice, politely Southern and highly disapproving. On the upper floor of the library, an older woman stepped out of an open door, closed it behind her, and punched a code into a keypad. The door locked with an electronic buzz. She was slight but strong, descending the winding staircase with ease. Elegant crow’s-feet stretched out from pale eyes, the lines in her face accented by chin-length gray hair. One hand rested on her chest, while the other clutched a glass tumbler of amber liquor. There was a certain confidence about her, and with each step closer to Thea, the air crackled with intensity. Her voice was not kind. “Thea Soloman, am I correct?”

  Thea swallowed, hoping that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman circled her, her critical frown taking in every inch of Thea. “Yes, yes, how strange; I was just looking at your file. Student of Roosevelt High, former track star, average student. There was really nothing about you that made you special; in fact, you’re quite ordinary, which is why I argued against your placement. However, there were certain qualities that Robin was looking for, and according to her frail mind, you fit the bill.”

  She reached out and pressed one long fingernail against Thea’s chest. Thea stood perfectly still as the woman traced around her heart, the shame of her tears rendering her silent. Finally, the woman moved to touch Thea’s cheek. “Look at this skin, like glowing cocoa. My, how the world is changing.” She clicked her tongue. “So young, the new recruits. Like babies, sent to do women’s work.” She took a ladylike sip of her drink before calling down the hallway in a lilting voice, “Oh, Nixon, you’ve forgotten one of your goslings!”

  The president of Team Banner came back around the corner, her eyes furious. “Go on, Thea. Catch up with your team.”

  Humiliation flared up Thea’s face as she walked away from the two women.

  The older woman called out after her, “Team Banner is off to a banner start, I would say, with girls crying in the hallway on their first day.” She turned to Nixon, a thinly veiled threat falling like a bomb. “This is your first team. Don’t make it your last.”

  Thea joined the group, who stared at her with barely concealed pity. She raised her head. “Sorry. Sorry,” she whispered, wiping her face clean. “Grief is weird.”

  She felt a hand close around hers, and looked down to see Bea staring at her through her glasses. She smiled as she gave Thea’s hand a squeeze. Thea squeezed back as Mirabelle sneered toward the woman. “Who was that, anyway? She’s, like, sixty-five years old.”

  Nixon appeared over her shoulder, her face hard. “That woman is Julie Westing, and she’s a founding member of the Black Coats—a luminary. She’s one of the two most important people in this house.” She sighed before turning to Thea. “And you managed to put a target on our back on day one.”

  Thea straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t, Thea,” Nixon said softly. The meaning was clear.

  They were standing in front of an arched door marked with a copper sign that read, “The Haunt.” Their president reached out and pulled a beaded chain hanging just outside the door. Warm lights flickered to life, and Thea felt her heart lift. “Now, Team Banner,” said Nixon, “let’s see what you can do.”

  Seven

  Nixon pushed the doors open farther, and the girls stepped inside with gasps of delight. Even Mirabelle looked impressed. They were surrounded by old-fashioned wavy glass windows on every side; it was essentially a greenhouse. Black mats were laid out across the floor. The edges of the room were filled with low farmhouse-style tables and antique chairs in every shade of wood. Outside, Thea could hear the wind rushing through the trees, their leaves tapping harmlessly across the windows.

  “Wow!” burst out Bea, pushing her glasses back. “We get to train in here?”

  Nixon nodded. “This is the Haunt, and most of your time at Mademoiselle Corday will be spent either in this room or the classroom. You are welcome to use the Haunt anytime you like; it’s always open to members and alumni of the Black Coats. It’s our common space.” Nixon walked over to the open bar area and emerged with a tray carrying steaming croissants and mason jars full of ice water. Thea’s mouth watered. She hadn’t realized how thirsty and hungry she was; she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since lunch.

  Nixon set the tray down on one of the tables. “Now, who would like some of these? The croissants are basted with honey butter, homemade.” Team Banner all raised their hands. Nixon proceeded to precisely unbutton her coat, slipped off her heels, and rolled up her sleeves, now wearing only the standard uniform. Then she beckoned to the group before crouching defensively in front of the table. “Come and get them, then. Your first training session begins now.” The group stood still, staring at their leader. “I said, come and get them.”

  After a moment’s pause, Louise stepped forward, her small eyes darting back and forth. “Uhh, can we please have the tray, ma’am?”

  Nixon shook her head. “No, Louise, you may not, but I like that you thought to ask first. Sometimes the best answer is the easiest one, just not today.”

  Mirabelle walked up to Nixon, swallowing nervously. When she got close, Nixon shoved her backward, sending her tumbling over her own feet. Mirabelle stumbled and angrily leaped up. “Fine.” She charged. Nixon anticipated her actions and stepped aside, spinning her body so that Mirabelle ended up beside her. Then, with a quick lunge, she caught Mirabelle’s neck against her arm, clotheslining her. Mirabelle’s feet left the ground, and Nixon lifted her up over her shoulder before slamming her down onto the mat, Mirabelle’s body bouncing hard.

  “Stay down,” Nixon breathed. “You’re out.”

  Mirabelle laid her head back on the ground with a wince. “No problem.”

  Nixon raised her eyes. “Next.”

  Casey leaped forward, attempting to hit Nixon’s knees and knock her off-balance, a better approach than Mirabelle had taken. Nixon stumbled forward, but she was lithe and fast, and before Casey knew what was happening, Nixon had stepped up onto her back and was now pressing her down with both feet. Her hands wrapped around Casey’s chin, pulling upward. “Down,” Nixon muttered.

  Casey closed her eyes but stayed down amid a flurry of ugly curses. Thea and Bea looked at each other with wide eyes. There was a moment of silence before Louise stepped forward, a flush creeping up her freckled face. “I�
�ll try.”

  Nixon stepped back, making two fists in front of her. She cracked her neck from side to side. “Now this—this should actually be good.”

  Louise’s first series of blows landed, with swift punches to Nixon’s stomach and side. She was fast. Nixon gasped for breath, but her arms snaked out and yanked back Louise’s hair. Thea’s team member yelped in surprise as her neck was twisted backward. Nixon leaped in the air before delivering a hard punch to Louise’s shoulder. Louise flipped around and threw an elbow into Nixon’s cheek, shaking herself free from her grasp. Then she spun quickly and flung her leg out, the roundhouse kick catching their leader squarely in the ribs. Nixon stumbled backward, but she caught Louise’s leg on the return and wrenched it sideways. Louise let herself flip in the air, rather than risk twisting her knee, and hit the mat hard. Nixon was on her in a second. “Stay down!” Nixon snapped at Louise. “And that kick hurt. Good job.”

  Thea decided to use Nixon’s momentary distraction against her and darted sideways, shooting forward, toward the water. She easily leaped over Mirabelle and Casey, who lay directly in her path. She reached out for the tray . . . This victory is about much more than a drink, she congratulated herself. That was when something hit her so hard that Thea’s feet literally left the mat and she flew three feet to the side, her speed making the impact much more jarring. She landed on the mat, and her body instinctively rolled to absorb the shock as she slid to a stop. Her lungs searched for a single breath. Tan feet stepped in front of her.

  “You’re down,” spoke a soft voice. “That’s for not noticing your surroundings.” Sahil turned away, and Thea gulped in the air around her, her lungs feeling like cracked timber. She raised her head, one arm curled around her stomach.

  Nixon and Sahil were advancing on Bea, who simply put her hands up in surrender. “Nope. I’m down.” She got on her knees before lying facedown on the ground, her words muffled by the mat. “No croissant is worth that.” Nixon grinned as she patted Bea’s head once before making her way over to the table. Sahil followed her, stepping over all the members of Team Banner.