The Black Coats

by Colleen Oakes

  In the distance, she heard a car door slam and the purr of an engine. Headlights illuminated the fence across from where she huddled. Two soulless eyes peered back at her and she jumped, but it was only a deer skull, its macabre grin staring at her as a black spider scuttled out of its eye socket.

  Thea counted to sixty before she burst from the carport, sprinting as fast as she could to where she had left her car. As soon as she slid into the car, words exploded from her mouth as she turned over the ignition.

  “What the hell?” Thea slammed her hands against the steering wheel as she drove. Her phone buzzed; Nixon’s number popped up. Thea let out a sigh of relief, hoping to get a text message that explained everything, even though she knew that was completely implausible: Hey, I got drunk with some friends of mine and we decided to dress like Navy SEALs and party in a random house, and it just turned out to be Drew’s, no big deal, see you tomorrow!

  Instead, what Thea got were numbers; that was it. Thea stared at her phone, her hands shaking. “What?”

  481542

  There was no answer, and when she tried texting back, her phone replied that the number was no longer valid.

  When she pulled up in front of her house, she was no closer to understanding what she had witnessed in that dark living room or whatever the hell Nixon meant with these numbers. She shook her head as she climbed up the tree to her window, whispering to herself, “You’re crazy. You’re thinking crazy.”

  Was she? Once she was in her bedroom, Thea shed her clothes and curled up onto her bed. Her mind kept returning to the same question: Would Drew lie to me? Maybe. Or maybe she thought that because she constantly lied to him.

  Sleep wouldn’t be coming, she knew that, but she turned out the light anyway and was left alone with her swirling questions. Why would the Black Coats be interested in Drew? Or was it his father? Had they hurt someone? Was that Team Emperor that she had heard there? Why was Nixon with them?

  What did 481542 mean?

  And finally, what the hell was M-One?

  Twenty-One

  Everything is normal. She repeated the phrase to herself the entire drive to Roosevelt High the next morning, the cement behemoth simmering in the sun. Thea managed to avoid Drew most of the morning but he found her at lunch, this time sitting in the busy cafeteria.

  “Hey!” He set his bag on the table before kissing her on the forehead. Thea stiffened. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

  “Hmm . . .” Thea chewed. “I’ve been busy.”

  Drew turned his head. “Are you okay?” He reached for her hand, his eyes suddenly petrified. “Are you feeling uncomfortable about last night? I know that got intense pretty fast, but we can absolutely slow things down in the physical department if you want to.”

  “No.” Thea forced herself to meet his eyes, his perfect olive eyes. “It’s not that. I promise. I have no regrets.” How easy it was to let Drew’s lightness of being wash all over her. Thea pulled her hand away. “But have you ever done anything you regretted?”

  Drew’s eyes narrowed before he shook the moment off and reached for her. “Yes. I mean, I wasted years not knowing you. And I maybe wasn’t the best boyfriend to some of my exes. I could have been kinder, I suppose.” He blew out a breath. “Anyway, do you have plans after school today?”

  She nodded, but her mind was elsewhere: she was remembering Nixon’s face when she had seen Thea—utter disbelief mixed with guilt. Nixon hadn’t been in control of that moment. Thea stared at her boyfriend, her brain reeling. Who are you, Drew Porter? If only there was . . .

  She sat up in her chair.

  Oh my God. A record. The records room. Thea blinked.

  I was just looking at your file. Julie Westing had said those words that day in the hallway. It was right after Thea had seen her locking the door behind her, when she had heard the buzz as the door sealed shut. It was the only electronic lock that she had ever seen at Mademoiselle Corday; the rest were opened with old-fashioned keys.

  And that one, the records room, had a numerical code.

  The numbers Nixon sent.

  But why? Why would she want Thea to go into that room when she could go into the room herself? Unless she couldn’t.

  Everything Drew was saying faded into the background as Thea’s mind quickly weighed her options. She wouldn’t be able to do this alone. She looked across the cafeteria to where Mirabelle was sitting before leaping to her feet. “Drew, I have to go.” She stood so fast her knees knocked the top of the table.

  “Thea, what—I just sat down. We are literally in the middle of a conversation. Where are you going?”

  “I’m sorry, Drew, I’m not feeling well; I just need to go.”

  “Thea! Did I say something? Thea, talk to me!”

  She ignored his pleas as she made her way through the sticky cafeteria to the Core, where Mirabelle held court with two other girls. The queen bee stood when she saw Thea, dismissing her minions with a wave of her hand. “I’ll see you guys at debate. Hey, what’s up?”

  Thea bent over to whisper in Mirabelle’s ear. “I need you to help me break into the records room at Mademoiselle Corday after training today.”

  Mirabelle grinned; there was a happiness in her that hadn’t been there the day before. “I’m so in.”

  “You didn’t even ask why.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way there.” Mirabelle looked sadly at the ancient clock that ticked above the lunch line.

  “We still have three more hours of class,” she whined, but Thea was already walking away from her, forming a plan in her mind.

  On their drive to Mademoiselle Corday, Thea told Mirabelle everything about the night before. It was a secret she couldn’t keep, couldn’t understand. Afterward, Mirabelle leaned back in her seat, her blue eyes flashing with mischief. “So you spent the night at Drew’s house?” She clicked her tongue. “Naughty Thea.”

  Thea leaned forward. “That’s what you took away from that?”

  Mirabelle grinned. “Sorry. I mean Drew’s worth it, right? Doing this?”

  Thea nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

  “Wow.” Mirabelle was silent for a second, before her face twisted up like she’d licked a lemon. “Well, I hope for your sake he’s not a serial killer. What’s the plan?”

  Thea tapped her teeth, something that had once driven Natalie nuts. “After training, we’ll hide out in one of the bathrooms. When Mademoiselle Corday closes for the night, I’ll sneak into the records room and look for something on Drew or his dad.”

  Mirabelle sighed, tossing her hair out of her eyes. “You remember that there are some presidents who live at Mademoiselle Corday, right? On the upper floors. Kennedy and McKinley, I think. Julie probably sleeps upside down in a coffin upstairs.”

  Thea gave her a small smile. “I’ll be quiet. Besides, I’ll have you as a lookout.”

  “I’ll do my best, but if we get kicked out of the Black Coats for this . . .”

  “We won’t.” Thea felt like she was reassuring herself. “Something is off.”

  Mirabelle frowned. “I feel it, too. Something changed when Robin died. It’s like, before, the Black Coats had a clear purpose. Now it’s just . . .”

  “Anger,” Thea finished.

  Mirabelle parked the car in front of Mademoiselle Corday. The house looked especially insidious today, her black eaves stabbing the soft clouds that lingered above her.

  Mirabelle threw her bag onto her shoulder. “Here we go.”

  Together they walked through the door, Thea noticing again the names etched in gold underneath the arch:

  JOHNSON • HAGEMAN • ZINN • CLEARY

  Why had she never thought to ask what had happened to the ladies who bore those names? As she passed into the foyer, she looked around her, feeling for the first time like a thousand eyes were watching her.

  Mirabelle looked back at her. “Come on, slow poke—you’re stalling.” Thea hoisted her bag up an
d followed Mirabelle down the winding hallway to their classroom.

  The rest of the team was waiting for them: Casey perched in her normal spot, doodling on a notebook; Louise looking rapt with her hair neatly tied back in a pink ribbon; and Bea, who looked beyond exhausted.

  “Yikes,” Thea said as she sat down next to Bea and reached over to grab her shoulder. “No offense, but you look terrible. Is everything okay?”

  Bea just shook her head miserably before looking the other way. The classroom door banged open and Thea looked up, expecting to see Nixon’s hard scowl and prepared for whatever false friendly interaction they were about to have, when all she wanted to say was, I saw you there, at my boyfriend’s house. Why were you there? Maybe Nixon would actually tell her. Maybe Thea could just go home after this.

  Except it wasn’t Nixon who walked into the room. It was Kennedy. Thea’s breath caught in her chest.

  Casey looked up from her notebook. “Umm, where’s Nixon?” Kennedy gave Casey a withering gaze before grabbing the notebook out from under her pencil. “Hey!” shouted Casey.

  “I don’t want you to have any distractions.” She tossed the notebook into the trash before brushing her hands off as if the notebook was dirty. Her blue-green eyes narrowed in on Thea, as if she knew exactly who was to blame for this group’s weaknesses. However, instead of laying into her, Kennedy took a perch on the wooden desk in front of them. Her hard outer shell melted away as she smiled at the group. It caught them unawares, the warmth that Kennedy could project when she wanted to. “I’m afraid that President Nixon has stepped down.”

  The team gasped. Mirabelle caught Thea’s eye. Unfortunately, it was just long enough that Kennedy noticed. She went on. “She has decided—voluntarily—to erase herself from the ongoing legacy of the Black Coats.” She adjusted her seat on the desk, her own black coat falling over the sides. “This actually happens quite frequently in the Black Coats. As you well know, being on a team or even running one can be physically and mentally exhausting. What we do here is so important, but it does take its toll, especially on the weaker members.”

  She shook her head, as if the news was devastating to her as well, but Thea could tell she was lying. She swallowed the rising panic that threatened to show itself any minute. The world was swirling around her, the weight of unanswered questions pulling her down. I’ll never know what happened. Nixon is gone.

  Louise was staring at Kennedy now, her eyes clouded with tears. “Does this mean you’re dissolving the team?”

  “Oh, no, my dear.” There it was, the false kindness again. “I’ll be taking over Team Banner as your president. It’s my privilege to lead such a special group of young girls. We will keep moving forward as if nothing happened. Any objections?”

  Thea gripped the edge of the desk. What she wanted to do was to walk out of this cold classroom and into the light, but she couldn’t let her feelings compromise these girls’ futures in the Black Coats. Thea cleared her throat and stood, looking at her team members. Bea wouldn’t meet her eyes, but Casey’s hard glare told Thea all she would need to know. She turned back to Kennedy, disgusted by the look in the president’s eyes as she stared hungrily at Bea. “We will stay on under you.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Now, where were you in your lessons?”

  Louise raised her hand. “Compliance versus the criminal mind.”

  Kennedy grinned and picked up a piece of chalk. “One of my favorite subjects.”

  The hours ticked by. It turned out that Kennedy was actually a pretty good teacher. Still, Thea could barely sit still. She needed to run, she needed to do something.

  Finally, the girls were dismissed for general training in the Haunt. Sahil was waiting for them there, sitting cross-legged on the mat and exuding his normal demeanor of calm and control.

  “Hey, Sahil!” Mirabelle threw down her training bag, a routine familiar to them all.

  “Do not put that there,” he snapped, opening his black eyes. “Put it where it goes, in the cubbies.”

  “Whoa.” Mirabelle shook her head. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of his yoga mat.”

  “I am not in the mood for your attitude today, Miss Watts. Put your bag in the correct place and then come over here. Today we will be working on clinch fighting.” The entire team groaned. “I do not want to hear it! You may run before we start. Thirty laps around the Haunt. Go!”

  Sahil was unhinged. He screamed at them while they were running: to lift their knees, to jump, to stop in the middle of the workout, plank, and then leap back to their feet. Bea looked like she was going to throw up, and Casey was close to revolt. When the running finally stopped, they did a brutal clinch-fighting training, where Sahil fought more than trained, leaving them bruised and sore. Louise took the worst of it, since she was his best match, but even then it wasn’t close; Mirabelle was next for the brunt of his anger and ended up getting slammed stomach-first onto the mat, the wind knocked out of her.

  When Thea stepped up next to spar, Sahil actually rolled up his sleeves, something he had never done before. Within seconds of Thea rushing forward, Sahil had her in a headlock and she was unable to use kicks, punches, or any sort of melee weapons. When she finally got her feet underneath her, Sahil swept them away, and Thea landed hard on her right side. It wasn’t even a fight; it was more of a takedown. She submitted gracefully, laying her head flat on the floor. Sahil was bouncing on his toes, ready for more, sweat pouring down his neck. “Get up, Miss Soloman.”

  “No.” Thea did not rise.

  “I said get up.”

  Thea pushed off her knees with a groan, stretching her sore side. “And I said no. You’re not training us, you’re just taking out whatever it is you’re going through on my team, and I won’t allow it. We’re done for today.”

  Sahil stopped moving, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t decide that.”

  She stared him down. “My job is to watch out for my team, not to please you. Girls, go ahead.” Team Banner limped toward the door, grumbling about their day, terrible from beginning to end.

  Thea stepped toward Sahil. “You’re not ready,” she hissed. “It takes a long time to be ready for anything. I didn’t leave my house for two weeks after Natalie died. I couldn’t even step outside without feeling like every part of me was going to shatter and blow away in the wind.”

  Sahil raised his hands to his head. “It is not that. I mean it is, but—” He spun away from her. “I cannot talk about it.” A long breath escaped from his lips. “You were right to send the team away. I should not have been training like that. They were not learning; they were just defending themselves.” He fell to his knees, and leaned forward, his head resting against the floor. “I’m a monster sometimes.”

  “You’re not!” She leaned over beside him. “You’re grieving.”

  Sahil exhaled. “Yes, I suppose that’s it. Thank you for stepping in. You are dismissed.” Just like that, he was done with her, just like so many other times. Without a backward glance, he walked out of the Haunt, disappearing into the trees and the open fields beyond the house. Thea didn’t chase after him. If he wanted to talk to her, he knew where to find her. In the meantime she needed some answers.

  Twenty-Two

  “Okay. We haven’t heard anything for an hour. I think it’s safe to say no one is here,” whispered Thea, her voice echoing off the antique tiling. She and Mirabelle had been hiding in the bathroom in the alcove under the stairs for the last two hours, waiting for Mademoiselle Corday to go silent.

  Mirabelle stood and stretched out her long body. “Good. Because I cannot sit in this creepy bathroom with you for one more second.”

  Thea pushed open the door and looked over the foyer. The house was still. Together they ran up the hallway, past their classroom, and out into the main area of the house. They paused for a few seconds, nervousness pushing against Thea’s stomach as she waited for an alarm to go off, but there was nothing. She motioned to Mirabelle, wordlessly commun
icating exactly what to do, something that Nixon had taught them. Mirabelle moved in front of Thea, leaning out to check the hallway ahead of her, which led to the formal sitting room and library and, inside that, the locked room. After a moment, she turned back and shook her head, her cornflower-blue eyes alarmed.

  “Camera, above the door,” she mouthed.

  Thea’s heart sank, and she turned to go.

  “Wait!” Mirabelle grabbed her arm and pulled her close, whispering into her ear. “I think I know how to shut off the power here. Remember that day when we had to lay mousetraps and sweep the cellar after training? When I was down there, I saw the breaker for the whole house. Each part of the house was labeled. I can go turn it off, maybe for just ten seconds, not long enough that it will seem like anything other than a flicker or a power surge. Can you get into the door in that time?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “As the fastest person I know, you better.” Just as Thea was about to dart away from her, Mirabelle grabbed her arm. “How are you getting out?”

  Thea’s whisper was nervous. “After I get what I need, I’ll just go out the window of the records room—I’ve seen it from the outside. Then I’ll meet you down the street from Mademoiselle Corday, by the black mailbox at the end of the lane. I should be there in twenty minutes.”

  Mirabelle saluted. “You better move your ass, Thea.” She gave her leader a quick hug, sharp notes of some pop star’s latest perfume enveloping Thea. Then Thea watched her friend disappear into the darkness.

  Breathe in; breathe out. She counted the steps from here to the door of the sitting room, reviewing the layout in her mind. Thea took a last look at her phone. Two missed calls from Drew and one from her parents, whom she had told she had a society function tonight. Her hand paused over the screen, considering what to text Drew, running over options in her mind.

  Sorry I’m being so rotten; it’s just that I’m a member of a secret society of vigilantes. P.S. I ran into a friend of mine inside your house at one in the morning, so tell me more about you, Drew.