The Black Coats

by Colleen Oakes

  The lights gave a short flicker; that was Mirabelle’s warning. Thea tucked her phone into her bag, pulled her hood up over her head, and crouched back on her heels. Her feet flexed in anticipation. Boom. The lights went out and everything around her plunged into darkness. Thea shot forward, her feet barely touching the ground as she zipped underneath the camera.

  She counted in her mind, knowing that she had ten seconds before the camera turned back on. Two, three, four. She was through the door to the library.

  Thea made it to the bookcase. Five, six, seven. The staircase spiraled up and away from her, and Thea ducked under the small chain that blocked it off. She could see the keypad now, its numbers glowing green. Eight, nine. Her hands fumbled against the keys, her mind racing from one horrible possibility to the next: Maybe this wasn’t the code. Maybe Nixon didn’t even mean to send that text to her. What was she doing here? She had made a mistake.

  She punched the keys: 42815 . . . No, that was wrong. “Calm down,” she mumbled to herself in the darkness, waiting for it to reset. Her lungs constricted and Thea held her breath. Do it right this time. The lights gave a preliminary flicker and then she heard something even more terrible: murmurs in the hallway. Thea’s fingers frantically pushed the keypad. 4. 8. 1. 5. 4. 2. She held her breath. There was a buzz and a click, and the lock kicked backward. Thank God. Thea opened the door and shut it behind her, the lock buzzing again as it relocked itself. The lights flickered on behind her, and Thea leaned back against the doorway with a sigh of relief, her heart beating so loudly she feared everyone in the house could hear it.

  The room was small, maybe fifteen feet by thirty feet across, and it was filled with one huge wooden block that held dozens of gold-plated filing cabinets. Knowing she had no time to waste, Thea flicked on the small flashlight that was attached to her keys and held it up to the closest cabinet, feeling a bit like Nancy Drew. A tiny gold label that read “Swallowtail” blinked back at her. Nope. Thea exhaled through her nostrils. She shut the Swallowtail drawer and opened the next one: Emperor. Nope. She reached for one more, and there it was, on the gold plate, this one shinier and newer than the rest: Banner. She quickly pulled out her file.

  RECRUIT: Thea Soloman.

  STRENGTHS: Speed (state track record holder); quick to adapt; high leadership potential.

  WEAKNESSES: Lacking in martial arts skills; recent loss will perhaps make unstable.

  ADDRESS: 3415 Canterbury Lane.

  OTHER: Cousin recently deceased, homicide. Luminary investigation ongoing. See Natalie Fisher file.

  TEAM ASSIGNMENT: Banner DENIED ACCEPTED (Approved by Robin Peterson)

  Thea’s hand trembled. She forgot where she was, forgot that she was here to investigate the Porters. She could see only the words floating in front of her. Cousin recently deceased, homicide. Investigation ongoing. See file.

  See file. She leaped up. Natalie had a file. Did the Black Coats know something the police didn’t? Thea took a step forward, the flashlight banging loudly on the cabinet.

  Calm down, she warned herself. She began opening one cabinet after another, moving as fast as she could. Quickly, she found a filing cabinet marked “Targets.” Thea scanned alphabetically until her eyes lit on a black file labeled “Porter, Adam A.”

  Palpable relief washed through her. This was bad, but at least it wasn’t Drew. At least Drew was still hers. She grabbed the file and folded it in half. It was risky to take it but even more risky to leave it. She stuffed it into the back of her pants and moved on, her mind only on Natalie now.

  There was a loud thud outside the door and Thea froze. She heard a beep—oh God, someone is opening the door. She didn’t have time to think. She darted forward and tucked herself into the small space between the filing cabinet and the window. The door was opening slowly when she looked across the room in horror. She had left the file cabinet open. Thea stopped breathing as someone stepped into the room and spoke. “I thought I heard something up here.” The voice was strident, cold. Julie Westing. Thea’s blood froze.

  A male voice answered her. Thea stuffed her shirtsleeve into her mouth to keep from making a sound. It was Sahil. “It was probably just the house. The power surge turned everything back on. Everything looks okay up here.”

  “Mmm-hmm. I just wanted to check.” Thea could see their heads now. Julie was looking at the cabinets, but Sahil’s eyes were trained past Thea, on the open file cabinet. He stepped forward, blocking Julie’s view of it, then blinked and turned back to Julie. “As you can see, everything is fine. May I please return to my room? We have a late night ahead of us.”

  “Yes, of course, Sahil.” Her words were pleasant, though her voice was unkind. “But first, could you check that our problematic little situation went away? I’d like the Black Coats to enter into our new metamorphosis as soon as possible.”

  Sahil’s voice was as smooth as rich chocolate. “Of course, Julie. Can I walk you back to the Haunt? I believe the presidents are waiting there for you.”

  Julie turned. “Yes, Sahil, that would be lovely.”

  They stepped toward the door. Sahil’s eyes rested once more just above Thea’s head before he turned away. Then he said matter-of-factly, “Did you check the latch on the window? I would hate to lose our limbs because we weren’t careful.”

  Julie punched in the code. “I checked it just last week. Oh, and remind me to change the code on this tomorrow. We wouldn’t want a certain ex-president to come snooping around.”

  They walked through the door, shutting it hard on the way out. The room darkened immediately, and Thea let out the breath she’d been holding. There was nothing she wanted more than to get the hell out of this room. Sahil knew she was in there—she was sure of it. Why was he helping her? What did he know?

  Thea turned to the beveled window, wavy lines of moonlight falling on her face. What had he said about the latch? On the upper right of the window, there was a long, thin piece of metal that ran down the side of the frame. Thea could see now that if you opened the window, the movement would send a shockwave down the metal piece and straight into . . . Thea pulled back the vintage lace curtains and there it was. A bomb. It was a small black box, metal. On the outside was some sort of digital clock—not a countdown clock like in the movies, but rather something that blipped random red-lit numbers—a measure of power perhaps? Dread clawed up Thea’s chest as she stared at the cold, unfeeling machine. Two copper pipes ran out of the bottom of the box and underneath the filing cabinet through a drilled hole, cleverly disguised with a decorative flourish. If someone tried to break into this room, the bomb would explode and send plumes of fire directly beneath the filing cabinet. The records of the Black Coats would burn, and the person who tried to steal them would be blown to smithereens.

  One thing was certain; she would not be going out the window, which meant that the camera would catch her on her way out the library. She took careful steps away from the window and bent back over the file cabinets, looking desperately for her cousin’s name. In the second-to-last filing cabinet, she spotted a drawer labeled, “Ongoing Investigations.”

  The world seemed to stop turning as she reached for the file marked with her cousin’s name in messy Sharpie: “Natalie Fisher.” Thea flipped open the file, squinting in the darkness.

  The file was empty. “No! Dammit!” Hands shaking with frustration, she put the file back. She took a deep breath. For now, the file on Mr. Porter had to be enough. If she thought too much about Natalie in this moment, it would derail her.

  Thea crept silently to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening for any sounds on the other side. Hearing nothing, she took a deep breath and pulled up her hood. She was hoping for the best but knew that her coiled body was ready for the worst.

  Thea slipped through and pulled the door shut behind her, hearing the buzz of the lock. Her hands ran over the bookshelves as she made her way to the stairs. She might not be able to go out the window of the records room, but the win
dows in the library would still provide an escape. A small port window overlooking the historical section caught her eye, along with the high bookcase beneath it. On the shelf sat biographies of warrior women: Queen Tomyris, Artemisia, and Zenobia were among the names that Thea’s thigh brushed as she hoisted herself up into a crouch, her hands slipping in the dust. Sorry, ladies. Thea had just reached up when she heard the door to the library open.

  She didn’t have time to think or even to look behind her. Instead, she reached up, opened the window, and pulled herself out, her hips sliding through the narrow porthole just as the people entered the room. She found herself on the roof of a small balcony, definitely not made to stand on. It gave a groan under her weight. Iron spikes pressed into her feet as she made her way down the side of the house, the roar of her adrenaline drowning out the sound of the night around her as she pressed against the siding. Below her, a round turret was a swift jump from the ground, and she held her breath as she aimed for it. Her feet hit the tiles with a slam, and then she slithered down into the gardens on the east side of Mademoiselle Corday.

  Thea climbed to her feet and sprinted for the cover of the dark forest outside the house, and then aimed herself in the direction of the main road. When she turned back to look, a few lights in Mademoiselle Corday had fluttered on. They knew someone had been there.

  Mirabelle’s car sat in front of the black iron mailbox at the end of lane. The car door popped open, and Thea slid in, her sides heaving from the sprint. “Did you get it?” Mirabelle asked.

  Thea pulled the file out of the back of her pants and exhaled. It felt like the first time she had breathed in an hour. “One file on Adam Porter.”

  Mirabelle looked at her for a long moment. “Do you want me to read it, maybe tell you what it says? Will that make it easier?”

  Thea pulled the file close to her chest. “No. That’s kind of you to offer, but I think this is something I need to read by myself.” Or with Drew, she thought. “What you can do is drive. And fast.”

  Mirabelle shrugged. “Fine, you can tell me about it tomorrow, on our way to our Balancing.”

  Thea’s head jerked up. “What?”

  Mirabelle held up her phone. “Yeah. I got a phone call from Kennedy when you were inside. We have a Balancing tomorrow evening. Code Evening.” She gave a delighted shiver. “I’m already excited.”

  Thea sat still, the file burning her fingertips. As they sped home, she watched the glowing lights of Mademoiselle Corday flickering like fireflies through the trees. One flutter, two flutters, and then they were gone.

  Twenty-Three

  Mirabelle waved from her car as Thea locked her front door behind her. She would get her car later. She turned at her mom’s voice. “Thea. I was just reading in the kitchen. Come have some cookies with me.”

  Cookies. Something so normal sounded so wonderful and comforting right now. “Thanks, that sounds good. I probably can’t sit and chat, though. I have a ton of homework tonight. Finals.”

  “Hmm.” Her mom took a long look at Thea.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her mom shook her head. “Oh, honey, you forgot, didn’t you?”

  Thea blinked, combing her mind for something she was supposed to do, some event she had planned with her parents. She shook her head. “I’m drawing a blank.”

  Her mom put her mug down with a frown. “Thea, tomorrow is Natalie’s birthday.”

  Later, she thought about the strange sensation of your heart failing, the unique pain of forgetting someone who wasn’t in the world anymore. Natalie’s birthday. She gasped as her mother reached for her hand. “Oh my God. How did I . . .” She covered her mouth. “I’m a terrible cousin.”

  Her mom shook her head. “No, you aren’t, honey. You’re moving on. Your constant suffering will not bring her back.”

  Thea entwined her hand with her mother’s, noting how similar their hands were. The same long brown fingers, the same round fingernails. She choked back a sob. “I’m still sorry. Her birthday. How could I have forgotten?”

  “You’ve been busy. It’s okay. You have permission to live your life, Thea. Grief is the last bit of love we can give to the one we lost. It doesn’t always have to feel sad.” Her mother stood, kissing her once on the forehead with a sigh. “Take some cookies and do your homework, honey. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

  Bitter tears blurred Thea’s vision as she stood and headed back to the foyer. She clutched the file with one hand before sprinting up the stairs, her heart churning angrily. She was mad at Drew, mad at Nixon, mad at Natalie for being gone. Why did you have to get yourself killed?

  Maybe it was anger that propelled her to text Drew, or maybe it was the fact that it was Natalie’s birthday tomorrow and she needed to tell someone about it. Either way, Thea couldn’t pick up her phone fast enough.

  Are you up? I need to talk to you about something. Can you meet me at my house, twenty minutes?

  I’ll be there.

  The coolness of his words stung.

  Thea put down the phone and stared at the black file on her bed. She wanted Drew to be with her when she opened it. She wanted to see his face when she did. If his dad was guilty in any way, Drew should know about it. No more secrets. As she glanced in the mirror, her own hazel eyes flashed back with defiance. Drew’s not the one keeping secrets, Thea. With a grimace she took a closer look at her face, deciding that a quick touch-up wouldn’t be the worst idea; her mascara had made dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was in desperate need of moisture. Even if her relationship with Drew was about to shatter, somewhere inside of her she still wanted him to want her. A breeze whispered through her window as she tucked her curls back into a low twist. You want him, too.

  When he pulled up in front of her house, Thea let him in the front door. “Follow me,” she said emotionlessly. They headed straight into the backyard, not a word passing between them. He followed Thea away from the house, toward the corner of her yard where her dad had spent much of the fall. Texas wildflowers had been planted around the bench that he had made with his own hands, a bench carved with Natalie’s name. It had been her dad’s own form of grieving. How right, she thought, that they would be out here tonight, the night before her cousin should be celebrating her birthday.

  Two large oak trees arched overhead, their spindly branches blotting out the moon. Drew sat on the bench and reached his hand out to her. Thea shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Is this it then, Thea? Because I’ll be honest, I can’t be with someone who treats me as though I’m her favorite toy one day and then totally disposable the next. In fact, I would say that I can’t be with someone who has only a fleeting interest in our relationship.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like your heart has borders that I’m not allowed to pass through, like I need some sort of secret passport—”

  Thea interrupted him. “What does your dad do?”

  Drew leaned back, surprised. “I— What?”

  “What does your dad do, Drew? I’m asking you a very simple question. My father is a civil engineer for the city of Austin. What does your father do, exactly?”

  A shadow passed over his face. “My dad is a public defender. I told you that.”

  “So, he’s a lawyer?”

  Drew fidgeted. “It’s more complicated than that. He works in the public sector, defending those who can’t—” Thea pulled out the file folder from its spot beside the bench. Drew sat back. “What is that?”

  Thea let the file slap her hand. “This is a file about your dad. See where it has ‘Porter, Adam A.’ right here? If I open this file, what am I going to find? I’m giving you a chance to come clean before I find out. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt because I care about you, even though you don’t believe it.”

  Something changed in Drew’s face. The playful grin that always seemed on the edge of his mouth disappeared. In its place was a grimace on a boy who suddenly looked very much like a man. An angry man. “You�
�re giving me the benefit of the doubt? You? That’s laughable.” He stood and crossed the distance between them, close enough that she could see the intensity in his eyes and feel the heat of his breath. Drew paused. “Tell me, Thea, did you get that file from the Black Coats?”

  Time seemed to slow around her, the grass arching slightly in the wind, the stars blurring above. Thea felt like she might faint, the words from his mouth falling around her like heavy stones. The Black Coats. He knew. Drew Porter knew about the Black Coats.

  He walked toward her and snatched the file folder from her hands. Thea stood frozen. He snapped, “You want to know about my dad? Fine. You don’t need to read this to me; I’ll just tell you. My dad is—well, was—a detective. Five years ago, he began to see a pattern in Dallas. Men, especially those between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five with prior violent records of hurting women, were disappearing. Most of these men were people no one would miss, so it went unnoticed. But my dad, he helped rehabilitate these kinds of guys. No doubt, most of these men deserve to be in prison forever. But some of them—like our friend Harry and his museum—can change. They can turn their lives around.” He paused. “No matter how bizarre that life may turn out to be.”

  Thea felt a quiet breath of relief escape from her lungs. Whatever Drew knew, whoever his dad was, there was still a piece of the Drew she adored in this person. He continued, oblivious to her shock. “My dad started investigating. It was a year before he ever heard a name. The Black Coats. It was given to him by Harry, a man who had been beaten many years ago so badly that it had damaged his brain. When my dad found Harry, he was in a mental ward, staring at a wall and talking about black butterflies. My dad was the only one who heard more than madness in his stories. He helped Harry slowly put his life back together, got him on the right medications.”

  Thea paused, her mind whirling with the implications of what Drew was saying. “Did you ever think that maybe someone like Harry deserved it? So he would stop hurting others?” she asked defensively.