The Black Coats(15)
“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 alumni 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.”