The Black Coats(16)

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.