The Black Coats(32)

Bea swallowed hard next to her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Hell no, you will not be!” snapped Mirabelle. “That is custom leather! Get your shit together, Bea!”

Thea reached over and pulled Bea’s hood back from her face. “Take a deep breath, okay? Casey? Window?”

“On it.” Casey rolled down Bea’s window.

Louise smiled. “We’re almost there anyway.” In the distance, the lights of Coventry University rose over the hill. While its stone walls and secluded corridors were reminiscent of Ivy League schools, its reputation for protecting predators was even stronger. And its local bar, the Railway Scout, was junior Arthur Brewe’s preferred hunting ground.

Casey parked the car outside the bar, carefully backing it into a dark corner. Mirabelle ripped open the envelope on the console. A fake ID tumbled out and Casey picked it up with a sneer. “Your name is Ashleigh Smith, and you’re from Big Sur, California.”

“Yup, that’s home.” Suddenly, Mirabelle’s thick Texas accent was replaced by a cool Californian tone. Even her posture changed: tightly wound Mirabelle relaxed into Ashleigh, slumping against the seat, her shoulders down. Thea was impressed. As Mirabelle then uncurled herself from the car, her thin T-shirt rode up over her torso. Dark blue jeans rode low on her hips, and long gold earrings flashed in the light.

“Nice outfit,” deadpanned Casey. “You look like . . .”

Mirabelle raised her eyebrow. “An easy mark?”

Casey leaned back. “Yeah, actually. You look just naive enough.”

Mirabelle snarled. “See now, you saying that is part of the problem. I should be able to dress however I want and not be able to attract a predator. Whatever you wear and whatever you do at a bar does not give someone the right to take what he wants, which is exactly what Arthur Brewe does. Ugh.” Mirabelle flipped down the car mirror. “This lipstick is the wrong color. Anyway . . . Louise, you coming?”

Louise climbed out of the car. She was nondescript, wearing simple jeans, a black T-shirt, and her black coat, practically invisible next to shining Mirabelle. Thea felt like she should say something and leaned forward, pulling in her team.

“This is it, ladies. Let’s do it.” She took a breath in. “Soulevez-vous, femmes de la vengeance,” she whispered, butchering the French. They repeated it after her, as the two girls stepped away from the car. “Good luck, Mirabelle. Louise.”

“It’s Ashleigh! And I’ll be fine.” Thea was reassured by Mirabelle’s unwavering belief in herself as she tossed her mane of golden hair over her shoulder. “Bradford Dorm, room three-o-six, one hour.”

Casey drove off, leaving two of their team members behind in the dust. It felt strange. There was only silence as Casey drove a mile down to the college, parking in a leafy spot beside Bradford Dorm. Part of Casey’s job was to know the layout of each and every location that they visited, and so far, she was flawless.

“So, we just wait now?” Casey turned the car off and began nervously tapping her nails.

“Yup,” piped up Bea from the back, her voice quaking.

Thea’s body was tense. It felt wrong to be in the dark while Louise and Mirabelle were out there starting a Balancing. Whatever they were doing, it couldn’t be worse than just waiting. She turned to Bea with a smile. “Someone, please talk.”

Casey ignored her and instead pulled out a tattered copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. “I’ve got homework. Talk among yourselves.”

“So, Bea . . .”

Her friend let an embarrassed smile pull at the corners of her mouth. “I know exactly what you want to ask.”

Thea gave a hollow laugh. “Okay, so apparently you are psychic as well?” Bea groaned as she continued. “I don’t have just one question; I have all the questions. When did you learn how to hypnotize people? How did you learn? Where . . .”

Bea looked down shyly, her frizzy dark hair falling over her forehead.

“Well, it runs through the Hopwood women, really. My grandmother was the first member of my family to show signs of the gift. This is really cool—she actually traveled around with the circus, though they will deny it if you ever ask about it.”

Thea sat back in her seat. “Wow.”

Bea grinned. “Yeah, I love our history. In her later years, my grandmother became a big proponent of hypnosis in terms of behavioral conditioning in children and rehabilitation for prisoners. My mom is a social worker at a counseling center here in Austin. She occasionally is called on to use hypnosis for victims of domestic abuse, but she really lives for the social-worker part of her job. I’ve grown up with stories of women and kids with black eyes, bloody noses, and broken wrists.”

The dark of the car swallowed Bea’s quiet voice as a burst of wind rustled the leaves overhead. Thea patted Bea’s knee.

“So that’s why you’re here, on the Black Coats.”

Bea nodded. “I’ve seen too many women hurt by broken men. I was taught very early to use hypnotism. I’m not as good as my grandmother was, but I’m better than my mom. I am, however, quicker than both of them. I can get people out pretty fast.” She sighed. “My mom says it’s because I’m a product of my impatient generation.”

Bea’s eyes shone in the streetlights. “But for once, I feel like I belong somewhere. I want to use hypnosis to help people, to—”