The Black Coats(5)

She began laughing at the absurdity of it all: the envelope, the fountain, this freaking tree. She laughed until her stomach ached, probably going mad but loving every minute of it. She hadn’t laughed like that in so long. “Thank you,” she whispered. She sprinted fearlessly toward the thicket of trees, deafening cracks of thunder shaking her teeth as she raced toward whatever mystery called her forward.

Once she passed the trees, the iron gate gradually rose above her as she neared it. The swirls of pointed metal, topped by a black butterfly, stood firm against the wind. Thea was surprised when the gate swung open at her touch. She took a deep breath as she made her way through the gate and underneath a portico dotted with yellow rosebuds. Eventually, Thea stepped out into a clearing, her feet landing on smooth gravel.

“Whoa,” she murmured. She was in front of one of the largest houses she had ever seen. A formidable fortress that loomed over the fields and trees, the enormous black house towered above her—vicious, beautiful. Slanted gables dotted with gold rose above her head, each one hosting ornamental gargoyles that leered menacingly down at her. The house and its land seemed to sprawl out in all directions and looked like it was constantly being built upon; a sort of madness in its very design. From where Thea stood, she counted at least four floors above her. Just behind it, she saw a hint of a gold-tipped dome.

She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and slowly walked toward the gigantic door. A bronze plaque greeted her: Welcome to Mademoiselle Corday.

Beneath the words was the same symbol that adorned the weathervane and the envelopes: a black butterfly.

Thea blew out a long breath. She closed her eyes. This was the last moment she could walk away. This was either going to be life-changing or life-ending. She looked up at the sky, the storm churning the clouds into a foamy green gray. Somewhere deep inside she knew that her decision had already been made for her, had been made the minute the envelope slid across her bag in pottery class. Had been made that day, on the track.

Thea, something happened to Natalie.

That was the moment when nothing would ever be the same again. That moment had made the choice for her. Now there was only moving forward. The past was without a heartbeat.

Thea reached out to lift the knocker and paused, remembering the note: Mademoiselle Corday is waiting. Instead of knocking, she pushed against the wooden door and watched it swing open. The woods behind her filled with the sound of rain as she stepped inside. The door slammed, the loud bang echoing through the silent house. It was pleasantly warm, but Thea shivered nonetheless, overcome by the feeling—no, the certainty—that she was being watched.

The grand foyer was empty save for an antique table that held a black envelope and a pile of clothing. Thea stepped forward, leaving puddles on the floor with each step, and unfolded the note.

Change into these clothes.

Take the stairs to the right and get through the black door.

Turn back or forever be changed.

On the table were a folded pair of leggings, a simple long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of ballet slippers. All were black.

“Please, God, don’t let me be on the internet right now,” Thea mumbled as she stripped off her soaked flannel and peeled the dirt-soaked, waterlogged jeans from her legs. Thea pulled on the leggings and slipped her feet into the black ballet slippers before folding up her dirty clothes and placing them in a plastic bag on the floor. Her soaked, heavy hair was becoming a burden, so she twisted it up into a high bun. Behind the table a long staircase gracefully climbed upward, dividing halfway and turning into separate spiraling staircases. Thea went right, taking two stairs at a time. She circled above the main floor once, again, and then once more before they led to an open door. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She walked through, ready for whatever complex obstacle lay on the other side.

Except that there was a boy on the other side.

Thea leaped back with a yelp as her heart pounded with fear. Had he brought her here? He stared down at her, unnerving in his intensity.

He stood about six feet tall, lean but muscular, maybe only a year or two older than she was. He wore loose white linen pants that dusted the tops of his veined, hard feet. His black hair was cropped close in a military fashion and stood in direct contrast to obscenely wild dark eyes. His skin was light brown, and he looked to be of Indian descent.

A nameless alarm began rising in her, a pulse that beat up through her ears. The boy stared at her, not speaking. Finally, Thea raised her voice. “Hello?”

The boy gestured to the door behind him. “Get through the door,” he said simply. Then he stepped back.

Thea nodded. “Right. Get through the door.” Taking a far step to the side, Thea moved toward the door, hoping that he was simply a kind of doorman, an ornamental finish to whatever this elaborate show was. He did not move from his position in front of the door, and the space between them didn’t allow Thea to squeeze through.

“I’m sorry, I may need you to move.” The boy stared forward, hands folded in front of his waist, body rigid and as still as a stone in a stream. He said nothing as Thea stepped cautiously in front of him. “Yeah, so . . . I’m just going to scoot through here. . . .” She tried to duck under his arm politely, but her shoulder bumped up against the cave of his ribs.

Suddenly and without warning, he threw her across the room. She felt her feet leave the ground as she slammed into the wall behind her like a rag doll. The pain was white-hot, throbbing. Thea clenched her teeth to keep from crying out as she clutched her arm protectively against her ribs. The man stepped back in front of the door without a word, his arms crossed calmly in front of him.