The Black Coats(61)
“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 windows 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.”