The Black Coats(7)

Thea stepped backward. “You’re assassins.”

Nixon smiled condescendingly, as if that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “Assassins—oh God, no. You won’t be killing anyone anytime soon. What we do is administer justice, true justice, through our organization: the Black Coats.”

The Black Coats. Thea blinked, remembering the BC on the envelope that had made its way to her in pottery class. “The Black Coats. You’re a—”

“We’re in the business of righting the wrongs done to women.” Nixon began circling her like a wolf. “Thea, aren’t you tired of being afraid in your everyday life, of not walking home alone after dark, of locking your doors, of making sure that your shorts aren’t too short lest you attract some unwanted attention? The Black Coats believe we are called to tip the scales, to restore justice. It is one small step toward restoring the world to a kinder, gentler place for our sisters. A place that doesn’t take the murder of a cousin lying down.”

Thea wiped a stray tear on her sleeve as Nixon continued, the hard rap of her heels echoing through the room. “There are many good men in this world, and for them we are grateful. But that doesn’t mean that we, as women, are meant to quietly accept the unending stream of violence against us. We are called to rise against it, and the Black Coats of Austin will answer the call, to give justice where justice has been denied. You have been invited to be part of that organization.”

Thea narrowed her eyes. “Why would you want me? I have no special skills that may be of use to you. I’m not . . . you know . . .” She paused, searching for the right word. “A ninja.”

Nixon laughed, an unnatural bark. “Neither are we. Some of us are very skilled in martial arts, myself included. But it’s not a requirement. As a Black Coat, you will learn about martial arts, among many other things, but this isn’t MI6. This is an organization of women who have lives outside the organization as well. The Black Coats term is limited, so women may move on with their lives afterward, finish college, and fulfill their professional dreams.” She smiled. “Many of our alumni, inspired by their time here, grow up to be judges, prosecutors, detectives, and law enforcers. It is the ultimate justice to succeed in the real world and fight violence from within the system.”

She rested her hands on Thea’s shoulders, turning her gently to look at the photographs. “See these faces? For most of the women whose faces you see in this room, justice never came. That is, until we delivered it.” She spun her back around, and Thea found herself staring into Nixon’s intense brown eyes. “Thea, you were picked for the Black Coats because you have something to offer us. You are fast, you are intelligent, but, most important”—she nodded to the picture Thea was holding—“you have reason.”

Thea bit her cheek. “So all of it, the fountain, the tree, the boy . . .”

Nixon tapped her fingers together. “They were all a test. The fountain served two purposes: to see if you were willing to be reckless, and to make sure you weren’t wearing a wire. The tree was to test your problem-solving skills and your willingness to do something dangerous. And the boy, Sahil, well, that purpose should be obvious. We needed to see if you would be willing to hurt a man to get the outcome you desired. And you were.”

A brief wave of shame passed through Thea.

Nixon clicked away from Thea and sat down in the chair, crossing her legs elegantly. “I’ve saved the best part for last. After you join the Black Coats and serve the appropriate amount of time, you will be entitled to your inheritance.”

Thea looked down at Nixon, by far the most terrifying person she had ever met. “My inheritance?”

Nixon nodded to the picture in Thea’s hands. “Justice. For Natalie. The man who took Natalie’s life will feel the full wrath of the Black Coats, if you so desire. He will pay the price for what he did to your cousin. That’s your inheritance, our generous repayment for the use of your services. What was his name—the man accused of murdering your cousin? Cabby?”

Rage poured into Thea’s brain, the need for justice making a potent cocktail. Justice for Natalie. My God. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I’m in.”

Nixon nodded. “That’s what we figured you would say. However, we don’t want anyone making rash decisions. We will send you home with the contract, and if you find that you still want to join the Black Coats, you will come back here tomorrow after school to begin your training and to meet your team. If you don’t show, your potential contract will be burned and you will not get a second offer to join.”

Thea clenched her fingers. “I understand.”

Nixon handed Thea a black manila envelope. “Inside is your contract. Make sure to read it carefully. Show it to no one. Which brings me to my least favorite part of the initiation ceremony.” Nixon sighed. “If you tell anyone about the Black Coats—your parents, your friends, your local police officer—we will release the numerous videotapes we have of you entering our residence without being invited, also known as breaking and entering, and attacking a young man who lives here without provocation. We will have no choice but to submit that to the police, along with the proof of your fingerprints everywhere, and the fact that you are dressed like a burglar.”

“But . . . I was invited here! I was following directions,” Thea gasped.