Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (51 page)

He was a super fast runner, and this
day he ran faster than he'd ever run in his whole life. He ran ten
blocks. He knew 'cause he counted them as he sprinted across each
potholed street. People called out to him as he ran past them, but
he didn't slow down.

He skidded to a stop in front of the
big brick house that belonged to the Brooklyn theta troupe. Last
week Mama and he had walked past it and there'd been an ambulance
in front. Later they'd heard on the news that the assistant
production manager had fallen and had a concussion.

Matty rang the doorbell and a tall man
with brown hair answered. "What?"

"I need a doctor."

"What makes you think we have a
doctor?"

"I saw the ambulance."

"Go away, kid."

"My papa's hurt bad. There's blood
everywhere."

"I told you to get the fuck away. We
don't give a shit about your dad."

"Can you call a doctor? The demon took
my sister away. He hit her. She was crying."

The tall man shook his head. "She's
dead, kid, like your dad. Either that or she's been put in a
training institute. Maybe you'll see her performing in a troupe in
ten years," he chuckled.

Didn't he understand? "Please, help
me. I'm a theta too." Matty was starting to cry now, but the troupe
theta was bent on shutting the door in his face. In anger, Matty
stuck his foot in the doorway and tried to hold it open with his
skinny arms. "Do you know where there are doctors?" He sounded
desperate, but he didn't care.

The theta surveyed Matty's shabby
clothes and too-thin body with a tight frown. "It's better if your
dad dies. You might get some insurance money." He shoved the boy
away with his booted foot and then slammed the door. Matty stumbled
down the stairs, twisting his wrist when he landed hard on the
ground, his cheek scraping against the cement. He took a second to
catch his breath, forcing himself to his knees, drops of blood from
his cheek splashing on his throbbing hand. He looked up. Two large
shuttles slowed as they passed, the stranger's faces pressed
against the windows of the hovercraft, staring at the bleeding kid
who'd been thrown away like trash. One of them waved and
laughed.

He raced home, sailing over the
ditches and ignoring the pain. Maybe he could call the numbers his
father had left in the envelope. Maybe those people could help. He
shoulda thought of that first before he went running off to the
trouper house. He stopped several times to ask people if they might
know where there was a doctor. They looked at him with sad or empty
eyes, but none of them could help.

By the time he got back, his papa was
dead. Mama gathered him into her arms, crying and scolding,
brushing his hair out of his face, then giving him a cold pad for
his wrist and cleaning his scraped cheek with a wet rag. She'd
covered his papa with an old sheet, telling him not to look, to
remember his father the way he was when he was alive.

He was trembling, his gut churning.
Mama thought he was scared, or in pain. He was, but mostly he
hated. He hated the demon with the scar who'd killed his father,
The Director who'd sent the demons to take Bella, and the troupe
theta who wouldn't help: he would remember them all.

"Matty," Mama's voice was firm. "I
need you to be strong. Your father is dead. We will go to the
people Papa told you about. We'll be safe there."Although only ten,
Matty understood death. He'd seen dead people who were victims of
violence in alleys and on the stoops of brownstones. Sometimes
people without hope would sit on a bench in a park until they died,
not willing to fight any longer to survive. But he would never stop
fighting until he found Bella and killed the demon
responsible.

When his mother went to gather their
things, he peeked under the sheet. His father's hands rested
peacefully on his broad chest, the blackened wound a reminder of
the demon who'd ruined their lives. Matty touched the mouth that
had smiled at him only that morning, the folded hands that had held
his smaller ones so many times. He could still smell the grease and
the soap, the scent of family and safety and love. His father had
been a gentle man, but never a weakling or a coward. He'd managed
to kill two of the three demons, probably saving Mama’s life and
preventing Matty’s kidnapping.

Matty sat up straight, not slumping,
the way his Papa liked him to sit. He would never again be a
weakling or a coward. He’d learn to fight demons and he’d find
Bella. "I'll find her, Papa." He kissed his father's cheek and
covered his body once more.

Ten minutes later, they were ready to
leave the apartment, the only home he'd ever known, carrying the
few possessions Mama said they could bring with them. She was
shaking, trying to keep herself from crying, staying strong. He
hugged her around the waist, surprised by how much thinner and
smaller she seemed. "We'll get Bella back, Mama. I
promise."

She kissed the top of his
head. "We have to stay hidden so The Director won't ever
find
you
,
Matty."

"I'm Matteo, Mama." Matty was a kid's
name. She glanced at him with large, sad eyes, then nodded, bending
to pick up the heaviest bag. Matteo blocked her hand. "No, Mama.
I'll take that one."

He was tall for his age, and strong.
His theta genes had already kicked in to heal his wrist and cheek.
As he closed the door behind him for the last time, he forced
himself to think about the coming days. He would protect his mother
and learn to fight. Then he'd find the demon with the scar, the one
with his father's ring. The one who would know where his sister had
been taken.

Bella's favorite doll, Susanna, was on
the floor by the ruined front door. Matteo picked Susanna up and
tucked her gently into his backpack, then moved down the hallway,
following his mother toward the stairs.