"We'll talk when we get where we're going. Why don't you relax? You've been through a lot tonight." Johnny handed her a large cup of ice and a washcloth.
Mack took Ingrid’s hand. "Are you hurt?"
"Joseph decided to use me as a punching bag, but I'll be fine in an hour or so."
"I'll kill him." Gene and Mack said it simultaneously, which earned a laugh from Tom and a wince from Ingrid.
Mack sent a mental message to Gene and Ingrid. "I don't like how they're not answering our questions."
Gene shook his head. "So far they’ve done nothing threatening, plus let’s not forget they saved Ingrid’s life. We should take their advice and rest—pull in a little extra power. They’re obviously thetas and they must need our help, otherwise why take the risk? These three are probably as freaked out by us as we are by them."
Gene might be right. Mack would get his answers soon enough, and to be honest, he could barely keep his eyes open.
Ingrid sighed, so he glanced her way, unable to hide his smile at her unexpected appearance. The tight curls, long nose, and thin mouth gave no hint of her usual feminine features. She even sounded like a man when she spoke, not an easy feat for most theta females. He was constantly in awe of her ability to think on her feet, along with her stubborn refusal to give in to fear.
She was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes closed, so Mack sent her a wash of his energy and watched the corners of her mouth curl up, mustache and all. As they entered the Battery Tunnel, he settled back and drifted into sleep.
Mack became aware again forty-five minutes later, when they pulled into the parking lot of a large liquor store and drove around to the back of the building. There was a smaller brick building nestled between some trees along the waterfront, about the size of a three car garage, with a few dirty windows and a weather-beaten door. It was hidden from the road and appeared abandoned. Tom parked and Liz led them through the entrance into a small foyer, then into a much larger sitting room.
Mack’s eyes widened as he looked around in disbelief. The place seemed to be much larger than it appeared from the outside, with brightly colored walls, beautifully varnished wooden floors, and colorful area rugs. Kids’ artwork hung everywhere, along with photographs of New York City parks and beaches and an occasional landscape oil painting.
Johnny motioned for them to follow him down a hallway. "We'll getcha somethin’ to eat." He escorted them into another large room with fold out picnic tables and a huge kitchen. Tom headed to the fridge and pulled three pizzas out of the freezer while the three thetas looked around. He shoved them in the solar oven and came back to join the group.
"A witch friend of ours was able to work a glamour spell on the outside of the building. No one can see what it really looks like."
Everyone had morphed back to their own skins again, dressed in casual clothes. "Where are the other members of our troupe?" Gene asked.
"Sleeping. We needed to talk to the three of you alone, so we gave them rooms, and tucked ’em in."
Gene scowled. "That's bull. They'd have waited up to see if Ingrid was okay."
"We didn't really give ’em that option."
"You mentally manipulated them to go to sleep?" Mack was fuming.
"No. No, we can’t…we don’t do that. We slipped a teaspoon of soothing balm into their tea.”
"You have a lot of fucking nerve using drugs..." Ingrid had found the energy to snarl, despite her exhaustion.
Liz crossed her arms over her chest, scanning them closely. “Look, we risked our necks and saved your asses. You could show a little gratitude.” She frowned and headed toward the fridge, pulling out a large bottle of filtered water, opening a cupboard and bringing down glasses.
“We’re grateful, we are. But why do you need to talk to only the three of us?” Mack asked.
“You’re the key to a plan we’ve hatched. After we talk, we’ll decide what ta do with ya." Johnny said.
"You're threatening us?" Mack took an angry step toward Johnny.
Johnny held up a placating hand. "No, of course not. We need your help and you need ours. We aren't your enemies. After what happened tonight, The Director’ll send his soldiers out to hunt ya down. He'll wantcha caught and disposed of quickly before word leaks out that ya openly defied him. You're safer here with us than anywhere else."
Tom brought over the pizzas indicating the picnic table on the right. "Why don't you sit down and eat? You must be hungry.”
"Is this drugged too?" Gene sniffed at a slice of pizza he’d picked up.
Tom laughed, "No. We can't talk to you if you're falling asleep at the table."
"Good, 'cause I'm starving." Gene’s first bite took care of half the slice. “Those cheap wolves ran out of appetizers fast.”
“You probably ate most of them,” Ingrid teased. Mack grinned, happy to see Ingrid was in good spirits despite the pain.
“How did you get everyone else out?”
“Liz and I morphed into demons and told the wolves the evening was over and the Director expected the troupe ta leave.”
“Johnny morphed into Rem.” Liz added.
“Impressive.” Mack had already decided to listen to what they had to say before taking any action. He sat on the bench next to Ingrid and handed her a slice. She looked pale and probably needed to refuel with some healthy food, or she'd end up passing out. Although her mouth seemed to have healed, there were still a couple of bad bruises visible on her arm where the alpha must have grabbed her.
Mack swallowed down his fury since there was no one to release it on "Would you like some energy to help you heal?"
"Yes. Thanks. I did some scary shit with the alpha—stuff I didn't know for sure I could do. I’m pretty beat."
He sent her a moderate wash, keeping one eye on their three rescuers who were observing them with wary expressions. Trust wouldn't come easily, but his trio needed some damn answers and the best way to accomplish that feat was through negotiation and diplomacy. His specialty.
How had they known Ingrid was in trouble with the alpha? She'd been so confident their combined powers would’ve given her the strength to trick him, but something must have gone wrong. When Johnny and Liz had approached him in the stairwell, they weren’t in their normal form. He’d known instantly from their axis energy that they were thetas, but what troupe were they from? And why hadn’t there been any information online about thetas who’d escaped from a troupe?
Mack watched the three of them move around the familiar space like a well-oiled machine, taking note of their interactions and emerging personalities. Liz's high forehead and full lips were usually wrinkled and frowning with irritation. She was lean like most ingénues, but slightly more muscular, as if she worked out with weights. Ingénues tried to keep their muscle mass down, making it easier on their partners who had to execute elaborate lifts. Liz’s dark red hair was thick and wavy, her nose a little crooked, maybe from a past break that hadn’t healed correctly. Her large, hazel eyes glittered with anger and intelligence. Dressed in black leather pants, a tight sleeveless tee shirt and leather wrist guards, she looked like a serious badass. It wasn’t the kind of outfit he’d picture an ingénue ever choosing as everyday wear.
On the opposite side of the coin was Tom, a guy who seemed fairly laid back and friendly. He was definitely younger than Johnny—the self-declared leader of this motley group—with the lean, strong build of a typical Gene, but too short to have been trained in that capacity. He must’ve been trained as a techie like he and Alan were. Tom was sitting next to Liz, smiling and chatting about the supplies they needed to order to keep everyone fed and clothed. Tom seemed to be the go-to supply guy.
Johnny was so much more than that boy Ingrid had described meeting on the street. There was real power simmering under the surface, most of it unpolished but still impressive, yet he’d been able to hide it from all them. He would’ve been tagged as a PM the day after he took the usual tests at the age of seven. Despite the heav
y New York accent and put-on naiveté, he seemed bright, calculating, and more mature than his young appearance would suggest. His blue eyes shone with interest as he watched Ingrid take a second slice of pizza from Tom. Few males were immune to her beauty. Mack would have to tamp down his jealousy and get used to it.
Tom refilled their soda cups, smiling and joking with Ingrid about her voracious appetite.
“I suppose bopping alpha wolves on the noggin burns a lot of calories.”
“I need to refuel more often than you might imagine.” She smiled back at both males, bringing a blush from Tom and an ear-to-ear grin from Johnny. Refueling, or rebooting an ingénue usually involved sex. Liz was scowling at Ingrid again, perhaps with a shade of jealousy?
They seemed nice enough, but they were already manipulating the troupe, and that was going to stop tonight. Mack wasn't about to trade one dictator for another.
Gene took another bite of pizza, grease dripping off his chin. Mack threw him a napkin. "What troupe were you guys from?" Gene asked, his usual charming smile masking his keen mind. Ingrid and Mack stayed quiet, waiting for a response to this key question.
Johnny sat on the table across from them, his feet on the bench. Liz sat next to him, chin up and defiance shining in her eyes. Tom sat down next to Gene, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Never been a trouper." Johnny answered.
“Trouper?” Mack had never heard the expression.
“Yeah, a theta. One a you guys who work fantasies,” he explained.
Gene didn't seem quite as surprised as Mack and Ingrid were. "You've never been a part of a troupe?" He was actually smiling. “I thought it was only a rumor spread around the underground news links.”
"No. Never.”
“None of you?” Ingrid asked.
“None of us. You're the first group of thetas we've trusted inside."
Ingrid scowled at him. "What does that mean? You're all thetas."
Liz jumped down her throat. "We don't call ourselves thetas." She’d made it into a dirty word. "We're free to do what we want. Thetas are paid puppets.”
"But that's impossible. You have axis power, I feel it. You morphed," Ingrid said, clutching at Mack’s hand.
"Did you develop your abilities later in life? Slipped under the radar that way?" Gene asked.
Johnny sighed and rubbed his face. He was probably as tired as the rest of them. "No. We were born with powers same as you.”
“The difference is our parents risked their lives and didn't hand us over. They protected us by searching for others in the same situation and then forming groups like ours. We weren’t tossed aside like you guys.” Apparently Liz didn’t give a shit how her words might affect them.
“Liz, that wasn’t cool.” Johnny was obviously pissed that Liz was acting like she didn’t want their help.
As her bombshell hit the ground, the three troupers grew very still.
Ingrid whispered, "Oh.”
Mack stayed silent, his mind swirling with memories. He thought about life as a child in one of the sterile training institutes, the fear he'd experienced during his meetings with The Director, the isolation, the loss of his childhood and the overwhelming loneliness. Painful feelings they’d all been forced to live with.
The trio from this hidden world had parents who'd loved them enough to keep them safe from the shit Ingrid, Gene, and all the rest had experienced as part of a troupe. Mack gave Ingrid’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“My parents hid me until I was eight years old. Then I was taken,” Gene whispered. “We lived in the sticks. We thought we were safe.”
Johnny spoke to Ingrid and Mack. "I'm sorry. I'm sure that info must hurt, but ya can't know your parents’ circumstances. Maybe they were hungry and had too many mouths ta feed already. They had no idea what was really going on in these schools and troupes, and probably believed all the hype about how your life would be so much better than anything they could have given ya. In some ways your life was a lot better than ours.”
Tom spoke up. "Money's tough to come by, so we're often hungry. We've all had to beg at one time or another. At least a quarter of us have died from exposure in the winter or from street attacks. Things have improved lately because there’re more of us. We're more organized and getting better at using our axis power. It was really tough for the first groups who rebelled, for our parents. You've been schooled and trained. You've always had access to medical care if you needed it, a place to live, and good food."
Ingrid balled her hands into fists and spoke up angrily. "My life has been crap. I've been a prisoner—a fucking slave! I've been treated like a whore my whole life. The Director sold me to that alpha asshole for a hundred grand, as if I was some sports car. Don't tell me how perfect a troupe theta's life is, because you've never lived it. I'd have begged on a street corner every night to have been free to make that choice." When the adrenaline rush dissolved, her body seemed to deflate before Mack’s eyes. She sat back and stared down at her trembling hands. Mack snaked an arm around her shoulders, urging her closer.
"Begging for food when you're starving isn't really a choice. Especially when there are ten little ones to feed back at the safe house," Liz fumed.
“We usually live in groups of around twelve to twenty people,” Tom explained, maybe hoping to ease some of the tension.
Johnny threw Mack a wary glance. "We've been watchin’ your troupe for a while, tryin’ to gauge whether or not you'd help us. Then we heard about the new Ingrid comin’ ta join up. We have contacts in Atlanta." He glanced in her direction. "They told us that ya used to go out with Gene Stone and hand out money ta people who needed it. Ya made the choice to do some good. Most thetas don't give a shit. I positioned myself in your path as a test that night and ya didn't disappoint us.”
“Very sneaky.” Ingrid leaned against Mack’s shoulder, looking tired, but focused on what Johnny was telling them. Even with the danger they were in, Mack couldn’t remember feeling happier. “Why do you suddenly have this crazy New York accent?” Ingrid asked.
“Born and bred in Brooklyn, babe.” Johnny grinned and she laughed. “I can pull off almost any accent, but this is whatcha get when I’m not on duty.” He winked, dispersing most of the previous tension.
“I like it.” She smiled back.
“You've been behaving as a free agent for quite a while, Ingrid. You can't imagine how excited our group is to have you here," Tom added.
Ingrid shook her head. "It's not that the troupes don't give a shit—we're not encouraged to go out and interact. We're threatened with punishment if we do."
“A slap on the wrist, right?” Liz asked, pouting.
Ingrid’s voice rose in anger. “If you call being raped by a gang of wolves a slap on the wrist, then yes.” If looks could kill, these two females would be gasping out their last breaths.
I’m not criticizing you. The threat of punishment didn't stop you and Gene Stone from helping out." Liz conceded.
"No, but we were both a little crazy. Most thetas never see what's going on out in the street."
Gene asked, "How many of you are there?"
Tom answered. "Around twenty-two in this house, ten are children or teens. And there’re other groups throughout the city and across the country.”
“There are children here now?” Ingrid asked, glancing at the drawings on the walls.
“We've sent all our usual residents to other safe houses while your troupe is staying here, in case there's trouble."
"How did you take children out of the training institutes?" Ingrid sounded dubious.
"They're our member's children. Born naturally."
"Why are you feeding us this bullshit? We're sterile." Ingrid snapped.
"That's another lie the dirt bag came up with. None of us are sterile." Liz said.
"What are you saying?" Mack asked.
Johnny explained. "In the institutes, the guys are given periodic inoculations to inhibit sperm production from the age of thir
teen. Now you take meds every week, right?”
“Vitamins.”
“Not only vitamins. The shots they give the females every three months are a birth control super-cocktail. Once you’re in a troupe you continue to get the meds. You've always been able to have children.”
Ingrid was trembling now. “You’re sure?”
If you breed with another like yourself, your child will be like you," Tom said.
"A theta?" she asked.
"You're not a theta anymore, Ingrid," Liz shot back. “You’re with us.” Her sharp tone was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. It was clear to Mack the troupe would need to pledge loyalty to this disorganized street gang to survive—unless they could step in and use their experience and powers to improve things.
Gene frowned. "We're all thetas, even you. It doesn't have anything to do with being in a troupe. It has to do with our powers and abilities. What we can do with our axis and psycore. Can you project fantasies?”
To their surprise, the rebels shook their heads. "There's been no evidence of us having psychic powers. Only axis," Johnny answered, looking mildly disappointed.
"But I felt it when you forced me to morph." Johnny started to protest, but Ingrid cut him off. "I know, normal morphing doesn't involve the psycore, but your forced morph did. You projected a solid fantasy onto me.” She scanned each face. “You probably all have the ability, you simply need to wake it up." They seemed unsure.
Gene asked, "Do you even know what theta means?" Mack smiled. Of course, Gene would have looked it up.
"Isn't it a Greek letter of the alphabet? The 'th' sound?" Johnny answered.
"Did The Director pick it?” Tom asked.
“No. A supe in the archive department suggested it. It’s a play on the word thespian, after Thespis, an ancient Greek poet. A thespian was an actor. But here’s the good part. It was also a symbol of death in Ancient Greece, the symbol drawn on doors where people had died or where someone was marked for death. In other words a theta isn't someone you should fuck with."
"The Director will be learning that lesson soon," Ingrid muttered.
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 26
