by Allie Burton
Warrior’s Prophecy
Warrior Academy
Book Three
Allie Burton
Allie Burton
Warrior’s Prophecy
Warrior Academy Book Three
Copyright © 2015, 2019 by Alice Fairbanks-Burton
All rights reserved
Originally published as Peace Piper © 2015
This edition has been re-edited
No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited.
Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
WARRIOR’S PROPHECY
Copyright
Stay in Touch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
A Note from Allie Burton
Also by Allie Burton
About the Author
Stay in Touch
Stay in touch with Allie:
[email protected]
www.twitter.com/allie_burton
www.facebook.com/AllieBurtonAuthor
www.instagram.com/allieburtonauthor
Warrior’s Destiny
Warrior’s Chaos
Warrior’s Prophecy
Warrior’s Curse
Chapter One
Piper
The eerie quietness of my uncle’s pawn shop slithered across my skin making the hairs on my arms stand at attention. Something was wrong. The shop was usually crawling with down-on-their-luck people who traded precious objects for cash, but there wasn’t a soul around in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.
No workers or Uncle Louie, either. Odd. He always bustled around his shop like he was king of his castle. He wouldn’t step away or let his workers slack off. Not in this part of town where someone could come in, steal something, and be out the door in seconds.
Really odd.
I’d prefer not to deal with any of the pawn shop associates or Uncle Louie. I hated this place. Uncle Louie profited from people’s misery. The dirtiness of his business clung to me, and I always left needing a shower. From the back room, he dealt in stolen and black-market goods. Illegal items. Magical relics.
The reason for my visit today. My first solo errand for the Magical Order of Crucis, and I already sensed something going wrong. If I wasn’t a success the Order would never trust me again. And I needed that little bit of freedom to plan my next move.
Inching into the shop, I tread carefully around the frayed carpet near the stairs and the dented linoleum floor. A moldy smell wafted from the bookcases reminding me of one of my mom’s old apartments. Clocks and paintings and other knickknacks the good people of San Francisco could no longer afford filled the shelves lining the walls. The floor itself held antique couches and rocking chairs, musical instruments, and even a fake mummy.
I knew it was fake because I lived in the secret basement of an Egyptian museum and had seen a real mummy. I’d seen lots of strange items.
The main counter with the cash register held precious jewelry underneath its glass surface. Turquoise and diamonds and semi-precious stones—items I wished I could bring my mom instead of what had been requested. My gaze shifted. Black boots and the ripped hem of a pair of jeans lay on the floor sticking out from behind the counter.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Uncle Louie?
Stepping closer, I controlled my wobbling knees. Shock pulsed in an uneven rhythm through my veins, making me lightheaded. Dealing with unusual situations was nothing new, but dealing with an emergency or possible murder? I never saw that in the museum basement, even though I’d witnessed a lot of other bizarre things.
“Uncle Louie?” Nausea built in my belly.
No response.
I slipped my cellphone out of my back jeans’ pocket, ready to call the cops. My hand holding the phone shook, sending vibrating tremors up my arm. If Uncle Louie was only passed out and I called the cops, he’d be furious. Knowing his reputation, he didn’t enjoy talking to the police.
Knowing my mom’s situation.
Knowing my secret errand.
Best to investigate first and then make the decision whether to call the cops.
I clicked the video app on my phone and started recording. Better to have visual evidence that I didn’t commit murder. The cops wouldn’t trust my word because I had no traceable history. Aaron, the leader of the Magical Order of Crucis, wouldn’t trust me, either. No one would trust my word.
I tiptoed toward the counter and leaned over bracing myself.
Bob, one of Uncle Louie’s employees, lay motionless on the ground. Closing my eyes, I let out a slow breath. Even though I hated him, explaining his death would cause more problems. Needing to investigate closer, I opened my eyes. I didn’t see blood or a bullet hole or a knife wound. With wobbly knees, I bent down to check for signs of life. The sickness in my stomach threatened to rise at the thought of touching a dead body. Because why else would the guy be lying here?
A screeching noise came from the back room.
Every muscle contracted and tightened. I jerked my head up, listening. Someone was in the shop.
The killer? Or my uncle? Or maybe he was both?
Nothing Uncle Louie did surprised me. Aaron said my uncle would do anything to make a buck. Aaron wasn’t much better. I planned to escape from both of them. Soon.
I’d finally gotten my driver’s license and a bit of freedom from Aaron and the Order. Before, they’d kept my mom and me prisoners in the secret basement of the museum. Hoping to use my new freedom once Mom was healthy, I was planning our escape. Proving myself useful and trustworthy was part of my plan. I couldn’t fail now.
Standing, I couldn’t take the time to discover if and how Bob died because someone was still in the shop. I needed to find who was making the noise. If it was Uncle Louie, he could deal with this death scene.
The screeching continued, and my body hummed along. The music called to me in a strange way, even though it sounded like a badly played instrument. A saxophone or a trumpet. My heart thudded and dropped, tapping at my feet like a badly repaired timing belt.
Couldn’t be the powerful instrument I’d been sent to pick up.
Uncle Louie wouldn’t be so stupid to disobey the demands of the Magical Order of Crucis. Would he? I might be scared of Uncle Louie, but I was terrified of the Order. They held my life and my mom�
��s life in their fascist fists.
An urge to follow the sound tugged me forward. Only because it was my job to retrieve Tut’s Trumpet of Peace. Nothing else. Brushing aside the urge to run toward the noise, I forced myself to walk to the back room at a slow, steady pace. I didn’t believe in the magical properties the trumpet was supposed to possess.
I followed the discordant notes into the short, dark hallway leading toward the bathroom, break room, and my uncle’s office. The disgusting bathroom was to the right. Door open and empty.
The break room was to the left. A shop employee lay on top of the table, a lit cigarette dangling from his hand. Motionless. No blood or gaping wound. The pounding in my heart increased so fast it sounded like a speeding train. The hairs on my body didn’t just stand at attention, they froze in place. Was this man dead, too?
Holy hieroglyphics. I slapped my hand over my mouth. Using Egyptian slang would make me stand out in my next life. I had to learn to stop thinking and speaking like members of the Order.
Moving past, I knew I couldn’t help either employee if they were still alive. No first aid training or even education for me. I was good at fixing machines, not people. Plus, this need to find the source of the sound yanked. I glanced at my cellphone in my hot hands, recording my stroll through the land of the dead. Calling the cops would be the smart thing to do, the right thing to do, except Uncle Louie would kill me. Unless he was dead, too.
And if the cops became involved, Aaron would assign me a fate worse than death.
Indecision danced on my own grave. Be killed by the killer or call the cops and be killed by Uncle Louie or Aaron. Which will it be, Piper?
No good choices existed. Then again, when in my life had I had choices?
“It’s a valuable artifact.” Uncle Louie’s greedy voice hissed into the hallway—a wheeling and dealing snake.
The imagined snake slunk across my skin. The fear he was dead faded. The fear he might kill me never waned. The instrument still played. And still pulled. I held my body back, hiding by the doorway.
“Worth lots of money.” Uncle Louie continued his sales pitch, although he slurred his words. Weird, because Uncle Louie didn’t drink. “The trumpet came in a special shipment from Egypt.”
That very trumpet blared in my head, confirming my suspicion and heralding my demise. Uncle Louie was selling Tut’s Trumpet of Peace. Aaron would be furious and the Magical Order of Crucis would take retribution on Uncle Louie.
On me, and my mom, too.
The urge to dash into the room and rip the trumpet away from the player pulsed inside me. To save myself, my mom, and the trumpet.
“How much?” a nasally voice asked.
The trumpet screeched a high, out-of-tune chord, so there had to be a third person in the room who played. The need to play the trumpet rushed through my bloodstream and twitched in my sweaty fingers. I could play the trumpet so much better even though I’d never had a single music lesson or touched an instrument in my life.
Confusion jumbled my thinking. Why would I think I could play? This strange desire to play battled with fear of this same desire. Teasing and taunting, fighting for my soul. My job was to pick up the trumpet from Uncle Louie and deliver it to Aaron, that was all.
Uncle Louie was the middleman. The Order coordinated delivery of the trumpet to him in an illegal shipment. He was supposed give the trumpet to me so I could bring it to Aaron. The Magical Order of Crucis believed the Trumpet of Peace would bring harmony to the world, and Mom would be free from her pain and suffering.
Camel dung.
How could Tut’s trumpet bring peace when it had already caused death?
My mind swirled and twirled with options. Should I tiptoe out of the shop and call the cops? Should I charge into Uncle Louie’s office and demand he release the trumpet to me to deliver to Aaron? Should I stay here, hoping another option occurred?
If I didn’t do everything I could to protect the trumpet, Aaron would punish me and my mother. Mom would get sicker. He wouldn’t trust me to run errands which was how I planned to run away without being noticed for at least a few hours. I needed to find out what was going on, who was buying the trumpet so if I lived, I could report my findings. My body rumbled like a car with a bad muffler. I wanted to live. I wouldn’t get caught by whoever had killed Bob and the other employee.
I peeked into Uncle Louie’s office. He sat in a cracked leather chair behind a big, salvaged, metal desk. His dark eyes flickered closed and then popped open. His head lolled as if he wanted to fall asleep in the middle of the negotiation.
If he thought dealing with these possible killers was boring, what kind of people did he associate with at night?
Maybe I didn’t want to know.
Two men stood on the other side of the desk. The first man wore slacks and a black leather jacket. His dark hair was covered by a baseball cap, putting his face in shadow.
The second man turned away from me and I couldn’t see his face. He held the long, silver trumpet to his lips and played. Hieroglyphics were etched into the instrument. This had to be the trumpet the Order of Crucis sent me to retrieve.
Holding my phone up, I video-recorded the transaction. If I couldn’t save my greedy Uncle Louie from the Order, maybe I could save Mom and myself. He’d never done anything to help us, offering a lot of excuses. Excuses to get out of responsibility. Still, he was the only family I had besides Mom.
His head fell back against the chair and his eyes closed.
My ribcage contracted squeezing air. I jerked back from the edge of the door. Was he dead? Why else would he fall unconscious while talking to these two men? Aaron had told me the trumpet was powerful. Powerful enough to kill?
I slapped my free hand to my chest. I wasn’t dead. My heart still beat, even if it ran at a fast pace. My mind fogged in confusion and I leaned forward again to watch.
“Louie is out. I’ll get the case. You keep playing until we’re gone from the building.” The first man picked up an old black leather music case with gold buckles. “That will teach Louie not to double-cross in his deals.”
Out? What did that mean? Questions screamed in my head. Dead? Unconscious? Sleeping? And how could any of this be possible? Uncle Louie never slept at work. He was always alert and aware. With his many enemies, he probably slept with one eye open in his bed.
The man playing pivoted toward the door, holding the trumpet to his mouth.
I took another step back. My heart dashed as my gaze darted around the small hallway, searching for a place to hide. The break room was farther down the hall and had no door, so the two men could see inside as they walked past. My brain engaged. I had to fake death like the other employees.
I flopped onto the ground, making sure my phone pointed up, wanting more video of these two men to show Aaron. My legs lined up against the wall. My hand holding the phone lay on my chest at a bent angle. And my other arm lay out to the side. I closed my eyes hoping they’d think I’d walked in and died like the other employees. It was my only chance at not being caught.
My heart went ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. The men would notice the up-and-down of my chest and the tenseness of the muscles on my face.
Relax, Piper. Just relax.
The trumpet player stopped playing. “There’s a girl here.”
I held my breath while my mind flew in a million panicked directions.
“She didn’t make it as far as the office. She saw nothing,” the second man responded from the doorway. “Keep playing.”
The noise of the trumpet moved past me and down the hall like the Pied Piper.
Shock choked on a hysterical giggle. Piper was my name. Playing trumpets wasn’t my game. Keeping my mom safe, surviving, was the only game I played. And it wasn’t fun.
The second man stomped on my thumb.
Agony shot through my hand. I held in a scream.
“Just making sure she’s out, too.” He moved past and marched into the showroom, follo
wing the player. The door chimed when they left the pawn shop. The music stopped.
“Freakin’ pharoah.” Squeezing my finger, I kept my voice quiet. I jumped to my feet, ran toward the front of the shop, and peered out the glass door. Both men were gone. Emptiness slammed inside me. I felt at a loss, missing something and not sure why.
The sense of loss multiplied into darkness. Uncle Louie. His two employees. The Trumpet of Peace. All gone. And my finger throbbed. I had to call the cops. I had no choice.
“Hey.” Bob struggled to his feet and leaned against the counter. His eyes appeared blurry and his expression confused. “What happened?”
I jerked my head up. Stared. Hysteria cascaded through me in waves, realization after realization rolling in. Bob wasn’t dead, which meant Uncle Louie probably wasn’t dead either. My lungs evacuated all oxygen. If Louie wasn’t dead and the trumpet was stolen, he’d be pissed.
The second employee stumbled from the break room as if he’d come out of a deep sleep. Not death. “Sorry man, I fell asleep on my break.” He rubbed his back. “On the table. Weird.”
My heart jump-started. They weren’t dead, hadn’t been killed by those men. My brain shifted, trying to put the events in realistic order. They’d been sleeping. Why had everyone fallen asleep at once?
“Piper!” Uncle Louie stood by the hallway to the backroom. He rubbed his fingers through greasy brown hair. “What happened? Did you take the trumpet?”
The accusation slashed across me and lit a hot fuse. Of course, he’d accuse me. He blamed me for everything. Including Mom’s issues.
