Peace Piper

by Allie Burton

“What’re you going to do with the trumpet?”

  “We are going to unify the two trumpets the second we get back to the professor’s house.” Math twirled a piece of my hair around his finger. “Their unification will destroy the magic in both instruments and return peace and harmony to the world.”

  “Really?” I found an entirely peaceful world difficult to imagine.

  “Well, only as much peace and harmony as the mortals deliver. The trumpets might possess magic, but they aren’t all-powerful.”

  Especially with people like Aaron and Babi and even Uncle Louie in the world.

  “What about those guys?” I indicated with my chin the men lying on the ground of the ceremonial room.

  “Olivia is calling a friend of ours who’s a police officer. He’ll help us clean this up and explain things to authorities.”

  The Soul Warriors had it worked out. They were a team. A family.

  The thought laid heavy on my mind. I had nowhere to go. No family. No money or place to live. My shoulders dropped within the confines of Math’s arms. I did have Math. He’d help me find my way. “Where am I going to go? This was my home, as crazy as the Order was.”

  “You have powers and immortality.” He lowered his arms and took both my hands between his. An electrical bolt shot between us, seeming to tie us together.

  I loved this connection we had. We didn’t need heritage or links. All we needed was love.

  His expression changed from relaxed to serious. His eyes gleamed with a special light, reserved for me. “You’re going to need to learn how to use your powers.”

  A smile flitted onto my face. “Are you offering to teach me?”

  “Training you will be…” He pressed his lips to mine. “Fun.”

  “Fun?” The tease of a kiss revved my engines.

  I leaned into him, placing my mouth on his. Moving my lips, I teased him into a reaction. He tilted closer, holding me tight. His mouth moved against mine in perfect harmony. We were in perfect harmony.

  I needed to tell him. To share my feelings.

  Breaking our kiss, I leaned slightly away. “Math, I know you don’t completely trust me, so I want everything in the open. For us to be completely honest with each other. I need to tell you something.”

  “Oh?” He pulled back and studied my expression. A glint of anxiety shone from his gaze.

  I didn’t blame him. I’d kept so many secrets. Told so many lies. Stolen and betrayed.

  He had nothing to be afraid of. It was me putting everything on the line. Licking my recently-kissed lips, I gathered my courage. I wanted him to know, needed him to know. “Math, I love you.”

  His eyes glinted and his mouth turned up in a serene-sexy smile. “I love you, too. That’s what I meant when I said you held my heart in your hands.”

  I waited for him to continue, to give me a but. Doubts dug at my insides, always my constant companion when it came to relationships. No one had ever told me they loved me with no criticism to follow. “You said that in the heat of battle and I thought…I thought…”

  He took my face between his two large hands. “I love you, Piper. I think I’ve loved you from the moment we met when you lied to me about falling asleep when the trumpet played in the pawn shop.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, I knew.” His mouth hitched into a self-derisive smile. “And I knew I loved you and would forever.”

  The word forever whispered inside me. For us, forever would last a very long time.

  Our lips joined forces again, sealing the words spoken.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Are you two ready to go home?” Olivia stood patiently near the exit.

  Heat flooded my face. Math and I were making out at the scene of a battle. Sadness siphoned the happiness flowing inside at the thought of my mom.

  “Sure are.” Math dropped his arms from around me and jumped off the dais.

  My head rattled. Math and I might be together, yet I still didn’t have a home. I didn’t know where I was going.

  “Are you coming, Piper?” He held out his arms to assist.

  “Me?”

  “You don’t think we’d abandon you.” Math had an aren’t-you-silly expression.

  “Your powers will help us on our mission.” Nodding in agreement, Olivia sent me a welcoming smile. “We’ll need to discover where you got your fire powers from, and how to control them.” She visually shivered. “I don’t think the Trumpet of Peace has that kind of lineage.”

  I had Egyptian lineage. A touch of curiosity and worry shattered my bones. Finally, I knew something about my father. Except I didn’t want to think about him now. I was too happy. “What will I need to do to join the Soul Warriors?”

  Olivia held up her hand in an oath pose. “You need to promise to serve for goodness and light and—”

  “Love.” Math’s promising tone warmed my heart and comforted my soul. He rotated his hand, palm up.

  I placed my hand in his. And my heart too. “I do.”

  Because I understood I’d always find love and caring from the Soul Warriors, especially Math. That I’d work hard to become one of them. Because I knew there were many other magical battles to fight.

  Read an excerpt from the next book in the Soul Warriors series…

  Cleo’s Curse

  Soul Warriors Book 4

  by Allie Burton

  A magical knot from a goddess that entangles Cleo in a world of magic and power.

  An unhelpful headmaster and parents that don’t care.

  A Soul Warrior she doesn’t trust and a curse that makes her truly invisible.

  Needing to suck up to her parents, spoiled boarding school student Cleo Carruthers decides to make an effort and attend classes. Except the teachers can’t see her. The Isis knot has woven a web around her and she’s trapped in a strange world.

  A slave to Queen Cleopatra in a previous life, Soul Warrior Antony refuses to bow to anyone. But when a modern day goddess demands his help, he can’t say no. Saving the world must take precedence over his wishes. Until his wishes get tied up into a knot by Cleo.

  Together, the two teens must secure the magic of the knot and become unbound from the relic’s powers. But they are being hunted by those who want them to disappear. Permanently.

  Excerpt:

  Chapter One

  Cleo

  A black SUV screeched to a stop on the quiet street in front of my boarding school residence hall. Two men wearing mismatching black pants and sweatshirts charged out of the vehicle. I hated when people didn’t match their shades of black.

  Fashion basics, people.

  “Get the Isis package!” One of the guys with black hair and a strong build rushed past me, pushing me.

  I stumbled and my Christian Louboutin boots stepped off the sidewalk and into a puddle coating the pink leather in mud. Was I invisible to everyone? “Hey!”

  The man swiveled and pointed a metallic grey contraption. The barrel came to a tip like a ballpoint pen. Tubes curved along the top in an infinity pattern. Where the trigger should be was a clear orb sparking with flames.

  Each detail stamped on my mind even while my brain circled in panicked loops. Loops that dipped and flipped and tripped. I’d never seen a rifle close, especially one as strange-looking. I held my shopping-bag laden arms in a no-challenge position and took a shaky step back. The designer clothes, guy-teasing pumps, and chocolates weighed heavier in the fancy bags than they had the entire time I’d shopped.

  The guy turned the gun toward his real quarry.

  Further up the sidewalk, the second man pointed his weird gun at a delivery guy dressed in a drab brown uniform and pushing a metal cart filled with packages. “Give me the Isis package.”

  Isis, the new designer? I’d love to see her latest line. For some reason I didn’t think these guys were after clothes.

  “What?” The delivery guy held up both his hands knowing he was being mugged. “Take them.”

  Obviously he wasn’t pa
id enough to protect the packages in his charge. Hopefully, none of my online shopping was in that shipment.

  The man standing by me moved forward and picked up the top package. Grunting, he tossed the box to the ground. Glass shattered inside. He did the same with the next package. And the next.

  Without the gun trained on me, I took another step back behind a row of bushes. With my shaky hand, I grabbed my phone from my pocket. I touched the screen and hit the recording app. It didn’t go on.

  “It’s not here.” The man threw the last package down. “Where is the goddess of Isis package?”

  I smacked the recording app again. Come on. Think how many hits I’d get with this post.

  Both guys held their weird guns higher, trained at the delivery guys’ head.

  I swallowed. Instead of recording for social media, I should be calling 9-1-1.

  The delivery guy’s eyes widened. He tucked in his chin and fear flashed across his face. “I don’t know, dude.”

  Both guns fired. Real flames.

  Except not real flames because purple, pink and green colors shot out in streams. The noise hissed more than banged. The streams wrapped around the blah-brown delivery guy and he bent at the waist seeming to curl up into himself.

  My chest chattered in a horrific rhythm causing my heart to sputter. I hit the ground, landing right in the puddle, and covered my head with my hands. My nose filled with the smell of wet dirt. Forget recording the scene, I needed help. Hitting the first speed dial, I listened to the dial tone.

  Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

  The delivery guy collapsed onto the ground. The two men turned toward me. The rhythm in my chest turned into an electric dance beat music. I couldn’t hear the two men talking, but I knew I’d be next.

  “I’m sorry I’m not able to answer the phone right now. Leave a message or call my assistant at…”

  Of course, she didn’t pick up. Not for me. My life was ending and I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

  I flattened my body against the wet sidewalk not caring about my tailored jeans or the untucked silk blouse. Not worrying about my perfect black bob or my department store-prepared make-up. Only thinking about my short, sixteen-year life.

  A life I’d been trying to change so my parents would approve. Go to classes. Make real friends. Start a new adventure.

  Being dead was not an adventure. Being dead was…well, dead.

  Pain sliced through my chest. I wasn’t ready to die. I scrunched my body trying to get smaller. Sharp pinpricks pierced like scorching skin. Had the torture begun? I didn’t hear the weird guns or see the colors swirling around. I lifted my head.

  The two men jumped back into the SUV and the car squealed away.

  My body sagged into the muddy and wet sidewalk. Each inch of my skin made contact feeling the rough surface and proving I was alive. I was safe.

  Beeeeeep.

  Not that it seemed to matter to anyone else.

  “Mom, this is CC, you’re daughter.” In case they’d forgotten. “You have to get me out of this horrible San Francisco boarding school. Someone’s just been shot in front of the residence hall.”

  The message clicked off and I smashed my finger against the end button. My parents wouldn’t notice if I’d been shot or disappeared. They were too busy with their jet-set travel, country club and charity events. Which was why I was trying to be good so they’d bring me home.

  Untangling my arms from my shopping bags, I got to my knees and stared at the body of the delivery guy.

  Quit feeling sorry for yourself. At least you’re not dead.

  His brown uniform smoked. He must’ve been wet from the rain and the sun warmed his clothes, steaming them dry.

  I looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only fog and damp. Why had my parents banished me to this west coast wasteland?

  No one was around. Parked cars broke the view to the street. Most of the other students were probably still sleeping.

  Tiny tendrils of grey plumes twisted into the air off the delivery guy. Splotches of…emptiness appeared on his body. Like big holes.

  Cold tingles shivered across my arms.

  The holes became bigger. Through the holes I could see the wet sidewalk beneath. As if parts of his body were fading or evaporating.

  The tingles spread. Anxiety and fear curled in my stomach. I shook my head, trying to make sense of the vision.

  There was no wound. No blood.

  No body.

  My entire body trembled. My knees knocked together as if mating. My stomach wanted to heave my chef-prepared-five-star lunch. I staggered back.

  The delivery guy had disappeared. Vaporized.

  A Note from Allie Burton

  Thank you so much for trying my Indie published book. If you enjoyed PEACE PIPER please consider giving it a positive rating or review at your place of purchase. In this brave new book world, the only way for a good story to find its way into the hands of other readers is if the people who loved it let others know. We authors appreciate any little bit of help you can give us.

  If you want to learn more about my other books, you can join my newsletter mailing list at www.allieburton.com. I only send out newsletters a few times a year, so it won’t be flooding your inbox on a weekly basis but will keep you aware of what’s upcoming.

  Are the trumpets real?

  While I took liberties in both TUT’S TRUMPET and PEACE PIPER, Tutankhamun’s trumpets are real artifacts displayed at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Egypt. There have been claims made by a former Minister of State for Antiquities Affairs that the trumpets possess “magical powers” and have the apparent ability to summon war. Discovered by Howard Carter in 1922, they were first played five months before Britain entered World War II. The trumpets were again played before the 1967 Six Day War, before the Persian Gulf War, and most recently the bronze trumpet was played one week before the Egyptian Revolution of 2011. This same trumpet was stolen from the Cairo museum during the Egyptian riots of 2011, and mysteriously returned to the museum a few weeks later.

  I love to hear what you think of the trumpets’ history and my twist on their heritage. If you have any questions or comments, or just want to say “hi,” please feel free to email me at allie@allieburton.com or connect with me on www.twitter.com/Allie_Burton and www.facebook.com/AllieBurtonAuthor.

  I hope you enjoyed PEACE PIPER!

  Allie

  About The Author

  Allie Burton didn’t realize having so many jobs would become great research material for the stories she writes. She has been everything from a fitting room attendant to a bike police officer to a professional mascot escort. She has lived on three continents and in four states and has studied art, fashion design, marine biology, and advertising.

  When her kids asked, “when are you going to write a story we can read?” she switched from adult novels to Young Adult and Middle Grade and hasn’t looked back.

  Allie is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators, Romance Writers of America including the Young Adult, Dallas Area Romance Writers and Heart of the Rockies chapters. She is also a member of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. Currently, she lives in Colorado with her husband and two children.

  www.allieburton.com

  www.twitter.com/Allie_Burton

  www.Facebook.com/AllieBurtonAuthor

  www.wattpad.com/AllieBurton

  Excerpt from

  Tut’s Trumpet

  Soul Warriors Book 2

  by Allie Burton

  Her grandfather kidnapped.

  An ancient instrument of death in her hands.

  A warrior from the past determined to stop her.

  When sixteen-year-old Aria York loses her parents, she thinks nothing worse can happen. But then her grandfather is kidnapped by a mysterious Egyptian sect and she is being hunted by two competing tribes. Both want King Tut’s trumpet of war and will lie and steal to obtain the legendary instrument.

  When Aria plays th
e magical trumpet she forgets her grief. Instead, she feels triumph and greed and anger flow through her veins, and chaos erupts in San Francisco. She wants nothing more than to rescue her grandfather, but finds herself trusting a tortured warrior who insists she hand over the trumpet or risk enveloping the world in war.

  Aria wants to believe him, but knows there’s something even bigger at stake. As each precious hour passes, she’s forced to ask: Is she playing the trumpet or is the trumpet playing her?

  Excerpt:

  Weird I didn’t feel the same pull to play the flute as I had with Tut’s trumpet.

  A door snickered closed downstairs. The noise echoed up the stairs and into the music room. The classical guitar CD I’d put on was silenced.

  All the warm fuzzy feelings fled. I froze in place. Panic pulsed and thrummed to a wild beat. My ears perked trying to hear more over my internal rock band. My brain swarmed with scenarios. The biggest one—the only one—the kidnapper had snuck in the house.

  My gaze darted around the room. No phone. No escape.

  I picked up the biggest thing I could carry, a guitar, and raised it above my shoulder. If I could get to Grandfather’s room I could use the phone to call the police. They said they’d be in the neighborhood.

  Rushing to the music room doorway, I peeked down the hall. The lights were on. I didn’t hear anything or anyone.

  I tiptoed down the hall, holding the guitar above my head. Maybe I’d been imagining the noise. Maybe with the excitement I’d thought I’d heard something.