by Allie Burton
Falcon would need to demonstrate his power. He whipped around and struck the middle of the bat with a knife hand. The bat broke in two and both pieces fell out of the guy’s clutches, tumbling to the ground and echoing in the silent alley.
The group stared, dumbfounded, at the broken bat. If they were smart, they’d know breaking a bat with a hand wasn’t something a normal person could do.
“Let us pass.”
Two more guys moved forward. Guess they weren’t so smart.
Aria paused. Her brow furrowed as if she was thinking. Hopefully, thinking about helping or running.
The pounding in his head peaked again. Every nerve trembled, waiting for the next attack.
The men circled, separating him from Aria. She wasn’t being detained. She could escape. They must believe if they got rid of him they could easily get her next.
“Aria, run!”
The guys ignored his yell. Three stepped closer, shortening the circle.
Aria kept walking.
The nunchaku guy swung and swirled the weapon in the air.
Using his speed and agility, Falcon ducked and dodged. The rattling of the chain rattled his bones. He couldn’t leap his way out of the situation.
From behind, two guys grabbed him. Falcon threw his elbows back and got loose, whirled around and kicked both guys down.
The last three guys moved forward. Two held him down and the third jabbed a gun into Falcon’s stomach. His abs contracted and air whooshed from his lungs. As he’d told Aria earlier, they couldn’t outrun a bullet. Especially with the barrel jammed into his body.
A sharp burning struck his gut even without the gun being fired. This could be the end. His long, long, long life flashed, but mostly he pictured Aria. Prim and proper Aria. Smiling Aria. The new, risk-taking, Aria. Would she take a risk for him?
He scrutinized the real Aria. She’d stopped walking and watched the struggle with no emotion. Did she feel anything besides the pain inside? Anything for him?
His heart cracked and bled. Bled similar to his hope.
He’d been under this trance before. He’d walked away from his family, commanded hundreds to kill. Her walking away was expected.
He had to try. He needed to reach her. He needed her to focus.
Widening his eyes, he pleaded her name. “Aria. I need you.”
Her face scrunched in confusion. Her gaze darted back and forth between him and the guy with the gun and the empty alley opening. Was the urge to follow the trumpet so strong she’d leave him to his fate?
His will drained from him. His body felt like a dead weight. He gave one last plea not expecting assistance. “Aria, I desperately need your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aria
The glint in Falcon’s eyes caused an answering light inside my heart. Something sparked. Caught and ignited. I should help him. He could die.
But the pressure and the pull and the piercing desire to move forward, to follow the pain, yanked at my soul.
I didn’t have a choice. The trumpet called and I had to answer.
What happened in this seedy alley didn’t matter. Who lived or who died. The only thing that mattered was playing the trumpet. Feeling the exultant feelings again. Playing in triumph. My blood pounded and blared, announcing my superiority and disregard for anything except the trumpet.
I stepped forward. Falcon’s gaze connected with mine again. The deep green reminded me of a peaceful forest or lush jewels. I tried to remember what he was to me. Focusing on the rounded orbs, I concentrated.
Pictures of us swinging and talking.
Visions of us sparring and laughing.
Images of us kissing. His lips touching mine, connecting with me. Emotions rushed through my bloodstream, pumping, pumping, pumping. Falcon meant something to me.
Love.
The word flittered in my head and fluttered away.
Love.
The letters landed in my chest and connected to my heart.
I loved Falcon. Cared for him. Connected to him.
The pain in my head stopped. The pull of the music halted. Whoever was playing stopped.
Just in time.
Determination hardened my muscles. I couldn’t let Falcon die.
I took a mechanical step, pretending to not even see the two thugs holding Falcon. I analyzed their location and stance, the trajectory of a bullet if the gun was shot, the speed of their response to a surprise attack by a supposedly weak and distracted girl.
Flutters brushed my skin. I stepped again. This step took me beside the man with the gun. I’d have only seconds to surprise.
Calming my mind, I tensed my muscles right before I flicked a fast sidekick aimed precisely for the gun. My foot hit the gun with force. The power and the speed of my movement sent the weapon flying into the air. The gun hit a brick wall and went off.
Jerking, I ducked.
The bullet shot, echoing in the alley and hit one of the thugs.
“Nice shot.” Falcon took advantage of the thugs’ shock. He punched the other guy who held him.
The guy fell to the ground. With Falcon’s strength any hit was a knockout.
I swirled around and jumped high into the air, landing a kick at the other guy closest to Falcon. “I wasn’t aiming.”
Getting over their shock, two thugs moved in unison.
Falcon slammed his head into one man. Then, Falcon grabbed another guy in a headlock. “Aim for this.”
I did a front snap kick to his chin, loving the feel of protecting myself and helping Falcon. Loving being strong and powerful.
The guy’s head snapped back and Falcon lowered him to the ground and moved to the next guy.
Our odds were better and our conversation became lighter.
The final man stood frozen. He turned and started running.
“Who said street gangs were tough?” I jumped toward the wall, used my feet to push off the bricks, flipped over, and landed on top of the final thug.
He thrashed, trying to shake me.
“Not against the two of us.” Falcon took him out with a chop to his neck.
“And our superpowers.” Pride and joy puffed inside me. The thugs were lying on the ground. This superpower stuff was pretty cool.
Falcon held his hand out to me, smiling as if he’d conquered the world. “Glad you’re back.”
“I can’t believe I fell apart.” Disappointment in myself hummed a sad tune. I’d almost abandoned Falcon to his fate. “I was the walking dead.”
“You’d make a beautiful zombie.” His casual tone belied the gleam in his gaze.
Glowing in his strange compliment, I practically floated, walking toward the warehouse. I knew what he’d meant. He’d already told me I was beautiful in the rose garden.
“Whoever it was stopped playing the trumpet.” Falcon squeezed my hand.
That I knew. It had been a telegraph tapping in my ears. Only louder and more painful. Sometime during the fight I’d noticed a difference in my head and knew the playing had stopped.
“Who played?” My trumpet. My paranoia amped with a quickened heartbeat and an angry snarl. I didn’t want anyone else to play my trumpet, and not because I worried about what playing did to them. I didn’t want them playing because I was jealous.
I blew a frustrated breath. The trumpet still had a hold.
We moved faster through the chaotic streets, dodging small car fires, shattered glass on the sidewalks, and angry mobs.
“Hey, Antony!” Falcon grabbed the arm of a guy racing past as we got closer to the warehouse. “What’s going on?”
Antony held several heavy boxes and had a bag strapped to his back. He carried the load with ease. He set the boxes down with a tired and wary expression. “The warehouse is being raided by the police. They’re looking for you two.”
“Us?” My tummy dropped.
“They had a photo of both of you. Said you broke into a museum.” Antony picked up the boxes.
&
nbsp; “How did the police connect the photos of us from the museum to the warehouse?” I glanced at Falcon.
“Someone from the Society is on the police force.” Falcon’s confident tone rang with truth.
One of the cops was a spy. I thought back to Officer Hill, who’d been at Grandfather’s house, and the cop at the garden. They were the same. Why would a San Francisco police officer be concerned with a museum break-in in a city thirty miles south?
“Why are you running away with stuff from the warehouse, Antony?”
“Cops realized we were squatting and the warehouse was condemned.”
“So?”
“They gave us five minutes to pack our stuff and get out.” Antony surveyed the crowds. “Olivia ordered us to grab the important stuff and scatter.”
That didn’t sound like the normal process for eviction. It usually took weeks to get squatters out of a building.
“Where are we going to go?” Falcon glared at the crazy people in the streets.
Now wasn’t a good time for the Soul Warriors to find a new home.
“Olivia will get in touch with us and let us know.” Antony started to move.
I grabbed his arm. “What about the war trumpet? Who has it? Is it at the warehouse?”
He shared a glance with Falcon. A glance I didn’t understand.
Frantic, my throat clutched and I couldn’t breathe.
“Must be inside. None of the other warriors have the instrument. I gotta move.” He left us standing on the street corner.
Not alone, alone. Hundreds of people roamed the street, causing damage and injury, others taking advantage of the confusion by mugging and looting, others just running scared. We stood still in the madness.
My thoughts swirled in my head, centering on the trumpet. Who had been playing? Was the trumpet in the warehouse? Had one of the warriors saved it? Or had someone else gotten their hands on the powerful instrument?
“Does Antony understand the importance of the trumpet?”
“No. Only Olivia, Xander and Math.” Falcon gripped my hand. “Come on.”
We took off at a super-fast run toward the warehouse, uncaring if anyone noticed our impossible speed. Two blocks away I smelled fire.
Squashing down a sudden jolt of panic, I kept running.
A block away, flames from the warehouse rose into the darkening sky. Ugly, black smoke rose in huge plumes.
When we arrived at the warehouse, the flames ate at the roof and sparked out the broken windows. Smoky air clogged my lungs.
Falcon screeched to a halt. “Good thing we were evicted.”
“The trumpet!” I lunged forward.
“You can’t go in there.” He yanked me to a stop. “Do you think all the warriors got out?”
Guilt hit me, making me realize I acted like a spoiled child. I was worried about a stupid instrument while he was afraid for his friends. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was only thinking about the trumpet.”
He paced on the street. “The trumpet messes up your thinking.”
Messed up my thinking and my emotions and my priorities. Even now, knowing the danger, I wanted to go into the building and save the trumpet, if it was inside.
“Where’s the fire department?” I stomped my foot on the ground.
His steps got shorter and shorter, seeming to get more agitated. “They’re probably too busy to save a condemned building.”
Walking from the train station, there’d been several buildings on fire. Office buildings, and apartment buildings, and shopping centers.
Falcon halted. “I have to go inside.”
“You’re joking.” I couldn’t believe what he said. He’d stopped me from rushing in. “You’ll die.”
The flames roared as if thunder. The smoke blocked the sky.
His Adam’s apple moved down his throat. His mouth tightened into a determined line. His expression appeared resigned. “I’m going to die anyhow. And so are you.”
Like a spear to my chest, my heart cringed. Breath whirled around in my lungs, but couldn’t escape suffocating me with fear and confusion. “We’re all going to die, eventually.”
“You don’t understand.” He gripped my shoulders and shook slightly, forcing me to look at him. At the truth on his face. “If the trumpet is destroyed without using the proper methods, the curse will be released on those who played.”
Curse.
The word dropped in my gut, sending a wave of nausea through my stomach, burning me like the trumpet might now be burning in the flames. “Me. You. Grandfather.”
Falcon’s chin dropped in a sad nod. “The three of us will die in the most horrific way. And then not pass. Instead, becoming murderous, vengeful souls.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aria
Horrific way? Murderous souls?
What did that mean? Why hadn’t Falcon told me this before? Before the final seconds of my life?
I swallowed anger and sadness and gave the terror free rein. The blood in my veins pumped harder. My heart drummed wildly and my head swirled with possibilities. “What is the most horrific way to die?”
I wanted to know, but I didn’t. I needed to be prepared, but how could I be?
“We’d die the way the trumpet dies. In this case, our skin would melt from our bodies and our insides and organs would meld together. Burned to death without the relief of smoke inhalation.” Falcon sounded clinical, removing his emotions from the equation.
Shivering, I rubbed my arms, trying to give myself more comfort before I got the answer to my next question. “What did you mean by murderous souls?”
“We wouldn’t just die. We’d take over the job of the trumpet of war. We’d cause greed, destruction and war around the world.” His grave tone sent frozen chills through my body. His serious expression pinched with determination. “By saving the trumpet, I’ll save all of us.”
Tears pricked my eyes and my chest caved. “The fire will burn you alive.”
“At least I’d know I tried.” He leaned into me, pressing his mouth against mine. The kiss was so quick I didn’t have time to react. He flashed a supposed-to-be-reassuring smile. “I have superpowers. Remember?”
“You’re not fireproof.” I sized up the fire hydrant at the corner. Water was so close.
“Or bulletproof. That hasn’t stopped me before.” The lightness in his voice contrasted with his dark expression. He didn’t expect to make it out alive.
Sadness slowed my heartbeat and I dragged air into my lungs.
I refused to stand there and do nothing. “I’ve got an idea.” I dashed to the fire hydrant and clamped my hands around the valve. Using my super-strength, I turned. Water sprayed out of the hydrant.
“You’re damaging public property.” His teasing tone joked.
I jumped in the stream of water taking the brunt of the blast. Normally, getting hit by the powerful stream would’ve knocked me on my butt. With my superior strength it didn’t.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m getting my clothes soaking wet so if the fire comes too close I’ll be protected. At least a little.”
“Great idea.” Taking off his jacket, he jumped into the stream of water. “But you’re not going in the warehouse.”
His praise made me feel I was floating on water instead of being drilled by it, but his insistence that he take this risk alone made me feel drowned.
“We’re partners.” Placing my hands on my hips, I prepared for an argument. “It will be safer for both of us to search.”
He twisted his lips in a grimace. Falcon didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with my logic. “We’re wasting time.”
Pulling our shirts over our mouths, we ran into the burning building. Totally insane.
My life had become insane. And wonderful. And amazing being with Falcon.
Intense heat was a wall, forcing us in one direction. We leapt over a pile of black, unrecognizable rubble and landed by the mats. The blue covering shrank a
nd melted from the inferno. The acrid smell burned my nose.
“This way!” He headed toward the classroom.
The trumpet must still be in the closet.
The metal stairway leading to the balcony collapsed in a thundering roar. The metal rods folded in upon themselves and crashed to the ground. Dust and debris rose in a mushroom cloud.
I choked. My lungs scorched.
A beam crashed between us. Flames so high and smoke so thick they blocked my view of Falcon.
“I can’t get to you!” He shouted over the flames. His way to me was blocked. He couldn’t come in any farther.
I had access. Desperation clung to my skin similar to the smoke. “You get out and I’ll go for the trumpet.”
“I’m not leaving the building unless you’re with me.” Glimpsing him through the fire and smoke, I noted his stubborn countenance. “If the trumpet burns so will we.”
My flesh crawled with the thought of becoming a murderous soul.
No time to argue.
Gathering my resolve and my bravery, I firmed every muscle in my body and leapt over the smoking and shriveling mats. I dodged a couch with cushions aflame. I trod carefully through the largest room in the warehouse, watching for things falling from above, for sudden upshoots of fire, for clouds of smoke thick enough to suffocate.
The hairs on my arm stood at attention. My heart throbbed a high tempo beat. My wide gaze swept the entire area.
Reaching the kitchen, I peered through the doorway. Heavy smoke blocked the upper view of the cabinets and countertops. The smoke hadn’t penetrated at floor level. I scanned past the legs of the butcher block table and toward the far pantry.
A jeans-clad leg stuck out from the open pantry door.
I sucked in a sharp breath and almost coughed out a lung. “Olivia.” Her name scratched past my raw throat. I recognized the embroidered hem on her black jeans. She must be unconscious or unable to move for another reason.
My jaw clenched. Indecision slashed my determination. Glancing toward the next room, I wanted to get the trumpet. I didn’t feel the urge or the essence of the trumpet, but this was where I saw the instrument last and where Falcon thought it had been left. To be this close and not check whether the trumpet was there would be stupid.
