by Allie Burton
“Olivia!” I yelled louder. If I could rouse her, she could get herself out of the warehouse. She had powers of her own.
She didn’t move.
I’m a good person, kind of a superhero with my powers, I should save Olivia.
But the trumpet was what gave me these powers and if I didn’t save it three people would die.
Olivia is on the ground, lying in front of you, needing your help.
But the trumpet was supposed to be in the next room. It would only take a minute for me to grab the instrument first.
Save Olivia or the trumpet of war? Save Olivia or save myself, Falcon, and Grandfather?
The questions rat-a-tatted in my brain—a war was taking place in my soul—pulling it one way and then the other.
Olivia was right in front of me. I didn’t know if the trumpet was here. Still didn’t sense it. Olivia could be suffering from smoke inhalation while I debated. A life was more important than a musical instrument.
Or getting to a concert on time.
That thought struck me over the head like a burning beam had fallen on it, scalding my mind and scolding my indecision. This was the same thing. My selfish needs against lives. This time selfishness would lose. I knew what was more important. What was right. I needed to save Olivia.
Pulling from my inner strength, I dashed into the kitchen and bent at Olivia’s side. “Olivia? Are you all right?”
She moaned. Her eyelids flickered. “Leg. Broken.”
Which was why she couldn’t leap out of the room. “We’re getting out of here.”
I braced my arm behind her back and used my other hand to tug her up. I scooped her into my arms and headed out the kitchen door, again amazed at how easy it was to lift her because of my powers.
“I’ll get you out.” I said to Olivia.
She’d passed into unconsciousness again. I hoped I wasn’t too late.
An explosion rocked the building. I stumbled and fell against a weakened wall. The fire quieted for a second and roared into life with increased frenzy. We didn’t have a lot of time. My insides twisted together into a knot of anxiety and terror. Was Falcon waiting in the hallway for me?
With one last glimpse in the direction of the library, I ignored the tug and leapt over the burning couch, heading toward the exit.
“Falcon!” Desperation scraped through me.
The rumbling of the collapsing walls and the roar of the fire drowned out my voice. The smoke clouded my vision.
“Falcon!” I rounded the mats and jumped over burnt and smoking debris. There’d be nothing left to salvage once the fire was out.
“Aria?”
My ears picked up a slight sound. Falcon calling my name. Hope twittered in my chest, relieving my clogged lungs.
I kept pushing forward. Leaping over small flames, jumping high over burning debris, staying low when the smoke got really thick. Olivia was a rag doll in my arms. High-level anxiety zipped down my spine and crossed my heated skin.
“Aria!”
Stopping, I listened again. He must be close.
“Falcon? Olivia and I are over here.” My voice sounded scratchy and low. I couldn’t yell any louder. I hoped he heard.
A shadow shifted about ten feet away. Smoke wove around obscuring the shadow’s definition. Then, the smoke cleared. I saw Falcon’s broad shoulders emerge out of the darkness. His clothes were ripped and dirty. Ash smeared his face. His curly hair was in disarray. His eyes lit when connecting with mine.
A breath shattered out of my mouth. I’d found him and he was okay.
“I was working on another way to get to you.” He trudged through the fire. The concern in his gaze shifted to shock. “Olivia?”
“She must not have gotten out in time. She thinks she has a broken leg.” I shifted her weight to Falcon’s arms.
“Did you find the trumpet?”
“No.” The word was a death sentence. It rang in my head and heaved in my heart. We were going to die.
We had to save Olivia first. “Can you get her outside to safety?”
“Where are you going?” Falcon firmed his expression. His strong chin accused. “You can’t go back.”
“If I don’t find the trumpet we both will die. And Grandfather.” Determination surged in me like the will of one of Falcon’s Egyptian gods.
“I’ll find the trumpet.” He shifted Olivia, trying to hand her to me. “I can get through now.”
“You need to get Olivia out of the building. We can’t let her die.” I took a step back. “With your abilities, you can help her injuries better than me.”
His glare knifed into my chest. He knew I was right. “Be careful. Finding the trumpet won’t do us any good if you die, too.”
The slicing stopped and my chest soothed and calmed. Falcon trusted me. I was his equal.
My knees trembled and I wanted to get one last kiss. I didn’t have time. We didn’t have time. With one last glance, I leapt over the debris and toward the flames. Falcon wouldn’t follow me with Olivia in his arms. He’d get her out alive.
I’d gotten to the kitchen only minutes before; I could make it to the library. Yes, the flames were higher and hotter. The smoke was thicker. The walls were weaker. And I was taking bigger risks.
This wasn’t a mystical need forcing me to go back into the flames. This was my own desire to not die a horrific death. To not watch Falcon and Grandfather die in the same way. I’d rather fight the power of the trumpet while living than die because it was destroyed.
Like getting a second chance at a concerto piece, I jumped across the wide-open warehouse floor. I leapt over the smoking mats. I rounded the now-flaming couch.
My lungs clogged. I tried to cough. Even that didn’t help the feeling of suffocation. My eyes watered, making the scene waver. My legs felt as if someone had tied one hundred pound weights to my feet.
If I died in the fire, then I’d still die of the curse. I couldn’t give up.
Bracing myself against the wall, I slid past the kitchen and toward the library. The door was closed. I banged my shoulder against the wood.
The door didn’t budge.
Energy leaked from me like a sieve. Agony knotted in my chest, a big ball of stupid. To get this close and to die.
I slid against the door to the ground. The air was less thick here, more breathable. I pivoted and put my feet against the door. Similar to a mule, I kicked.
The door banged open, flying off its hinges. It crashed onto the floor.
The computers were gone. Books lay in disarray on the floor.
I crawled forward, staying low to the ground. My knees scraped on small pieces of debris, ripping my jeans. The palm of my hand crushed a piece of glass and started to bleed. I left a trail of blood from the door to the closet.
My pulse pulverized. Almost there, almost there, almost there.
Reaching up, I grasped the knob of the closet door. I turned the knob. Pulled open the door and gaped.
The closet floor was empty.
The trumpet was gone. Antony was wrong. One of the other warriors must have the trumpet.
Blackness weighted on my shoulders. Defeat set in my bones. I collapsed onto the floor. I’d lie down for a second before getting out of the warehouse. I needed to catch my breath. To build my strength. To gather my courage to fight on.
Agony ricocheted in my head. I dug my fingers into my scalp, trying to fight the torment.
The pain of the trumpet returned.
The instrument hadn’t been destroyed in the fire. Someone was playing it.
Who?
And why now?
The agony of the trumpet sounded in my head, killing my strength and courage. All I could think about was muzzling the torment. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t escape the burning warehouse.
I was going to die here and now. And still become a vengeful soul.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Falcon
Falcon’s instincts screamed to not let Aria go back
into the fire. His head agreed with her logic, but his heart denied the plausibility.
The decision wasn’t his to make. He had to trust in Aria’s decision. Trust in Aria.
The weight of Olivia’s body added to his burdens. Her pale face was smudged with soot. Her dry lips wheezed with the tiniest puffs of air. She hadn’t moved since he’d taken her in his arms.
Even if his and Aria’s lives would be decided tonight, he couldn’t take Olivia to death with them. He’d pledged to serve her, and that meant saving her now.
The roar of the flames thundered in his head like one of the mechanical birds taking off at the airport. The smell of the smoke burned his lungs. Trying not to take a deep breath, he hurried, dodging the hot flames, ignoring the worry churning in his gut.
Light from the exit sliced across his face. He could see safety. He kicked the half-hinged metal door with his booted foot, letting some of the negative energy steam.
Hurrying, he exited the building and ran with Olivia a safe distance from the warehouse. He tried to take in deep breaths of oxygen. His damaged lungs protested, coughing black dust and phlegm.
He lay Olivia down on the hard concrete, being extra careful with her injured leg. Using his recent CPR training, combined with ancient-Egyptian medical practices, he checked her air passage and breathed into her mouth. He pressed on her chest, not pounding like the CPR instructions, slow and sure, getting the smoke out of her lungs. He breathed into her again.
Olivia coughed. Her mouth opened, fighting to scrape fresh air inside. Her eyelids flickered. “Aria?”
“It’s Falcon.” His stomach clenched wishing Aria was here instead. “How do you feel?”
“My leg. My chest.” Olivia’s purplish lips formed a shape. “Xander?”
“Do you have your cell? I’ll call him.” Falcon understood the need to keep in touch with someone you cared about.
“Back pocket.” She tried to move.
“I’ve got it.” He slid the phone out of her pocket and called Xander, relaying the information. Falcon disconnected. “Xander’s abandoning his mission. He’s on the way.”
Falcon sprinted to the side of the warehouse and grabbed a crate. He broke off a piece about the length of Olivia’s legs. Slipping the board under her leg, he took off his shirt and ripped it into strips.
Olivia moaned.
“It’s okay. Help’s coming.” He used the strips of cotton to tie the board to the back of her leg in several places. He couldn’t call 9-1-1. They’d ask too many questions. The warriors had a doctor friend who’d help. “What happened?”
“Cops came. Told us to get out.” Trying to sit up, she hacked up a bunch of black guck. “They gave us an hour, said they’d be back. I organized our stuff, divided it between the warriors who were home, and got them out.”
Olivia was the captain of the ship. She wouldn’t leave until she knew everyone was safe.
She hacked again. “The fire started before the hour was up. It combusted as if it was set.”
Set deliberately? Falcon’s head hurt. He scanned the area searching for the culprit.
The warehouse streets were strangely empty. Any normal bystanders were either looting or tucked securely away in their homes. The police and the fire department too busy to save a supposedly-empty, condemned building. And that was if the cops weren’t somehow involved. He thought there was a connection.
“I fell and got trapped.” Olivia struggled to speak. “Tried to call Xander. He didn’t answer.”
“He’s on his way.”
“Where’s Aria? Need to thank her.”
Aria’s name being spoken carved through him. Panic welled and he puffed down a bunch of quick breaths. “Inside the building.”
Olivia’s eyes closed and she became still. He checked her breathing. She seemed fine. Probably the strain from her broken leg. She’d need medication and her leg set and casted.
Standing, Falcon monitored the warehouse. Big, black clouds of smoke billowed from the building. Flames bellowed from the collapsed roof and broken windows. The stale smoke in the air scented his hair and clothes.
He glanced up and down the street hoping for a glimpse of a fire truck, knowing it was helpless. If the fire department hadn’t arrived by now, they weren’t coming.
Pacing around Olivia, he scrutinized her prone form. He couldn’t leave her lying in the open, exposed to the elements and alone. Nerves skittered over his smoky skin. He twisted his hands together, fighting the urge to dash back into the warehouse.
This was similar to the call of the trumpet. The call to save Aria.
“Focus, Falcon.” He pictured his focus object, the leather ball, but he couldn’t call it to mind. The only thing he saw were images of Aria. Images of her whacking him on the head with the guitar, discovering her powers, laughing, desire when she was about to kiss him.
Aria had become his focus object. His savior. His love.
His heart thudded, dropped, and then leapt high in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. The swelling of his heart crushed his damaged lungs. He loved Aria.
Loved her with all his heart and his soul.
Loved her with a passion that consumed him, more than the passion for the trumpet.
“Olivia!” Xander leapt to the ground next to him.
Falcon shook off his realization. One thing at a time. He’d get Olivia safely in Xander’s care and then he’d find Aria. “She’s sleeping.”
Xander dropped to his knees and took one of her small hands in his. “How is she?”
“She’s breathing on her own, roughly.” Falcon turned his emotions off so he could think clearly. “She comes in and out of consciousness.”
“Will she be okay?” The agony in Xander’s question cut across Falcon’s midsection.
Falcon understood the agony. He felt it worrying about Aria. “I think so.”
“What happened?” Xander’s face wrinkled as if he felt Olivia’s injuries.
“Aria found her inside the warehouse.”
Xander pursed his mouth in an angry expression. “Of course Olivia stayed until last.”
Standing, the need to get to Aria couldn’t be denied any longer. Olivia was safe with Xander. Falcon could go. “I’m going in to get Aria.”
Xander’s mouth dropped open. “Aria’s in the burning warehouse?”
“Not for long.” Falcon didn’t care if the trumpet was destroyed by the fire and he and Aria died through the evil curse. At least they’d be together when it happened. He started forward.
Xander grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”
Falcon shook the hold off. Frustration and fear jabbed and slashed and shredded his insides. “I have to save Aria.”
“You can’t risk yourself. We need you.” Xander grabbed him again. He stood and wrapped his arms around Falcon’s waist.
Falcon struggled, fighting back against the super-strong Xander. Falcon didn’t want to hurt him.
Xander loosened his hold. “What if Aria’s already dead?”
Falcon’s movement halted. His feet were lead. Cramps ripped into his belly. His heart tore in two, dangling and choking him. She couldn’t be dead. He’d feel it. He’d know.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aria
I was going to die.
Not by the curse of the trumpet or by the chaos in the city. I was going to die by fire.
Pain sliced into my skull again. The power of the trumpet called. My body was weak, but the desire to reunite with the trumpet was stronger.
Someone played the trumpet. Not in the warehouse. Somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere I had to go.
Coughing, I struggled to my feet. My legs trembled. My chest ached. I wanted to collapse back onto the ground and let the smoke put me out of my misery. The call of the trumpet tortured my head, urged me forward, controlled me.
I rested against a beam, gathering my strength. Stepping forward, I ignored the flames and the debris. Ignored the smoke and the danger. I marched past
the burnt remnants of the library.
My lungs burned. I couldn’t breathe and yet I marched on. Because the trumpet called.
It was similar to being in the trance again. The chaos around quieted to a dull roar. I barely felt the flames licking the wood nearby. Didn’t hear parts of the building collapsing around me. Didn’t notice how many times death invited.
The trumpet called and the trance numbed.
Except this time, the trance was different. My mind felt different. Last time I cared about nothing but answering the call. This time, I knew the trumpet was bad for me and the world. Knew Falcon waited for me outside. Knew whomever was playing the trumpet at this moment did it under duress because of the inconsistency of the notes. The starting and stopping of the tune, like they were fighting the urge to play.
I might not be in control of my body, but I understood what was happening and was thankful. The control the instrument had over me was what forced me to stand, to move, to get out of the burning warehouse. The trumpet was my salvation.
A beam fell in front of me and I didn’t flinch. The beam crushed the stairs and I didn’t care. A portion of an inside wall crashed down and I didn’t duck.
I walked out of the burning building with a new understanding of myself and the trumpet.
The trumpet had saved me.
The trumpet was missing. I could find it by following the pain.
The person who played the trumpet wasn’t my enemy. They needed help. My help.
Mine and Falcon’s help.
Exiting the building, I peered over my shoulder. The warehouse wasn’t saveable. The Soul Warriors had no home. No haven.
“Aria!” Falcon rushed toward me with arms open wide. His face was blackened by ash. His eyes were bloodshot. His jeans were dirty and torn and he didn’t wear a shirt. To me he looked perfect.
My heart melted. Not from heat or flames. From love.
I went into his embrace. His strong arms wrapped around me making me feel safe, protected, cared for. Making me feel loved.
Pulling back, I focused on the love shining from his emerald orbs. Concentrated on him instead of the pain.
