by Allie Burton
“Glad you got out okay.” Xander’s voice infiltrated the romantic bubble.
Falcon dropped his arms from around me and instant coldness seeped into my bones. I’d almost died. Olivia had almost died. “How’s Olivia?”
She lay on the concrete with her eyelids closed. A piece of wood had been strapped to her leg with what appeared to be parts of Falcon’s T-shirt. Her pale complexion emphasized the purple color of her lips.
“She’ll be okay thanks to you and Falcon.” Xander didn’t let go of her hand. Their relationship had been built on adversity like mine and Falcon’s. “I called a friend of ours who’s a doctor. He’s on his way.”
“Good.” I took a shaky breath and turned my attention to Falcon. “The trumpet is missing.”
“I don’t care about the trumpet.” He gripped my shoulders, shook me, and then his fingers massaged the muscles underneath. I wanted to nuzzle into his touch. “I care about you. That was stupid staying in the building.”
“I had to find the trumpet.” My eyes burned from the smoke and from the reprimand. He knew why I had to do it. “For you and me and Grandfather.”
His gaze darkened and glistened. He tugged me tight against his bare chest. “If we’re going to die because of the curse, then I want to be together for as long as possible.”
His raw declaration trickled from my ears to my heart. My heart expanded, filling with love. Happiness soared in my veins, but it was tempered by reality. I couldn’t think about my happiness until I found Grandfather. If I was going to die because of the trumpet, then I wanted to be with the two men who were most important to me.
“The trumpet didn’t get destroyed in the warehouse fire.” I leaned back from Falcon. A little bit of hope streamed into my bloodstream. I wasn’t going to give up. We had a chance to find the trumpet. “Didn’t you feel the pain of someone playing?”
Falcon’s gaze appeared bewildered. “No.”
My brow furrowed. How could he not have felt the intermittent torture?
I took stock of the area, noting that no vandals or criminals were causing havoc. Of course, there were only the four of us in this section of the warehouse district. No one else would come this close to a building burning to the ground.
“The playing has been inconsistent. Whoever is playing is fighting it.” I’d felt the agony of the trumpet when I’d collapsed on the floor. Then the music had stopped. I’d felt it again trudging through the warehouse, making my escape. “They’re not playing now.”
Falcon rubbed my shoulders again. His expression melted as if the fire had gotten too strong. His eyes glowed with a special light. His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I was so worried about you. I love you.”
Three simple words multiplying his earlier declaration. My heart grew, pumping fast with the depth of his emotion. My love swelled, resembling a singer’s voice singing in true harmony with him. My heart expanded even more. I meant something to Falcon. Not because of the trumpet or my powers. Not because of my musical ability. Because of me.
I stared into his glowing eyes swirling with emotion. My own gaze softened. I perused his mouth. Moved closer, wanting a taste.
My lips touched his, initiating contact. He responded with fervor, his mouth capturing mine. I opened my lips, opened for him. My body pressed against his, growing warmer than the fire flaring behind us. I needed to be close to Falcon.
The kiss intensified like the flames. Our passion mixed and mingled. Our tongues danced. My body felt like it was going to combust.
A chain of power threaded through me and Falcon. The thread grew, amped-up, electrified. This wasn’t ardor, this was passion combined with power. The force wound through my blood stream, into my tendons and muscles, through my limbs.
Our lips fused. I couldn’t break the connection if I’d wanted to.
This power, this strength, bloomed inside me. It wasn’t from Falcon to me. It was from both of us to each other. From our connection and our love.
My inner determination and strength swelled. Our love blossomed.
And with it, my determination.
I nipped at Falcon’s lips. “This isn’t going to end here.”
“It never does.”
My body heat flushed into my cheeks. Did he think I was referring to the kiss? “We have to find the trumpet. Save my grandfather from the Society.”
“We will.” He nuzzled into my neck.
And I purred into him. “We have to stop the Society.”
“We’ll find a way. Together.” He sounded so sure.
“We have to end the trumpet’s powers.” Even though I enjoyed my newfound abilities.
Falcon slanted back to inspect me. He held his chin in a confidant gesture. “We can. Because this time it feels different.” He rolled and straightened his shoulders. “I feel different. With you by my side I feel like we can accomplish anything.”
His confidence supported mine. I gave him a tremulous smile. “Me, too.”
His lips twitched into a short grin before flattening into a serious line. “I love you, Aria.”
My heart pounded in a loud, steady beat. My chest lifted, sending a beam of happiness through my body, lightening my worries and my soul. “I love you, too.”
Our lips met again. This time the kiss went deeper, the meaning more profound. This wasn’t just a meeting of mouths, it was a connection of our minds and souls. It was a promise.
A sharp jolt ripped through my head. The piercing pain zigzagged from one ear to the other, creating a waterfall of agony. Gripping my head, I stumbled. If Falcon hadn’t been holding me, I would’ve fallen.
“Aria, what is it?” Confused concern shivered in his voice.
The raw ache increased. It was hard to think, to respond. My knees gave way.
“What’s wrong?” His grip tightened around my arms.
The pain jolted again, throbbing and urging and pushing. Pushing my legs to stand. Pushing my feet to walk. Pushing me.
My face contorted. I studied Falcon through narrowed eyes that hurt as if they’d been stabbed with a million needles. I tried to focus on his eyes, tried to push back the raw pressure and the control.
His confused expression didn’t show torment. His gaze was concerned, not agonized.
I glanced at Xander and Olivia. She was asleep. He stared at me like I was crazy.
“Can’t you feel it?” My voice accused. Why didn’t Falcon feel even a little agony when it was so intense for me? Not that I wanted Falcon to hurt. I clung to him even though my feet wanted to move. “Someone’s playing the trumpet. And it’s calling again.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Falcon
Falcon’s head swirled with confusion, not pain. He should feel the trumpet playing, too. What had changed?
Confusion and concern and fear for Aria fought a battle inside him. She writhed in torture. She held her head and squirmed in his arms. Lines crinkled her face, showing him the excruciating misery residing in her brain.
“Is she okay?” The concern in Xander’s tone reminded Falcon both Xander and Olivia were nearby.
Falcon had forgotten them, he’d been so wrapped up in Aria. “What can I do to help you, Aria?” The question scraped, desperation clawing at this throat.
“In the train,” She breathed heavily as if speaking was a chore. “You felt pain in the train.”
“Maybe I’m better at focusing.” He tugged her hands away from her head. Aria had become his focus object and maybe that change had switched the jagged throbbing off in his brain, because he was always thinking of her. “Look at me, Aria. Focus on my eyes.”
Her eyelids flickered. She appeared to be trying to keep them open. A sheen filtered their lovely blue color. Her eyes popped wide, in large circles. No emotion showing.
Realization squeezed his chest. He’d confessed his love for Aria and that love had released him from the trumpet’s power.
Aria had professed her love for him, too. Yet, she was still the trumpet�
��s slave.
She jerked out of his arms. “I have to go.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand. He couldn’t let her leave. “Aria, please focus. Look at my eyes.”
Look at me. See my love. Feel your true love for me.
She yanked her hand away and marched down the street. Away from the burning warehouse and away from his broken heart. He realized even though she’d said she loved him, it must not be true. Not if the trumpet still controlled her.
“I don’t understand.” He faced Xander letting the anguish paralyze him. “I love her and now the trumpet isn’t controlling me. Aria said she loved me too, and yet the trumpet’s spell hasn’t broken.”
She marched similar to an automaton, reaching the end of the building. She didn’t glance back.
“Love is all powerful.” Xander’s calm voice imparted wisdom and experience. “It’s what shattered the glass orb holding the curse keeping Olivia and I apart.”
Falcon’s broken heart crushed and cracked with the torment of knowing. Aria must not feel this same bone-deep connection. “Even though Aria said she loved me, she didn’t mean it.”
Xander shook his head. “Or it means there’s a different type of love she has to show to break the hold the trumpet has over her.”
Aria turned the corner. Falcon couldn’t stop her. Her love for him wasn’t strong enough to break the trumpet’s hold. Sorrow slammed into him. His body walloped from the hit. He wanted to drop to the ground and smash his fists into the asphalt.
“I have to follow her.” Grabbing his jacket and slipping it on, he dashed after her. She might not return his love as strongly, but he cared for her like Tut cared for Ankhesenamen. Falcon would follow her, keep her safe from street thugs. Protect her from danger.
He was her warrior now.
She marched in front of a car. He dashed into the street and held out his hand. The car squealed to a stop, barely missing both of them.
She marched into a mob that was stomping and carrying clubs and bats and other weapons. He marched beside her, making sure no one touched her.
She marched into Golden Gate Park, unconcerned about its empty stretches or lakes. About the darkness. He followed behind, making sure she was left alone.
She did this using her super-speed, and he kept pace. His heart kept pace, too.
No, his heart raced. Raced with fear and desperation.
With the city in such an uproar, two really fast teens barely got noticed. Night had fallen and the chaos had become more destructive. The rusty sound of the trumpet being blown screeched into Falcon’s ears. His shoulders scrunched with the noise, afraid the pain would return. But it didn’t.
Aria dashed through the trees and halted at the music concourse. She turned down the center aisle between rows of green park benches, and headed for the band shell. Falcon stayed back hiding in the nearby bushes.
Constructed to resemble Roman architecture, the band shell featured columns stretching out on both sides, creating a covered portico. The main stage was covered by a dome with a checkered pattern and guarded by angels or nymphs. A short, curved staircase led to a lower stage, probably built for the wind section of an orchestra. Two smaller staircases, one on each side of the stage, led to a higher platform.
On the platform, highlighted by spotlights, sat a man playing Tut’s trumpet of war.
Professor York.
He wore the same dress slacks and jacket from the night he’d been kidnapped. A large bandage covered the right side of his head.
And next to him, holding a gun to the professor’s head, was Jeb.
Dread thudded into Falcon’s stomach and churned. Jeb was forcing Professor York to play. Forcing him to hurt Aria. Forcing him to cause chaos and destruction throughout the city.
How had the Society gotten the trumpet from the warehouse? None of the warriors would give Jeb the trumpet. So, how?
If Aria recognized her grandfather she displayed no sign. Her blank expression showed nothing except the call of the trumpet. She continued her march up the stairs and onto the stage to its torturing tune.
Anxiety cleaved into his churning stomach. Like a jagged spoon it stirred his fear.
Falcon couldn’t let Aria become a sacrifice in this war against evil. He had to save her even if that meant killing the person playing the trumpet.
She’d hate Falcon if he killed her grandfather.
But his loyalty was to Aria. And to goodness and light and love.
She was already on the stage. He’d have to move slow and control his every move.
Blanking out his expression, Falcon stepped toward the band shell. With his gaze straight ahead, he pretended to be in a trance, too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aria
Shocked torment ripped from my head to my heart when I recognized Grandfather on stage playing the trumpet of war. Playing my trumpet.
My insides tore apart, a battle between jealousy and love. My soul shredded, dark fighting with light. My tummy twisted with quarreling emotions. My head pounded. I didn’t know which side of me would win: good or evil.
On the outside, I continued to march forward, continued to not show my emotions. This trance state was similar to when I was in the fire. I understood what was happening to me. Grandfather played and I responded to his call. Did he even realize what playing the trumpet did to me?
Did he care?
Grandfather’s face appeared older than only a few days ago. More wrinkles and lines. More sadness in his eyes. His hair was whiter. The right side of his head was covered by a brown-stained gauze and tape. His ear was gone.
My body wilted. I didn’t want to fight Grandfather.
Jeb sat on the other side of my grandfather. He held a gun to Grandfather’s head.
Worry flashed, firming my body and straightened my resolve. Grandfather had been forced to play. Forced to cause chaos in the city of San Francisco. Forced to cause me agony.
Could he have resisted if a weapon hadn’t been involved? I thought so. He’d obviously fought playing earlier when I’d been inside the warehouse.
Distress cut my head like a surgeon’s scalpel. It gouged into me, making my thoughts harsher and jumbled.
Jeb’s wicked smile contorted on his face. His glee annoying and scary. “Welcome, Aria. I was hoping you’d show up soon.”
Resentment buzzed in my hurting head. How had Jeb gotten the trumpet of war from the warehouse? A warrior must be on the Society’s side—a traitor.
Worry about punishing a traitor was not high on my list. I struggled between stopping Grandfather from playing and the need to play myself. A supplicant, I kneeled at his feet.
“Grandfather.” The word struggled from my mouth.
“Professor York doesn’t have the same lung capacity that you do.” Jeb shifted in his seat to point the gun between Grandfather and me. “He’s old and tired. While you could play the trumpet for hours on end.”
His comment sliced into my gut. I’d done exactly that for him once before and hated myself for it. I tried to shake my head, denying I’d help him. The trumpet called to me. Pain, but also desire. Desire to play.
“Don’t worry.” Jeb stood, his tone trying to sound sympathetic and not quite getting there. “You and your grandfather will be together forever. Did you know playing the trumpet gives you immortality?”
As if I’d been electrified, shock shot down my spine. My body jerked in a violent tremble of anger. Falcon had never given me the information. On purpose? Just like he hadn’t told me that if the trumpet was destroyed improperly I’d be cursed.
I casually skimmed around for Falcon. Had he followed or given up?
“Why don’t you play?” I spit the words between tense lips. There was a little fight left in me, even if it was only back talk.
Jeb was the egomaniacal type who’d want to live forever.
His smarter-than-you expression rubbed me wrong. “I don’t want to be a slave to a musical instrument like you and Profes
sor York. I want to rule.”
Jeb sounded crazy. Crazy as an ancient Egyptian fox or dog or whatever animal they were famous for.
Either play for this sinful man and cause war and destruction in the world or destroy the trumpet and live a half-life as a depraved soul. Both choices were bad.
My thoughts went crazy, picturing our lives. Grandfather and I doing Jeb’s bidding. Playing the trumpet for hours on end. Then, not playing the trumpet and feeling the torturous pain and the undeniable need. Having no control for the rest of our lives.
Which would last for eternity.
Blackness invaded my soul. I could handle the imprisonment and torture. Grandfather was old and frail. Playing, his entire body quivered. His hands shook, holding the heavy bronze instrument. His gaze was glazed and half-closed.
“Even now, the violence spreads throughout the country.” Jeb’s voice rang in greedy merriment. “The Society has hooked up an amplifier to this band shell. The war call of the trumpet is being transmitted through radio waves across the globe. The Society of Aten will rule the world.”
My skin wanted to crawl off my body. The Society’s destructive ways spread past San Francisco. And I played a part. I’d accept my role and my guilt, but I had to get Grandfather free. He’d never survive the life Jeb planned.
“I’ll play the trumpet alone. All the time. Whenever you want, and without a fight.” I resembled a used-instrument salesman, knowing I had no real power to make a deal. “If you let Grandfather go.”
The sharp anguish in my head stopped. My brain felt clear, able to reason. My body didn’t listen to orders from the trumpet anymore. It only listened to me.
My brow furrowed. What was happening? Grandfather still played. Why wasn’t I feeling the pain?
“Why would you sacrifice yourself to help this old man?” The disdain on Jeb’s face showed he had no compassion. Not for the elderly or the young.
My heart shredded. “Because he’s my grandfather and I love him.”
Words I’d never spoken to him since my parents’ death. With burning eyes, I stared at him. My chest welled with love and gratefulness. I’d been so busy wallowing in my grief, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to Grandfather’s sadness. He’d lost a son and a daughter-in-law. He’d probably been distraught, and yet he’d taken me in, acted as if he was fine, tried to give me a normal life.
