by Allie Burton
The thought whopped me on the side of the head and caused my heart to stumble. I trusted him. I couldn’t put my finger on when that had happened. Maybe when he’d held me in his arms, protected me, and shown me his powers when we’d escaped from the museum. Maybe because he truly cared about my injuries and my feelings. Maybe because his intense gaze drilled down to my soul. He saw the real me behind the brave mask I showed to the world.
I didn’t give my trust easily. At this point, I didn’t trust my mom enough to tell her my plan. She was weak-minded and sick but once I got her away from the Order, she’d love me thoroughly. The way a mother should love a daughter.
It had taken Aaron months to win me over as a kid. As a teen, I’d begun to dislike and distrust him again because of his belief in the ridiculous. But now I was learning some of what he said was true. Still, his blatant hatred of the Warriors and the way he used people, including me, made everything he said and did suspect.
Aaron had told me not to believe Math. That Math wanted to destroy the world. Which was the exact opposite of what he’d said.
Flying through the night sky, determination flew through me, plopping and landing in my gut. I wasn’t obediently following any longer. Sure, I’d made plans to get away in my head, but without this new knowledge could I have gone through with it? Now, I was making my own decisions, based on new information and instincts. At the moment, I put my trust in Math to find the trumpet and once we found the instrument, I’d have to decide what to do.
If I told Math about my mother’s situation, what would he think? Surely, he’d help my mom. He was a healer. Would his need for the trumpet override his need to help me?
We landed on a second-story balcony and he immediately dropped his arms, not lingering in the embrace. The loss of warmth slid down my spine and with it the tingling sensation. I finally give my trust to someone, not that I told him, and he couldn’t stand to touch me.
Shaking off my misgivings, I followed him into a nicely decorated hallway and down a grand staircase. We were both quiet even knowing there was no one home. The large, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the views of the Pacific Ocean. The marble floors shone, reflecting my confused expression.
Math seemed to know where he was going. He must’ve studied the mansion’s layout. He stopped in front of a set of double doors, turned the knob and flung one of the doors open.
Bright lights hit, causing me to squint. “What is this room?”
“It’s the Holy of Holies, where members of the Society pray.” Of course, he’d know. He probably memorized the Society’s beliefs and the building layout. He probably had a photographic memory.
He stepped inside the room and I followed, uneasiness sliding through me.
Glass and lights surrounded me. Fluorescent and grow lights filled the ceiling. Their harsh glare gave the room an eerie, false-daylight ambience. The entire ceiling and the far wall were windows. Sliding glass doors led outside to a deck where columns divided the space and colorful streamers flitted in the breeze. An altar filled the center of the room and above it, hanging from the ceiling, was the image of the sun with dangling rays ending in hands.
Creepy. The hands appeared to be reaching for me.
I shivered even with the lights highlighting my skin. “This is so different than the worship rooms of the Order.”
The Order’s subterranean rooms were dark and filled with statues and murals of gory battles and vengeful gods and goddesses. The Convergence Ceremony Room we’d discovered had been the worst, with its platform set up to deliver sacrifices. While here in the Society’s worship space, even the cabinets lining the interior walls were painted white.
The Order and Society differed in more than interior decorating. They were enemies and competitors, only working together when one group believed they had the advantage.
Math jerked around to glower. “How so?”
His clipped question made me question my comment. Guilt stabbed my midsection and rippled outward in waves of contrition. He believed I’d only seen the one ceremonial room underneath the museum.
“This is light and airy and all about the sun. While the Order’s ceremonial room,” I emphasized the singular, “is dark and claustrophobic.”
“The Society of Aten worships the sun god.” He didn’t go into details.
More closed-off behavior. What had I done to anger him?
Edging toward the altar, my shoes tapped on the white marble floor. Stale incense choked my throat. I held the cough in. “Shouldn’t we be searching places where the trumpet could be hidden?”
“Since this is their ceremonial room, I thought it would be a good place to start.” He strode by and stood in front of the altar. “Besides at the pawn shop, have you ever seen the silver trumpet before?”
“No.” I moved to one of the cabinets and put my hand on the handle, wanting to avoid getting caught in the crosshairs of his sharp gaze. We didn’t have time to play twenty questions. The people who lived, and worshipped, here could come home at any minute.
“You’ve never seen or played the silver trumpet?” He followed, not letting me out of his immediate vicinity.
The question punched low and his closeness made me feel trapped. “No. I told you that before.” My hand slipped off the handle and I scowled. Why was he asking me these questions?
He took my chin between his fingers. His eyes gave off a harsh glare. “Do you feel anything?”
Feel anything about him? My heart danced and jived, getting stuck in my throat. I swallowed, feeling so much for him, but I hadn’t analyzed it and I couldn’t put my feelings into words. Not yet. And his fingers were hard, not soft. Not a romantic gesture. “What?”
“Can you sense an energy or a power?” The intensity of his tone matched the intensity of his stare. He willed me to feel something.
“What do you mean?”
Confusion and anxiety dripped in my veins. According to Math, centuries ago he was the Chosen One for this organization. Was his religious fervor returning from being in this ceremonial room?
Dropping my chin, he took a step back. Either he was aware of my nervousness or he didn’t want to be close. “I’ve been thinking about why the trumpet didn’t influence you. Why you didn’t fall asleep.”
Where his fingers had been felt chilled.
“And?” It was like I was hanging from one of the cliffs outside.
He studied me, raking his gaze across my face. “Some people…can sense the trumpet.”
“I’ve never tried.” Wasn’t sure I wanted to.
I remembered the humming and the pull when the thief had played the trumpet at the pawn shop. Didn’t believe in the magic then. And if I could sense the trumpet, why hadn’t he asked in the museum? Because we hadn’t shared a lot about ourselves yet?
“Close your eyes.” Math’s demand chafed, but I did as asked. “Try to feel your surroundings. I’ll keep searching.”
Feeling silly, I closed my eyes. “I don’t know how to sense an object.”
“You don’t have to know, you just do.” His voice came closer. “Relax.” His hand touched my shoulder and squeezed.
The squeeze sent a jolt of electricity through me like a jumper cable. How could I relax and concentrate with him touching me? I peeked at him standing beside me. The muscles on his face softened, and his gaze was at half-mast. Like he cared.
About me.
I swooned, and my body wavered. Focusing on anything except him and my feelings would be next to impossible. But I had to. For him. He was counting on me. Plus, who knew how much more time we’d have in the mansion alone?
Taking a deep breath, I blocked my feelings for him and centered my thoughts on the room. The creepy sun decoration. The scent of old incense in the air. The bright light. My body warmed. My bloodstream expanded, flowing with extra sensation. A humming filled my soul. A song calling to me.
An instrument?
A trumpet?
Couldn’t be. When I’d had
the weird tugging sensation at the pawn shop someone had been playing. No one played now. I heard nothing except the beating in my chest. And the blood flowing in my veins like someone had pushed the gas pedal of my heart. My pulse points pounded at my wrists and neck. My body pivoted in another direction. Could this be possible? Could I sense the trumpet?
The pulsing pumped into excitement. I could sense the trumpet. I could find the instrument and help Math. Help my mom. But why could I sense the trumpet?
“I feel something.” I bit my lip, not wanting to admit this connection I had with a magical relic. A connection I didn’t understand.
“Keep your eyes closed.” Math’s soft tone held an edge, as if he was angry or excited, yet trying to stay calm. “Can you tell if the trumpet is in this room? How strong is the sensation?”
Humming roared, resembling a finely tuned engine. It flowed through my bloodstream and tickled my skin. “Strong.”
And freaking me out.
“I’m going to take your arm.” His fingers grasped my upper arm in a soft hug. “With your eyes closed, walk toward the sensation and I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything.”
A different kind of warmth soaked into my skin. He was so sweet. The humming sensation stopped for a second. I was thinking about Math and not the trumpet.
“Go ahead.” He squeezed my arm, encouraging.
Trying to ignore him, I focused on the sensation, trying to connect with the humming. Trying to concentrate. I didn’t know if this would find the trumpet, almost wished it didn’t because then I’d know for sure I had a connection. But this was our only lead.
I took a couple of steps. The humming buzzed down my spine and I changed directions.
Not knowing where I stood in the room, I stopped. “It’s here.”
I opened my eyes and inspected the stone bust of an ancient Egyptian sitting on top of one of the white cabinets. Imhotep, my favorite statue at the Order. The ancient man had large ears, broad shoulders leading to a trim waist. The statue ended there. He didn’t appear to be decorated as a god or a pharaoh. The bust wasn’t large enough to hold the trumpet.
My shoulders dipped and frustration knotted my lower back. While I didn’t want a connection, I wanted to find the trumpet. I’d gotten scared and excited about the connection. Stupid magic. “What a waste of time.”
I couldn’t sense the trumpet. Whatever was humming in my veins wasn’t a special connection.
“Imhotep. The one who comes in peace.” Math laid his hand on top of the statue’s head.
I ignored his murmur.
His gaze was dazed like he was thinking. He was always thinking, which made me feel restless and inferior. He considered the possibilities, while I rushed into action. He studied history and technology and any other subject interesting to him, while I tinkered with cars and machines and computers. Yet, I’d helped too. I’d gotten us to the museum cafeteria so we could make our escape. I’d jumpstarted the car so we could drive to San Francisco.
“Maybe the trumpet is in the cabinet.” I opened each of the drawers and found nothing. For a few minutes I’d hoped I was important and possibly powerful—a match to him. That I could find the missing trumpet and save Mom. I’d been fooling myself. I wasn’t a hero. I was a mechanic, car thief, and future runaway. “Let’s search somewhere else in the house. I’m sure the Society people will be home soon.”
“Give me your hand.” Not giving me a chance to respond, he grabbed my wrist and yanked it toward the bust.
This wasn’t the hand holding I’d wanted. My hand baked at his touch. “What’re you doing?”
He tugged my scalding hand to the statue’s stone chest and placed my palm side down.
Humming vibrated from my palm and up my arm. My entire body trembled, my own personal earthquake.
“What’s going on?” My voice shook.
The quaking rocked my body. My knees gave way. My glance shot around. The entire building wasn’t shaking. Just me.
He gripped my arm tighter holding it in place. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
A scraping noise sounded. The stone under my palm began to separate, slide apart.
Open.
Silver glinted inside. The bell of the trumpet fit in Imhotep’s head. The long horn ran down the statue’s neck, chest, and stomach and into the cabinet it sat on. A fantastic hiding place.
Math let go of my arm. His emerald eyes opened like the statue. Wide and wonderous.
“The silver Trumpet of Peace.” Awe filled me. We’d found it. I’d found it. I did have a connection and I didn’t know why.
Why? Why? Why?
The single word tattooed on my soul. I didn’t have a clue why I could sense the Trumpet of Peace. I did know the connection couldn’t be good. How could it be? It was a magical relic from ancient Egypt. I hadn’t played it so I must have some other connection.
Math carefully took the trumpet, then peered back inside the statue. “No case, though.”
“So?”
With a narrowed gaze, he sized me up. “What about your mom’s jewel?”
My stomach dropped. I wanted to knock the side of my head. I’d completely forgotten the lie. “I’m learning the jewel isn’t as important as the trumpet.”
I was learning a lot of things. Like Aaron had lied and Mom was in danger. And I could trust Math.
“You’re sure?” He angled his head, doubt in his eyes and tone. “We could search the mansion more.”
“And possibly get caught?” If I was caught by the Society of Aten and Aaron found out, I’d be dead. My head jerked back. Maybe it was time I told Math the truth. “I’d rather get out while we can.”
Yes, get out first and when it’s the right time tell him everything.
“Agreed.” Holding the trumpet with one hand, he put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a one-armed hug. “We never would’ve found the trumpet without your touch.”
Confusion collided like thunderclouds. I’d lied, and I didn’t understand. “How did you know I could do that?”
I couldn’t comprehend the fact that I’d sensed the trumpet and found its hidden location.
His gaze pierced through my skin. Knowledge, about me, seemed to solidify in his expression. He dropped his arm from around me and cradled the trumpet. “You might never have played the trumpet, but you’ve been touched by its magic.”
Might never have played? His doubt slugged. He didn’t believe me. “What does that mean?”
He contemplated me, his expression shifting again. The intensity of his eyes turned into more of a blade of accusation. “Somehow you’ve received residual magical powers.”
Chapter Twelve
Piper
Residual magical what?
Shaking my head, I tried to clear my ears. I must not be hearing correctly. “What’re you talking about? What magic?”
Math’s gaze darted toward the door. “No time for a magical-relic history tutorial. We need to get out of the mansion.”
“Agreed.” While we escaped maybe I could process what he’d said.
After flying out of the mansion, both literally and figuratively, we got in the stolen car and I finally took a deep breath.
“I can’t believe we found the trumpet.” With the joy of success flowing through my bloodstream, I practically sang the words. We held the Trumpet of Peace in our hands.
“We did.” He clutched the trumpet on his lap, his hands holding the instrument in a death grip.
The silver gleamed in the early morning light. The etched images on the horned end reminded me of the hieroglyphics I’d seen at the museum. My flowing joy siphoned off, blocked by confusion and worry. I needed the trumpet to save Mom. Whose hands would ultimately hold the trumpet in triumph?
“Now what?” The words tripped off my tongue, afraid of his answer, afraid he’d dump me now he had what he wanted.
“We take the trumpet to the professor’s house.” Math probably didn’t emphasize the p
ronoun, even though that’s how I heard the word pronounced.
He wanted me to stay with him. Joy burst through my veins. I knew the feeling wouldn’t last once he discovered my lies. Right now though, he wanted to be with me.
His goal had always been to retrieve the trumpet. He planned to reunite the Trumpet of Peace and the Trumpet of War. He didn’t know my goal had always been to retrieve the trumpet, too. He thought I wanted a hereditary jewel—a made-up lie.
But my goal had changed.
I no longer planned to hand the trumpet to Aaron. I wanted to use the trumpet to buy mine and Mom’s freedom. So, did I steal the trumpet from Math and seal his hatred for me? Did I hang around to learn more? Or, did I confess the truth of my situation and hope he forgave me and knew how to help? Questions log-jammed in my brain.
Then, there was this whole residual magic issue.
A quivering vibrated my spine like a loudly purring engine. “What did you mean by residual magical powers?”
He twisted in the passenger seat to study me. His narrowed glance held intensity. “You don’t fall asleep when the trumpet is played.” He circled his finger around an orb etched into the trumpet. “You can sense the trumpet’s presence.” He circled his finger around again. “And you seem to have a kinship with machines.”
Kinship? “You think I’m a robot?”
“No.” He jerked back. “You have powers over machines. Like this car.”
“Big deal. I hotwired it.” Lots of criminals could.
“What about the music machine at the coffee shop? The way the streetlights change for you?” So, he’d noticed that in the rush-hour traffic.
I always thought the light thing was weird. I’d never been stopped at a red light. “I have an affinity for machines. It’s a knack. Not a power. Not magic.”
His eyebrows gathered in cynicism. “Maybe I’m reading too much into what I saw. You need more analysis.”
“And how am I going to get that?” Did he plan to hook me to a power diagnostic machine? Would he probe my brain and my soul? Could he test this magical machine power? How? The questions crossed and tangled. I couldn’t fathom the thought of possessing magic and I didn’t want to be a scientific theory or an experiment. Especially to him. Is that what had attracted him to me? Maybe it wasn’t attraction at all, but plain, old curiosity.