Warrior's Prophecy by Allie Burton

Author:Allie Burton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alice Fairbanks-Burton
Published: 2019-07-22T08:00:00+00:00

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 pronoun, 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.

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