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  Soul Slam

  Soul Warriors Book 1

  by

  ALLIE BURTON

  An ancient Egyptian amulet.

  A pharaoh’s soul inside demanding she obey.

  A double cross that ends with a curse.

  On her first heist to steal an ancient Egyptian amulet, sixteen-year-old Olivia inadvertently receives the soul of King Tut…and the deadly curse that comes with it. And Olivia’s not alone at the museum.

  A member of a secret society, Xander believes it’s his place to inherit King Tut’s soul and justly rule. He knows nothing about the society’s evil plan to control the world or the curse. Now, he must deal with the female thief who stole the amulet.

  When the two teens find themselves up against the secret society, they reluctantly join forces and must figure out how to end the curse before it turns deadly. On the run and unable to touch because of the curse, Olivia and Xander develop a connection during their quest.

  As the mystery surrounding the amulet unfolds, Olivia and Xander fall for each other. But is love enough to save them and the world from destruction?

  “If you are a fan of Rick Riordan books about a quest with love and history thrown in…this is for you!” –Hooked In A Book Review

  Reviews About Soul Warrior Series

  “If you are a fan of Rick Riordan and his Chronicles of Kane series or even books about a quest, with some love and history thrown in…THIS BOOK IS FOR YOU!” –Hooked in a Book Reviews

  “…fast paced excitement with romance a nice compliment to the action…This book is great for people who like action adventures with a bit of magic and mythology mixed in.” –Book Briefs

  Dear Reader:

  I hope you enjoy SOUL SLAM! If you’d like to receive the second book in the series, TUT’S TRUMPET, as my gift sign up for my newsletter here: http://www.allieburton.com/contact.html. You’ll also get the latest Allie Burton news, information on contests, and sales. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

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  Thank you so much and happy reading!

  Allie Burton

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  Other Books in Series

  Tut’s Trumpet

  Peace Piper

  Cleo’s Curse

  SOUL SLAM

  Soul Warriors Book 1

  Copyright © 2013 by Alice Fairbanks-Burton

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Chapter One

  “Olivia, hide.” Fitch, Gangfather, took cover across the corridor behind a sign announcing the King Tut exhibition right before a shadow fell over me.

  I swallowed a gasp and crouched behind one of the vertical mummy cases littering the darkened hallway of the museum. I gripped the tire iron with sweaty hands. My heart beat a frenzied drill in my chest, echoing the clump, clump, clump of the footsteps coming this way.

  The footsteps drew nearer. The shadow morphed from blob to human as it passed an emergency light. The profile clearly outlined a security guard’s hat. A security guard who wasn’t supposed to be here.

  This is not what Fitch promised for my first heist.

  We go in. Grab the amulet. Get out. That was the plan.

  In slow motion, Fitch raised his arms and brought them silently crashing down, signaling he wanted me to take the guard out.

  I shook my head. What were the odds the guard headed for the same exhibit?

  Fitch’s wrinkled face grew stern. This was not a request. Get the guard now or pay for not listening later.

  The guard paced across the floor heading our way, toward the exhibition about the Egyptian boy king. I didn’t care about all-important titles, didn’t want to rule the world. All I cared about was surviving. Collecting the prize for Fitch so I could stay in his family and watch over the younger kids.

  Fitch signaled the crashing motion again. Then he pointed a gnarled finger at me, raised his hand to his neck and made a slashing motion across. My knees knocked together like chattering teeth. My perspiration had perspiration. If I didn’t get the guard out of the way, Fitch would get me out of the way.

  The guard passed. I forced my knees to still. Fitch wouldn’t let this guy ruin the plan. The plan he designed down to the last second. The plan to be executed by me.

  Or I’d be executed.

  Actually, an execution wouldn’t be so bad. At least it was fast. If I didn’t pull this off, my fate would be long, slow, torturous.

  Like my life.

  Fitch would never execute me. He got too much pleasure abusing me. Without me to kick around he’d have nothing to do. His slashing motion had been overly-dramatic.

  The guard strolled closer. So close, his evergreen aftershave tickled my nose.

  My hands clutched and unclutched the tire iron. My stomach cramped and my gaze went fuzzy. I couldn’t stand here and wait for us to be discovered. I couldn’t let this security guard go into the King Tut exhibit. I couldn’t delay this heist any longer.

  I raised my arms and held the tire iron high. The guard walked by. His thin frame and wiry mustache reminded me of someone from my past. My way distant past. Ignoring the tingle of memory, I gathered my courage to hit the guard on the head and knock him out. Just like Fitch wanted.

  I waited…waited.

  At the last second I pulled back. I couldn’t hurt an innocent guy. He was just doing his job. Probably a dad. Then his kids would end up like me. Or Tina and Doug.

  The guard continued forward. So what if we had to wait for him to finish his rounds before we stole the amulet. Fitch couldn’t do much more to me. He already treated me like a slave. I lowered the tire iron and let out a slow breath.

  The guard swiveled back around.

  My relieved breath must’ve given me away. Fitch would kill me if we were caught. Panic jolted as if someone had attached jumper cables and revved the engine. I leapt behind the security guard and shoved him toward one of the open mummy cases. He wiggled, trying to fight, but surprise was on my side. All one hundred pounds of me pushed and shoved to get his small frame inside. I slammed the cover shut and leaned, using all my weight to keep it closed. Then, I braced the tire iron against the carved out arms on the mummy case lid and the grooved tile floor.

  The guard pounded on the inside like a soul begging to get out. His mumbled yells scratched at my nerves. I hoped he wasn’t claustrophobic.

  “So, sorry.” I lifted my shoulders high trying to block out the sound and shake off the icky-ness of leaving him
in an enclosed, small, dark space. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. At least he was alive.

  “You stupid kid.” Fitch came out from his hiding spot yelling in a whisper. His diamond-cut eyes lasered into me. His misshapen hands curled like he wanted to crush my windpipe. “You were supposed to knock him out. What if he saw our faces?”

  Fitch had been angry before. A lot. But I’d never seen rage fill every pore of his skin, spew from every breath, vibrate off his entire body.

  “He didn’t.” My voice sounded confident, but inside I was a shivering mass of nerves. “I pushed him from behind.”

  “You think you’re so smart.” Fitch’s tone was not complimentary. “What’re we supposed to do with the guy now?”

  The guard kept banging.

  “He’s going to alert another guard.” Yellow spittle flew from Fitch’s mouth. “We’re on a tight schedule. We don’t have time to deal with this.”

  I glanced up and down the hallway. “We could call for back-up. Have one of the older guys come and get him.”

  “No cell.”

  Right. I slapped my empty back pocket. Our technophobe client had insisted we not take cell phones on this job, afraid the phones would give our location away to authorities. I felt naked without it.

  “I’ll take care of the security guard while you get the amulet.”

  Alone? My first job? The beat of my heart scurried like the rats in the warehouse we call home. “Wh-what?”

  “We don’t have time for one of your educational discussions.” Fitch grabbed my arm in a painful squeeze. For a guy who acts feeble, he can be strong when he wants to. “Get the amulet like you practiced. I’ll meet you on the loading dock.”

  “B-b-but—”

  “I should’ve used Tina and Doug.”

  “They’re only ten.” Twins, Tina and Doug had been abandoned by their druggie parents. “They’re way too young to crawl around a museum stealing a priceless artifact.”

  They deserved so much better. And I planned to give it to them.

  “At least they would’ve listened.” Fitch angled his head and gave me a death stare.

  I entered the exhibit. The light from the full moon shone through the skylight and glinted off the glass cases displaying Tut’s precious artifacts. A beautiful gold bracelet with lapis lazuli stones got my attention, but I wasn’t here to admire the pieces. I was here to steal the Mighty Amulet of Aten, the sun god King Tut worshipped.

  Drawn to the correct case by a magnetic force, the hairs on my arms began to rise. The amulet lay on a raised platform of blue velvet and glowed with an inner spark. Eighteen golden rays dangled from a circular disc shaped like the sun. Each of the rays ended in a human hand.

  Who knew ancient jewelry could be so ugly?

  Ugly, but important. Even the foot-long glass case couldn’t contain the necklace’s essence and power. Scared or not, my fingers itched to lift the lid of the glass case and scoop the necklace with no thought to caution—or a jail term.

  Could I ever be a normal kid? Would I take kids’ lunch money? Steal other girls’ boyfriends?

  Taking a ragged breath, I slipped the pick tools out of the pocket of my black jeans. I wore all black for practicality, not fashion-ality.

  My hands trembled, so I fisted them tight until I felt warmth in my palms, then I relaxed the hand one finger at a time. When Fitch had showed me this technique I’d laughed thinking it dumb. I didn’t think so anymore.

  I selected the right-sized pick head and the Allen wrench I’d sanded to fit the display case lock precisely. Fitch knew all the specifics for the job from the pin and tumbler lock with eight pins, to the delayed pressure alarm, to the guard schedule.

  Except he’d been wrong about that one.

  I studied the glowing ancient amulet. My body heated and scattered tingles shot up my neck in warning. I tamped down on the nerves. This should go off without another hitch.

  Then, why was I so nervous?

  Maybe because plans had already gone awry. Or because Tina had hugged me so tight when I’d left, like she’d never see me again. Possibly because the eeriness of the full moon eclipse.

  I glanced past the light from the skylight and the humidity-sensing machine and sighted the exhibit’s security system box located over the main door. The green light was off. My signal that the rest of the team had taken care of the electronic security within the museum including infrared beams, and window and door alarms.

  Time to strut my stuff.

  I glanced at the bluck-tastic bling and my heart pounded in tune with the energy pulsing off the amulet.

  Inserting the wrench into the lower portion of the keyhole, I applied pressure and turned it slightly clockwise. Next, I inserted the pick into the upper part of the hole and felt for the pins.

  I pinched the wrench between my hot pink nails and set pins one and two. A cramp seized my hand and I nearly let go of the wrench. Pins three and four clicked into place. Perspiration broke out on my upper lip. Pins five and six pinged. I let out a breath. Pins seven and eight cleared.

  My shoulders relaxed. Victory. Fitch would be pleased.

  Using the Allen wrench, I turned the cylinder to the full unlocked position.

  A secondary door to the exhibit banged open.

  I jumped. Shot a look toward the sound. Shadows. Two people. My heart bounced around. My tummy twisted with knots so tight I felt like I’d swallowed a bag of pretzels.

  Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

  They entered the room.

  More security guards doing nightly rounds?

  Impossible.

  The overhead lights flickered and then flooded the room. Footsteps shuffled on the concrete floor. Whoever it was, they weren’t worried about making noise or getting caught.

  But I was.

  I dove toward a display case and crawled inside a concrete box with carvings on the sides. The heavy lid covered a small portion of the two by four foot space. The air stank of mold and it was hard to breathe. Even with the lid mostly off, I felt like I was suffocating in a coffin.

  Maybe because it was a coffin. Or sarcophagus, as the Egyptians called it.

  My lungs deflated and I quietly gasped for air. Sweat ran down my back in rivers. My entire body convulsed like a junkie in withdrawal. I hated small dark spaces.

  Hate might be too mild.

  Terrified. Petrified. Horrified. Or all three combined.

  The sweat on my back chilled and I shivered, remembering my third set of foster parents and their interesting form of punishment. Now, I really felt sorry for the guard if he was still stuck in the mummy case. We’d both shrivel up and die.

  My skin prickled and I felt like it would crawl off my body. I wanted to scream and jump out of the box, escape out of the museum and run into the night. Ragged breaths spurted between my lips. I stared blindly at the hieroglyphics and artwork of ancient cats with gold collars and bejeweled beds. My gaze caught on an etched golden key.

  The realization I’d forgotten my pick came like a hard slap on the back of my head. A sharp shock jerked my body like the time I plugged in Christmas lights from the dumpster. I hadn’t noticed the wires were frayed. I’d only wanted to brighten the younger kids’ day, and instead I’d brightened the inside of my veins.

  I peeked over the edge of the sarcophagus and glowered at the back of the display case. My pick stuck out of the lock like a big, red, warning flag.

  All my nerve endings short-circuited. I imagined Fitch’s harsh voice, “Never leave your tools behind. It’s like leaving the cops your calling card.” His lessons had been learned the hard way.

  The footsteps moved closer to my hiding spot. Definitely more than one person. One set sounded off-rhythm, like he had a limp. The other flapped at a leisurely pace.

  “Hurry, Xander. We don’t have much time.” The voice sounded older, probably the guy with the limp.

  Hurry up hurry up hurry up.

  I waited for them to get what they came for and leave, not
caring if they were legitimate, or thieves like me. I wanted out now. So I could finish my job and get away.

  “I’ve waited years for this and now you want to rush.” The other guy’s voice, the one called Xander, reminded me of the snooty owners of the fancy stores on Nob Hill that I’d cased.

  “The Society has waited centuries,” the older, more weary-sounding man answered. “You’re only sixteen.”

  Sixteen like me. Only I wasn’t arrogant. At the moment, fear and adrenaline twisted the acid in my stomach like an out-of-whack mixer. The instinct to run, or barf, came over me.

  “How long will it take?”

  My question exactly.

  “The full moon eclipse will last for seventy-two minutes. The ceremony takes eighteen,” the old guy said.

  They moved closer to my hiding spot. My skin tightened as if my internal organs had expanded. I hoped the sarcophagus didn’t hold what they searched for.

  Something had gone wrong with Fitch’s intel. Maybe backing out would be better. Come back another night. I might not like black, but jailhouse orange is not the new pink.

  “Then, just do it.” Xander sounded like a commercial.

  “Once the host has transferred you can’t touch anyone,” the older voice shook with fear or excitement. Hard to tell which.

  “Yeah, yeah, Jeb. Got it. Don’t touch anyone.” The guy dissed the old man.

  Fitch would’ve slapped me silly if I didn’t show respect.

  “We will leave the museum and go directly to meet with the Society elders.” The older man called Jeb made a crinkling noise like he unrolled cracking wallpaper. “They will tell you how to find the essential oils which will help you control the sun—”