Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 9

A lump of cold saliva galloped down my throat, trailing a stampede of panic along my spine.

I couldn't quite decide what unsettled me more: the possibility of a psycho nightmare-stalker lurking between the bookshelves, drawn by the dark, eerie glow of a forbidden fruit in my hand, or the fact that we'd been spotted trading said fruit by some shadowy stranger. Either way, the odds of escaping unscathed were shrinking by the second.

"Don't move a muscle," the ominous voice hissed before Damon could throw in one of his ridiculous remarks.

"Who the hell is that?" Zuina muttered, trying to sound unfazed. The slightly raised eyebrow betrayed her.

Another gust of unexplained wind whispered past, rattling the books like spectral fingers flipping through pages. Silence stretched the air, thick with tension that piled into panic, chipping away at my last fragments of composure.

My mind darted to terrifying scenarios: if this voice belonged to a nightmare, what kind of havoc could he wreak? If rumors held any truth, he could snuff us out as easily as snapping his fingers. I shivered at the thought, each nerve jangling.

Zuina's question dangled in the silence, unanswered-until a booming voice finally replied, "Simon Greenwings Sparkle."

"Wait... the fairy?" Zuina asked, doubt written all over her face.

The wind died down, replaced by the sound of tiny movements in the stacks. And there he was-a fairy the size of my middle finger, fluttering out from behind a shelf. Though, given the temptation, I resisted the urge to greet him with that exact finger. Would it have been petty? Maybe. But he had it coming.

I let out a heavy sigh for the hundredth time today. For a moment, I'd actually thought we were in danger. Then again, Ellialand was never short on surprises.

Meanwhile, Damon and Zuina looked as calm as rocks-or perhaps they were stoned out of their minds, which wouldn't shock me in the least. If the whole "unfazed" act was a competition, Zuina would undoubtedly be the reigning champ. She was about as stoic as an icicle, though I knew her well enough to guess it was all an act.

Simon, as expected, was dressed in what could only be described as "Super Designer Chic." His hunter-green cardigan was stitched with tiny, enchanted leaves, each one resting perfectly on top of the other in systematic rows. His trousers, a shade of green so snug they looked glued to his legs, left only a stripe of thicker green fabric at the sides of his thighs. He looked like he'd stepped out of an artsy fairy runway.

But his tone was anything but fashionable. "I'm sure everyone will be thrilled to see the golden boy Damon Adams in tomorrow's headlines. You three are dead."

Oh, thanks for the quick reminder.

With a flutter of iridescent wings, he started toward the ventilation hole above the door-a tiny exit for us, but just the right size for him.

Damon, a step ahead, reached out with lightning speed and grabbed him by his tiny feet. Simon thrashed and squirmed, wings beating like a furious hummingbird, but Damon held firm.

Then, in a blinding flash of light, Simon wriggled free, hurtling Damon across the room with a burst of magic so bright it seared my vision. Damon's landing wasn't subtle; the thud echoed like thunder in the otherwise quiet bookstore, surely alerting every sentient being within a five-mile radius.

An animalistic growl rumbled from Damon, and as he struggled to stand, his face twisted into something unrecognizable. His cheeks swelled, his skin turned a deathly gray, and jagged fangs pushed out from his reddened gums. He was... transforming into a vampire.

And if he was craving blood, let me tell you-my blood came with side effects. You know, like random memories of being stuck behind slow walkers, or that constant nagging feeling of walking into a room only to forget why I was there.

Zuina grabbed a wooden-bound tome from a nearby shelf and swung it at the glittering menace. Simon went flying, crashing into a pile of books. His resilience was as aggravating as it was impressive; he sprang up, crooked stick pointed right at us, face twisting with a maniacal grin.

"You don't want me to use this on you," he sneered, his voice slick with threat.

Zuina didn't miss a beat. "What makes you think we can't just stash the black apple and say you attacked us with illegal magic first?" She raised a brow, looking as innocent as a wolf in a chicken coop.

"The stars know better," he retorted. Of course he was a believer in the whole "truth in the stars" shtick. In Ellialand, cosmic witches could pluck out the truth as easily as Simon was conjuring threats, and he knew it.

"Fine," Zuina said, arms crossed, as if discussing the weather. "We're all toasted either way."

Simon hesitated, searching for some loophole, his stick still aimed at her. "You forced me to use magic," he finally said, voice cold and low. The stick's tip whirled with kaleidoscopic light, gathering strands of energy that looked disturbingly lethal.

Zuina didn't flinch, though I knew that was an act. Her face was a mask of confidence, but a part of me wondered if she was about to be vaporized.

Before Simon could make good on his threat, Damon sprang from nowhere, moving faster than a shadow. He lunged for Simon with a growl so fierce I almost expected the shelves to quake.

Simon was ready. He reinforced his grip, his face a mask of grim determination, his focus piercing. Even Damon's monstrous strength seemed to wane under the force of fairy magic, which sparked and pulsed around Simon's hands. Simon's grip didn't falter as he raised his stick to strike again, his movements deliberate, almost chilling in their calm precision.

Zuina, never one to stay on the sidelines, snatched up another book and aimed it with the force of a catapult. Her throws were relentless, books sailing through the air like missiles. But Simon was just as skilled in defense, each swing of his stick deflecting them mid-air with sparks and whirrs. Pages fluttered like disturbed birds, and the scent of old paper filled the room.

A hardcover whizzed past my head, lodging itself in the wall behind me with a solid thud. My heart galloped in my chest as I ducked instinctively, the reality of this whole fight sinking in like ice water down my spine. The air was electric, charged with both fury and magic, and for a moment, I could only stand frozen, wondering how long we could all survive this dangerous dance.

With one last burst of strength, Damon broke through the spell, snatching Simon from mid-air. The fairy's eyes widened in shock, his stick slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. For a fleeting, horrifying moment, I thought Damon might snap him in two, but he simply fashioned a small prison of books around him and slammed it shut with his palm.

Simon thrashed inside, slamming his fists against the walls of his makeshift cell, but Damon kept his hand firmly pressed down. I half-expected Simon to break free any moment, but gradually, his struggles weakened, his tiny fists slowing to defeated taps.

Damon straightened, his monstrous features receding, his skin softening back to its usual color. Little by little, he returned to the brooding rich kid I knew too well. He pulled the confiscated stick from his back pocket, twirling it in his fingers with a casual menace.

"Now," Damon said, a dangerous glint in his eye, "I have a few questions for you. How did you know we had a black apple?"

The first lock clicked in my mind: nightmare. He had to be a nightmare. How else would he have known about the black apple? Coincidence didn't cover it-not in Ellialand.

But as I stared at Simon, trapped and powerless, the fear that had clawed at my heart since the moment he arrived began to ebb, replaced by something else. Satisfaction? A pinch of pity? Whatever it was, I couldn't deny the thrill of outsmarting a nightmare on his own turf, even if only for today.