Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 10

Simon could be a hard nut to crack, but with Damon's cold, oppressive threats looming like a dark cloud, he managed to squeeze out a word or two—bless his timid little heart.

It was fair to say that he might not have been aware of the black apple—he just had an underwater grudge with Neporian Academy’s golden boy, you know who, hence the threat to set us up—until we collided with his mission: to steal a dark magic book from the store. He was tight-lipped, unwilling to share his reasons for such a perilous undertaking. Whatever drove him to this dark act seemed too significant to utter, as if revealing it would invite dire consequences. Damon’s cold threats loomed over him, yet even the fear of those didn’t loosen his tongue. Instead, they had bigger fish to fry than unraveling Simon’s tangled web of secrets.

Damon was clearly losing his patience. “I will let you out slowly, but if you try anything stupid, you’ll have to explain to the principal what kind of forbidden magic book you were seeking in the store. Alone.” His voice echoed ominously. But honestly, given our own crime of carrying around a black apple, his threats were like a light drizzle compared to our impending monsoon.

“Plus, I will break your stick,” Damon added, his tone final.

“Don’t you dare.” That was the kicker; Simon’s weak point was his stick, and I was pretty sure Damon knew it by now.

Now, they say that in deep meditation, if you gaze into someone’s eyes, you might catch a glimpse of the almost invisible hues of their dreams behind the irises. I’m not sure who thought that up, but it sounded like the kind of thing someone says to keep people from realizing their dreams are about as accessible as a unicorn. However, considering Damon’s perpetual brooding, I doubted he’d ever tried it.

I, on the other hand, had tried it—not once, not twice, but a few times too many. My sister Marie’s sweet smile and ocean-blue eyes were the butt of an ongoing telepathic joke between us, which usually ended in us laughing like a pair of ducks in a tranquil pond. Sure, maybe it was my six-year-old brain or her twelve-year-old wisdom, but those moments were forever etched in my heart. Who would’ve thought that a day would come when her touch felt as distant as the moon?

Back to Simon, who had a flickering candle flame beside him, keeping him alive but definitely not serving as a matching lanera. As far as I was concerned, laneras could be faked.

“Okay!” Simon’s muffled voice pierced through the silence after a moment of indecision.

Damon, the drama queen, cautiously withdrew the book as if it were the roof of Simon’s prison. Simon sprang to life like a prince who’d just been rescued from a castle surrounded by monsters, but the truth was, he’d lost a pinch of color along the way. Through the dim light of the room, I could see his iridescent wings had dulled, but he quickly composed himself.

He flapped over to a pile of books next to his candle like a toddler trying to get attention.

“How do we start?” he asked, his voice surprisingly calm for someone who had just escaped captivity.

Honestly, it was easier to believe in witch doctors' lifetime prescriptions for marching laneras than engaging in an unprecedented staring contest.

Damon didn’t respond, but his actions were clear. He hauled a stool from one end of the bookstore and plopped it down in front of Simon.

Now, it wasn’t strange how Simon was glued to Damon’s every movement. No, that was perfectly normal. It also wasn’t weird that he had a steely gaze trained on Damon’s back pocket. I mean, who wouldn’t be curious about what secrets might be hidden there?

Damon sat on the stool, and my heart restored its tempo, hoping he’d at least offer a witty comment or two.

“Now, look me straight in the eye,” Damon commanded, and there was no argument from Simon, who met him halfway with a gaze that could probably cut glass.

Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket, making the air thick and oppressive. Even the candle settled into a straight stream of wax, not daring to flicker.

Distant noises faded away, leaving behind an eerie quiet that could make a grave sound like a rock concert. The air felt like it had turned cold, filling the space with ghostly chills.

Both of them stared into each other’s eyes, and I wondered: What on earth would Simon see in Damon’s eyes?

And then it hit me—I had been stalking my crush for over a year, yet he’d never exposed his lanera. There were no flames, no crystals, no flowers, no embellishments of any kind. He looked like a vampire without a soul, which was strangely intriguing.

But how did he know I had a black apple? Who was I kidding? It was super strange. I had more than just my favorite pen lurking in my bag—not to mention my precious research book. I had every reason to keep my bag close to my heart, but somehow, Damon managed to swipe the only thing that kept it beating.

The staring contest dragged on, and I wasn’t sure if any results were being produced.

Just then, the calmness shattered—thanks to Zuina’s loud munching on crisps. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing with snacks stuffed in her pocket. The redhead had a knack for getting into strange situations, and munching was definitely not one of them.

She turned her attention to me. “What happened?” Her voice jumped out louder than expected, as if she was on the verge of a revelation.

“Shhhh!” I shushed her, trying to remind her of the solitude Simon and Damon needed to see inside each other. “Nothing so far,” I whispered, taking a step closer.

“No, I mean, why didn’t you throw a book or something?”

Ugh. The fight had been too much for me to digest, and even now, trying to recount it bit by bit, it made zero rational sense.

“I… I couldn’t,” I admitted. Sure, I chickened out, but with all that forbidden power swirling around, I had every right to.

In response, Zuina shook her head, disappointment etched across her face.

To me, Zuina was the real definition of a friend. Not only did she know me inside and out since middle school, but she was always there for me. Like a sister I never had—just with slightly less drama and more snacks.

“Damn, it’s not working,” Damon barked, breaking the tension.

They had been staring at each other for so long that I could swear Zuina had started dozing off.

“Yeah, I finished the bag of beans—” She cut herself off, her eyes widening in realization that she had just said that out loud. Classic Zuina.

I had been hoping this would work, but honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to, so it didn’t hit me as hard as it could have.

“How else can we know his dream?” Damon mused aloud, tapping his fingers against his leg.

There was a wealth of mystery wrapped up in nightmares and dreams, but one thing was for sure: there had to be a way to unlock it, and we were going to find out how.