Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 14

The reddish brick walls of the fireplace flickered under the gleam of a crackling fire, bright crimson sparks swirling like tiny embers dancing in the air before fading into nothingness. Dry wood crackled and crumbled into gray ash, the smell of burnt cedarwood weaving through the room, each wave of smoke bringing with it a strange comfort, like a dusty memory settling back into place.

I was lost in thought, nearly hypnotized by the blaze, when footsteps echoed from the stairs behind me. Each step was deliberate, drawn out-like a bridegroom savoring every moment of his grand entrance, with a faint whiff of cedarwood in tow.

My stomach did an unceremonious flip. Embarrassment mixed with a touch of nausea-a classic Carmiabell reaction, especially when Damon was involved.

When he finally stepped into view, he cleared his throat. "Hi, Algebra."

My stomach gave a particularly spiteful twist, almost as if it was staging a full-on rebellion against me. Oh, wonderful, stomach-of all the times to turn against me, why now?

"Damon?" The word slipped out before I could rein it back.

He stepped around the sofa with that signature smirk plastered on his face-the one I had become all too familiar with. "Your one and only." There was a mischievous glint in his eye, the kind that could stop even the stiffest of Ellialand officials in their tracks.

I took in his attire, trying (and failing) to keep my expression neutral. Today, Damon looked every bit the part of a storybook vampire: black trousers, a long-sleeved white button-up shirt (buttoned just low enough to tease glimpses of his carved chest muscles), and a crimson, sleeveless coat with parallel stripes of shimmering gray. Over it all, a black cloak with an oversized collar billowed, completing the look. The whole ensemble seemed to dare me to swoon-and I had to admit, it was a close call.

I could practically picture a fairy sitting at his tailor's table, meticulously crafting every detail with just the right blend of flair and drama. Damon knew how to dress to impress, no doubt about it.

His shirt clung just enough to suggest his muscles beneath, translucent in places and triggering, well...very interesting thoughts.

"How are you girls?" Damon's voice snapped me back to reality. He was staring at me, clearly amused by my blatant ogling.

My stomach betrayed me once more, giving an untimely grumble. I tried to play it off with a sheepish smile. "I'm fine," I replied, hoping it wasn't glaringly obvious what I'd been looking at.

Questions spun through my mind like carousel horses: What happened? Why didn't you come to school? How did you survive? Did you even go? And, wait, did you find anything? But I didn't ask a single one of them. I trusted Damon to spill the beans on his own.

As if reading my thoughts, he grinned. "I found something." He paused for dramatic effect. "But it cost me an arm."

I raised an eyebrow, eyeing both of his perfectly intact arms. They were as healthy as mine, though at least twice as thick.

"Vampires grow new limbs," he explained, waving a hand dismissively. "We're basically recyclable as long as we drink enough blood."

"From what, zebras?" Phoebi's bluntness rang through the room, earning a laugh from Zuina.

"Funny you should ask," Damon said with a mock-serious tone. "I actually did try zebra blood, and let me tell you-it's like drinking pure salt."

I stifled a laugh, but my mind couldn't help but wander to thoughts of how Damon would react to my blood. Would it be salty, too?

Zuina rolled her eyes, ever the practical one. "Alright, salt-breath. What exactly did you find?"

He produced a scroll with a flourish-though, unfortunately for him, the dramatic reveal was somewhat marred by the fact that it was tucked, rather ungracefully, into his belt near his rear. Maybe he thought it looked cooler in the mirror, I mused. Definitely doesn't look cool from here.

"A scroll." He handed it to me, and I accepted it, doing my best to ignore where it had just been. The scroll was faded and weathered, the edges frayed as though it had braved a few sandstorms in its day. The rod was an antique red-brown, engraved with symbols from a long-buried language, adding to its mystique.

"'Nightmare,'" Damon said, watching as I traced the engravings with my fingertips. "The symbols mean 'Nightmare.'"

I looked up, genuinely surprised. "You can read ancient script?"

He gave a modest shrug. "Let's just say I broadened my research."

I unfurled the scroll, with Zuina and Phoebi leaning over my shoulders, eyes wide with anticipation. What I found was...less than impressive. A single paragraph of poetry ran down the middle, hardly the epic prophecy I'd imagined.

It read:
For they shall find the dark ones,
The glowing eyes pattern,
An illness ye shall suffer,
Unless ye get them after.

A chill settled in my bones as I read it. The words carried a weight, one that hinted at doom and something far more personal than I was prepared for.

"It sounds like a warning," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Damon nodded, his gaze serious for once. "It means that when a Nightmare looks at you with glowing eyes, you'll suffer an illness. And the only way to reverse it is..." he trailed off, clearly letting the implication sink in.

Phoebi let out a low whistle. "You're telling me we'll get cursed just for making eye contact with a Nightmare?"

"Exactly," Damon confirmed. "And not just any look-only when they're mad or using their powers do their eyes glow."

Phoebi and Zuina turned to look at me, concern evident in their expressions.

"What happened while I was gone?" Damon asked, looking pointedly at me.

The room seemed to dim as my mind raced, my thoughts jumbled. Was anyone else feeling the creeping sense of dread that had wrapped itself around my heart?

"Algebra?" Damon's voice pulled me back.

I blinked, realizing my friends were staring at me with a mix of curiosity and worry. I forced a smile, though I wasn't sure if it reached my eyes. "Oh, nothing much. Just...trying not to get cursed by any vengeful Nightmares."

Damon tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "I think we'll be alright, Algebra." He looked as if he was about to say something comforting, but then his eyes lit up mischievously. "As long as none of us catch a case of the salty blood."

Yeah, vampire jokes.

I managed a laugh, though my mind still lingered on the words etched into the scroll. I didn't know what illness the curse would bring, but one thing was for sure-I'd have to help Damon uncover every last piece of this puzzle, whether it was because of my idiotic crush or my stubborn will to survive. I might have made eye contact with a nightmare remember.