Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 17

More often than not, rumors had it that ancient curses slashed one's lifespan to a maximum of two weeks. Not to mention the slow and painful departure before lying on the deathbed, which honestly sounded about as pleasant as a root canal without anesthesia.

Frankly, it would be easier going about accusing suspects. But then, the more creatures who learned about the curse, the thinner our chances would became of finding the elusive black dreamer and lifting it. Whether we liked it or not, we had to dive into the murky depths of the water for answers.

"We do not have time," I thought, but for the sake of the others who were willing to join us, Damon raised his voice dramatically.

"Not so fast!" Simon, bless his stubborn heart, looked less like a brave hero and more like a cat trapped in a bathtub. "Where is my baby?" he demanded, eyes wide and determined.

"Baby?" Damon raised an eyebrow.

"He means his stick," Phoebi chimed in, stifling a laugh.

"I left it at home!" Damon exclaimed as he spun around, marching off like he had a personal vendetta against inanimate objects.

"What?!"

I darted after Damon, with Zuina and Phoebi trailing closely behind, probably expecting a brawl over a piece of wood. Simon levitated in a huff, his resentment practically radiating off him. He obviously didn't trust Damon; his instincts were screaming at him that the vampire was up to no good.

The library, as usual, was packed.

"There is a fight in the cafeteria, everyone!" Zuina shouted, her voice piercing through the thick air like a knife through butter. Honestly, I suspected her lungs might burst at any moment.

Silence engulfed the library as all heads turned towards her, eyes wide with interest. "That's right, a fight," she added, her smile growing as the anticipation built.

The nearest student took off first, and within seconds, chaos erupted as the crowd surged toward the door, scrambling like cockroaches when the light turns on. Apparently, the promise of drama outweighed their love for books.

"Who is fighting?" someone shouted, struggling to stay upright as the wave of bodies pushed past.

"Mrs. Nana and the principal!" Zuina replied without missing a beat.

Honestly, that would be quite the spectacle. The two of them had perfected the art of looking down their noses at everyone-though I wouldn't dare compare them to pigs. Still, it was like watching two armored tanks prepare for battle.

Neporian Academy must have had a surprising number of war fans; within moments, the library was almost empty. The remaining ten percent consisted of the "serious ones," though even they looked like they were struggling to contain their urge.

Zuina must have been born with an extra dose of guts to pull that off. By the time the students realized they had been had, we were already making our way to the back of the library.

Damon knocked twice on the spine of the green book that had been our gateway to this adventure.

With a creak, the book slid open, and Damon submerged the key into the depths of the keyhole on the spine.

It clicked once before the magic erupted. From the green book, a bluish smoldering effect spread like an overzealous stain.

The colors changed, and I watched, entranced, as the books transformed-brown to black, purple to blue, gray to crimson. It was as if an evil spirit were changing their hues just for our amusement.