Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 21

Trust you me, after reading something like that, there could be a million ways to interpret it—all of which ending up with me on the wrong side of the afterlife.

I could be on my last days, I thought, and there was nothing more excruciating than knowing that. It didn’t feel heavy at first. But when you find yourself on the bathroom floor, staring at grimy grout and questioning the universe... things start to feel pretty real.

Who would I blame if I really was leaving? My luck? The mysterious curse? And how about my funeral? Would they cry or, god forbid, laugh? Would my eulogy be like some prince’s or just a footnote about “a girl who passed”?

I hadn’t done half the things I wanted to do, and leaving before I did felt like the ultimate cosmic injustice.

I caught a tear escaping its confines and rubbed it off my cheek, but the floodgates were open. They trickled down, mingling with the warm water from the shower. Funny how that once reliable stream could wash away a day’s stress, leaving me fresh and new. But here it was, rendered completely useless against the real stuff.

Was it the black-veins-effect squeezing pain into every heartbeat, or just the stark truth that I wasn’t ready to accept? Either way, each heartbeat was a little torch of agony, burning from the inside out.

Morning arrived without asking for permission. I must have nodded off in the bathroom; I’d probably blame it on the curse, though maybe it was just good old exhaustion.

I checked my arm the second I stirred. Yep, black veins had taken up permanent residence on most of my right bicep, stretching their inky reach. My one superpower these days seemed to be dragging my friends into trouble, not saving them.

Before I could even put myself together, a knock rattled the front door. For some reason, I thought maybe it was a sinister letter being left behind. But then I heard Zuina’s voice from outside, and relief washed over me. Phoebi was there too, already entertaining my mom with stories about her “brand-new outfit” she absolutely didn’t need.

With a deep breath, I dressed, heading down to join them in the parlor. Mom had outdone herself with her recipes lately, and it seemed her chances of winning the Neporian Giveaway’s best cook were only climbing. How she juggled her job at the supermarket and her culinary dreams, I’d never know, but she was doing it right... or at least my taste buds said so.

Phoebi and Zuina had this friend-espionage act down. Mom didn’t seem to suspect we were planning a day-long escapade, far from anything school-related. I threw her a quick flying kiss and dashed off with the girls before any more questions could pop up.

Since Damon lived closer to the carriage station, we arranged to meet him there. Sure enough, he was leaning against a post, looking as nonchalant as ever. “Hey, Algebra,” he greeted with that classic Damon grin.

Now, the newspaper industry wasn’t far, so we took a witch-carriage. Because, obviously, only a witch-carriage would do.

Then we got to the gate... and guess who was standing there? None other than a troll the size of a small fortress. Great, just our luck.

The giant shadow cast over us as I peeked through the carriage window. One hundred feet of solid muscle, complete with a face that could swallow my house in one bite if it felt like it. His feet alone were like castle turrets, and his massive bulk could’ve easily passed for a gym instructor for trolls. If he didn’t hunch, his head would have disappeared into the clouds.

Trolls had good memories, explaining he was standing there—scanning the faces of everyone that entered the building. If authorized, he just shrugged, if not, we were about to find out.

Zuina and I exchanged looks, while Phoebi decided it was time to state the obvious. “We are so dead,” she whispered, eyes wide. She then looked at me and backtracked. “Not you, Carmiabell. You’ll be... fine.”

Oh, right, my condition. The black veins creeping up my arm like nature’s worst tattoo, reminding everyone I wasn’t in top form. How heartwarming.

“I’ll be fine,” I shrugged. 

“I can run,” Damon uttered. One benefit of vampiric lineage: trolls might be intimidating, but at least he could outrun them.

Zuina turned to Damon with a mischievous look I knew all too well. It was the same look that had gotten me in trouble more times than I could count.

“Think you can outrun a troll?” she asked innocently.

He raised an eyebrow, catching on. “You want me to... what, distract him?”

Zuina gave a sly nod. “That’s the idea.”

With a groan and one last glance my way, Damon muttered, “Let’s just hope I don’t die.” Not exactly reassuring, but he didn’t correct himself.

If Simon was around, he’d probably have snarked, “I wish,” too bad Damon returned his stick, and Simon could not venture into a losing battle, he said. But I wasn’t quite prepared to watch Damon get squashed. Yet, something kept me from stopping him. Maybe, for once, I wanted to be the last thing he saw before facing certain doom.

Yeah, death had become my default theme lately. No big deal.

Without a second thought, Damon tore off, leaving a cloud of dust and swirling autumn leaves in his wake.

The troll noticed, curling his lips into an oddly joyful oval before blowing out a gust of wind that felt like a mini-hurricane.

“Oh no,” I whispered, as that little prayer in the back of my mind—please don’t open your mouth—crashed and burned.

The smell was... well, worse than baby poo would be a compliment. Trolls and dental hygiene don’t mix. It was less like a bad breath problem and more like a should-be-illegal problem. Ellialand needed a law, immediately, that mandated trolls keep their mouths shut forever.

“Ugh,” I coughed, feeling the stench linger even as I managed to spot Damon ducking behind the troll’s foot, trying to avoid the worst of it.

But in an unplanned twist, another vampire, out of nowhere, tackled Damon to the other side of the road. It was a blur—one second he was there, and the next, he wasn’t.

Silence fell. We all stared, uncertainty gnawing at us.