Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 23

Let's blame it on the black-veins-effect that I, forgot that centaurs had a profound ability to distinguish between a lying tongue and an honest one-only to be reminded of it after a deafening bang at the door. Because, naturally, that's when you want to recall life-saving knowledge, right?

My heart picked up the pace, and my feet turned to liquid. This was shaping up to be one of the worst things that could happen in the newspaper industry. And trust me, the list is long. All credit to Ya, my pessimism.

I mean, getting apprehended, dragged before a court, found guilty, and thrown into a dark hole filled with trolls who don't believe in toothbrushes? No thank you. Even worse, I could end up executed for the crime of witnessing a black apple. Yes, you heard that right-if the black veins didn't push me over the edge first.

The door's unyielding hinges shuddered at the impact, giving us a moment of eerie silence before they finally gave way.

"You have nowhere to run," a voice drawled, its calm demeanor belied by the noise and commotion behind it, suggesting that I was far from alone in my predicament.

Zuina, my trusty partner in chaos, chose that exact moment to rummage through random newspapers, shoving them into her bag. It wasn't the smartest thing to worry about, considering we were on the verge of joining teeth-reeking trolls in a prison cell, but if we needed answers, we had to take some risks-preferably calculated ones, but we were fresh out of those.

Fueled by adrenaline, I joined her, cramming a few papers into my blazer pocket.

The third and fourth hits against the door were as catastrophic as heat on ice. I could practically feel the hinges gasp for their last breaths.

"Zuina, we've got to get out of here-" I blurted, my senses screaming at me.

"Let me make you one good offer: If you open up, we might reduce your sentence to... I don't know, five years?" interjected a centaur, his half-horse, half-man body looking ridiculous. The truth was, he wasn't the one making the decision about our fate, but he might know some people who could pull a few strings. Unfortunately, I didn't have five years to spare.

Zuina lifted her head from a bottom shelf, surveying the chaos.

She had an uncanny talent for improvisation, a skill that had proven invaluable in the tumultuous world of newspapers. The look on her face, however, made me second-guess our chances of survival. Seeing her swallow a lump of saliva was not a good sign.

I focused my attention on the room, desperately drowning out the banging and the centaur's threats. Most of the space was cluttered with newspapers, wood-paneled walls, and adorned with some questionable plastic art crafts. The lighting came from flickering candles above us, casting eerie shadows that made the room feel scary. Somewhere far off to the right, a small window beckoned.

"There!" I pointed dramatically, my heart racing.

"Are you sure jumping from the first floor to the hard ground is a smart idea, especially with your hand like that?" Zuina shot back, eyeing my black-veins-infested hand with concern.

She was usually right about these things, but I decided that we wouldn't know until we tried. With a deep breath and a dash of reckless courage, I lunged toward the window, with Zuina trailing behind, grumbling and snatching up random newspapers that cascaded to the ground like confetti.

The window was surprisingly easy to unlatch, but peering through made my stomach drop. The distance from the ground to the first floor was greater than I had anticipated.

Realizing we were running out of time, I ripped my blazer in half. "We should try making a rope."

Zuina didn't have time to argue; it would only waste more precious moments we didn't have.