C Is For Carmiabell Locks

Chapter 24: Survivor

Shapeshifting, like most amazing yet dangerous tricks in Ellialand, was an art that was forbidden and was penalized by high treason. Fortunately or unfortunately, it was almost undetected and most shapeshifters got away with it.

The major question in mind wasn't who but why he or she saved them. There was no doubt that he or she had eyes on them, probably spying on them even at the moment, but why?

Ellialand was not a place where secrets spread as swiftly as bush fire but that was to be doubted after meeting one of who could fool them just by three words.

What's worse was the fact that there could be more with the knowledge than they could imagine, defying all laws of the term secret.

It could be leakage of a tongue of their own, or worse; it could be a psychotic nightmare in pursuit of sending them in a stray path before eradicating her with the effect.

Of the shapeshifter that had just saved their butts there was nothing good to be thought out of it. Plus the fact that the effect was heading towards her heart, there was nothing good any more.

Zuina's place would be the best place to proceed with their research since her parents would be out of the canvas till evening.

Her place was not a place Carmiabell did not visit often but every time she landed at their doorstep, there was always an aura of comfort surrounding it. It often felt like a home she never had.

The door opened to an empty smell. Most of the times Carmiabell showed up, Zuina's mother was always around hence a floating smell of assorted delicacies.

Their chandelier was out which only took Zuina an ignited matchstick to burn up a network of strings that sent fire crossing the ceiling and landing onto the candles. Instantly, the rooms light increased.

The wink in Damon's eyes struck a shocking expression, insinuating that he was new to the trick. Don't ask what Carmiabell was doing looking into his eyes.

He looked back at her's and grinned subtly. A feeling that Carmiabell would have sworn was a side effect of the black veins, knotted her entire guttural.

Her cheeks, also known as traitors, turned themselves crimson though she managed to keep eye contact.

Unlike other times, she could not break it. It felt so lenient that if she broke it, she would lose a paramount moment to recall.

Stars, moon, sun, there was no specific way to describe them. The universal galaxy thief had hidden it in his eyes.

How was he glowing, yet luring her in like an enchanting spell. A warmth that had once messed with her mind to seeing imaginations enveloped her as either she or he gravitated closer.

She couldn't tell how her glare fell on his lips, but she could swear they looked teastier than a three layered jelly stick. Was it the pink, the shimmer, or the curves that made all her senses dissapear? Either way she wanted nothing less than his against hers.

“Can you kiss already.” Simon Greenwings Sparkle was running out of patience watching the entire film in anticipation.

“Is anyone hungry?” Zuina walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of hardened brown bread.

Damon grinned before breaking contact and striding for a seat.

What was he thinking, leaving her hanging like that?

She hoped that he was not seeing bone soup and blood source for lunch and thought of postponing it.

“Yeah.” Carmiabell was unaware of her rumbling stomach until Zuina came up with the idea of food.

“The kitchen is all yours.” Agree to disagree, she was going to eat the whole bowl solo.

Zuina withdrew a heap of newspapers from her bag and mixed them up with the ones Carmiabell had borrowed.. or stolen.

Damon sat across the table on the other side of Carmiabell while Zuina sat next to Phoebi. Simon sat on the table waving his stick at one of the newspapers. It opened itself as it gravitated towards him.

“What?” He quizzed at the eyes on him, “you should be taking your own,” he insisted.

Carmiabell's newspaper's first page was about a leading clue to a treasure that people were going insane about fifteen years past. Obsession about the sea treasure, was the headline well typed, but there was no lid to any death.

She tossed it away, borrowing another.

The drawn sketch was like one flooding with myriads of creatures protesting, it must have been a peaceful protest since there were no casualties exposed to harm or death.

“Garry Marshall Smoothtongue, is he there?” Damon questioned as Carmiabell swiftly turned to the sheet with names.

Simon flew towards her shoulder and joined her in grazing through the list.

Garry Marshall Smoothtongue was written down a few names below the center of the list.

“Yes.”

“He died after falling off a ladder from the roof of a house. Lived in Northern Ellialand,” Damon stated, referring to the newspaper in hand. “His family members are also stated here.”

He didn't name them out loud but Carmiabell snatched the newspaper to see if there was any resemblance in the names; there wasn't.

So far the only thing that seemed to link them together seemed to be the term Ellialand only. The rest were contrasts, bemusing them even more with every bit of detail that was supposed to be an answer.

The rest few drops were silent each one of them gobbling down newspapers.

Carmiabell's eyes fell on an accident. Clara Blue Rosa her eyes had been acquainted with the name in the list and hence no need to confirm. She shared it out loud reading the cause of death; she was tackled with a bull and also lived in the North.

“Eleven eleven. I knew there was something,” Simon shouted, finding himself a comfortable spot on Carmiabell's shoulder.

He didn't have to say it out loud for Carmiabell's eyes to shift to the date of the event. The eleventh day of the eleventh month.

The two newspapers with death casualties were of the same day; the day of the full moon before the Neporian holiday.

Before the new era, it was known as the witches night. Witches did sacrifices, but like most things, the medieval was blurry, there was no full disclosure for the reason or cause. The archaic behavior later on faded with the wind.

Carmiabell snatched the other newspaper Zuina had read from the store and compared. With no doubt it was the eleventh of the eleventh.

Frank Shortmark Bison, Garry Marshall Smoothtongue, and Clara Blue Rosa all had accidents on the same day in different years.

Without saying, they could all tell that those were not ‘accidents.’ They were either plotted or some sort of spell was cursed upon their deaths to mask a dark reality. A dark reality that Mrs Tuth was fittingly acquainted with.

“I've found another eleven eleven, from last year,” Phoebi uttered.

The recent one could be of at most aid, reasoning that recent newspapers held pictures of the casualties. If dead the picture would be as useless as hand scooping water from a sinking ship except he wasn't dead. He survived and had a story to tell, Derrick Greenpetals Dron, one of Carmiabell's neighbors.