Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 37

"Where are you taking me?” The question slipped from my lips slicker than I’d anticipated.

As far as my wounded sense of sight could visualize, two men grippedmeby both arms. They were definitely not Damon and Simon—or anyone I recognized, for that matter. Strangers, plain and simple. A creature behind them hummed a tune way too familiar to ignore: Legends Die Too Soon. But I wasn’t a legend, was I? Legends had it easy; they didn’t get dragged through dark hallways by men who smelled like a butcher’s shop gone rogue.

Both men reeked of blood, flesh, and rot, swirling around them like an invisible noose. The thought sent shivers racing down my spine. Perhaps they were butchers of people. Great. Just what I needed: an imagination that could drive a sane person mad. At leastmyheart was still intact, beating like a drum—or maybe a frantic marching band—against the unfolding chaos.

Oblivion cloaked my thoughts, making it difficult to fathom what was happening. My feet dragged along an empty, marbled hallway that felt more like a nightmare than reality.

My vision in the dark was as crippled as a newborn deer on ice. All I could see were their giant beards, which danced in the flickering light of a weak lantern they held, illuminating only enough of their next steps to keep me in suspense.

“A safe place,” came the gravelly voice of the man on my left. Bold, petrifying, and stomach-churning—those were the first three adjectives that popped into my mind.

“Where is Damon?” I blurted out. For some reason, he was the first person that came to mind, even though I felt utterly ridiculous saying his name. It was as if my tongue had taken a life of its own.

“Are you sure you gave her the right dosage?”

What dosage? The words hovered inmymind, confusion reigning supreme.

“Yes, sir, she is supposed to be asleep,” the humming creature answered, validating that the man on my left was, indeed, the boss of this bizarre operation.

No wonder I was losing it; they had tranquilized me like a wild animal. Wonderful.

“Let’s force her to sleep,” the guy on my right muttered. He was a goblin—beardless but sporting a black scarf that made it look like he had a stubby set of facial hair.

“Cain,” the boss barked, directing his ire at the creature behind him, but Cain remained silent, presumably too engrossed in whatever he was doing to acknowledge authority.

“Cain!” The boss’s voice grew sharp, tinted with fury, which didn’t bode well for the employee. Yet still, Cain went unanswered.

With a huff that could clear a room, the boss released his hold on one of my arms, leavingmedangling like a loose piece of clothing on the other man’s grasp.

Darkness gnawed at the surroundings, but strobing lights flickered through the gaps between the veranda pillars. The distant music from the gala filled the air, a reminder that I wasn’t far from whatever glamorous soirée I’d likely just been yanked from.

Where was Cain?

The goblin had vanished without a trace—poof!—like a magic trick gone wrong.

“Ugh,” the boss groaned, sounding less than thrilled about his disappearing act.

And then it hit me—something didn’t smell right. The air was thick with an uncomfortable tension, and I could sense it wasn’t just the aftermath ofmytranquilizer-induced fog.

As the goblin turned, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner ofmyeye. Suddenly, a shadow lunged at him from the darkness, tackling him away with surprising agility. His wails echoed as he disappeared down a shadowy hallway.

“Fabi’an! Fabi’an!” the boss yelled, panic etched across his face, as he angled his knife toward the dark abyss.

In the blink of an eye, the shadow re-emerged, and thankfully for the boss, it seemed he had some keen reflexes. He lunged forward, stretching his enormous arm with the knife, but the shadow was quicker. It ducked low and delivered a brutal uppercut right to the boss’s beard-hidden jaw.

I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the absurdity of it all—this giant, who looked like he could bench press a bear, was now stumbling backward like a toddler learning to walk.

The shadow, agile and seemingly unfazed by its diminutive size, danced around the hulking figure, launching another attack. With a swift kick, it sent the boss staggering backward, and with a final, deft motion, the shadow dispatched him with a swift kick to the face, knocking him out cold.

“Who are you?” the giant gasped, bewildered and breathless.

But the shadow seemed far more interested in the abandoned knife than engaging in a conversation with the towering figure. It lunged for the weapon and slipped it into its pocket with a grace that was both alarming and impressive.

“I would run if I were you,” the voice said, familiar enough to send a jolt of recognition through her.

“Mrs. Tuth?”

“Call me Natasha,” came the reply, and just like that, I had to re-evaluate everything I thought I knew. First, Mrs. Tuth—my oh-so-boring alchemy teacher—had exemplary skills in kicking butt. Second, who were these guys, and what did they want with me? Third, should I be more afraid of them or of Mrs. Tuth? Fourth, for the love of all that was good, what was going on?

Processing all of this was a tall order, especially when a nearby arrow embedded itself ruthlessly in the wall beside me, making sure I had no time to dwell on it.

With a surge of adrenaline, I forced herself tomyfeet, despite the lingering ache and resentment of my tranquilized muscles. I felt like a drunken giraffe, trying to regain my balance while my brain spun in circles.

“Come on, come on!” Natasha urged, navigating through the semi-darkness like a shadowy guide. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my teacher’s attire was designed to blend into the dark, making me momentarily invisible. Meanwhile, My own outfit—bright and anything but subtle—did me no favors, practically glowing in the gloom.

With a sharp turn, Natasha moved with an urgency that left me scrambling to keep up, and just like that, my teacher vanished.

“Mrs. Tuth!” I called out, panic creeping into my voice. But before I could process my surroundings, a hand covered my mouth, and I was thrust into a room.

“Shhh,” Natasha hissed, and I found herself biting back the instinct to scream.

I wasn’t alone. In the dim light, I recognized the kid from the newspaper—the one from Mrs. Tuth's frame.

“Dominic Blackwood?” I blurted, disbelief coloring my tone.

“Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you, too,” he said, sounding far less impressed than I was.

“Not how I pictured our introduction going, but hey, the night's young,” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood, even as panic simmered beneath the surface.

As they huddled together, shadows flickering ominously outside the door, I couldn’t help but think: this was definitely not what I had planned for my evening.