Fantasy Mystery
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The dark days are over and all that everyone expects are brighter days ahead.
In a world where different types of mythical creatures coexist there might be differences, differences that are beyond unfathomable, but between all th...
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If the mid summer season had not stolen its way into the mid autumn, then the room had its way of burning the fat out of Carmiabell.
Still, everyone her eyes locked with seemed to be acquainted with the instrument of mass destruction cradled in the sisal-woven backpack held between her chest.
Way to go Carmiabell. As if it didn’t shout that there was something cooking.
Phoebi was still on her tail, which for a reason well scribbled in her mind reminded her of the jeopardy the black apple held, and she could promise that if she got caught she was not going down alone.
Her stories had become music to her ears, though she listened to some to keep her brain away from all the glares that seemed to be increasing in a jiffy.
Carmiabell had been contemplating all midmorning on how to get rid of it, but it all drew back to where she found it; the trash container.
Speaking of the trash container, the container was solely allocated for four houses; her own, Mr Tom’s, and her other two neighbors.
Their estate was fond of being visited by myriads of all striped creatures for its enchanted view of the golden afterglow and the pastel sun-washed buildings during the moment of captivity, but no stranger could be stupid enough to dash a black apple in an unfamiliar territory.
Thinking of it deeper, that could be the best way of ridding an unwanted instrument.
Nightmares were rumored to have gifts, so the risk of riding its Lanera was equal to lethal unless someone did it deliberately or accidentally.
Could one of her neighbours be?
The just thought sent a shiever running down her spine.
Most people in Ellialand freely displayed their Lanera, but thinking of it, she had never seen Mr Toms or either of her neighbors.
Maybe she heed-less about their not-so-engrossing lifestyle but she deserved to know if one of the four was a nightmare.
She had dreamt of many horrors, including being attacked by Mrs Sofia's mysterious cat with vampire teeth, but having a nightmare for a neighbor was not even in her wildest ones.
She couldn't save the shock for later, the realization made her ten times more paranoid.
At the corner of her eyes, an unmistakable black cloak slid into the cafe table next to theirs.
Like father like daughter, Alma, Mr Tom’s daughter, dressed in an equal shade of black and white.
She hadn’t stuck blue poppies on her hair, like a bird's nest like herself, but she couldn't resist the enticing aroma of her lanera.
Black apples were rather more rare than a cow's eggs, if they laid any, and sure would draw her attention if all that flux in her veins was diabolical.
She swung her bag over her left shoulder towards the direction her clique was dining.
Zuina had been off Carmiabell’s mind until she showed up.
Carmiabell retracted on her deadly mission, though it should have already worked if she was a nightmare. She wasn’t going to blink until she unvailed her lanera.
“My money, please,” Zuina’s first words reminded Carmiabell of their previous week’s not-very-smart bet.
She could have placed ten coins of silver on her palm only if she hadn’t exchanged a word with Damon, but luckily her Monday’s miserable luck had saved her from that one.
“I spoke with him,” a grin of triumph crossed Carmiabell's lips.
“I didn’t see it.” Her palm was still stretched, insinuating that she knew what a coward she was.
The part about a coward described her in reference to boys but there was something else called luck. Like the part where you meet your crush in a public levitating train and he starts up a conversation.
“You mean that guy,” Phoebi budged in pointing at the masculine figure taking a seat at the far end of the café.
Damon had withdrawn the cloak and truth be told; those biceps that protruded out of the velvet sky-blue suit were like those of no one that joked in the gym.
“Don’t tell me my coins are gone,” Zuina’s black eyes caught Carmiabell’s ocean-blue a sardonic almost sympathetic look crossing her face.
Now all she wanted to hear was what they spoke about.
She placed her plate of beef, steamed rice, boiled egg, and a glazing of thick soup beside Carmabell and widened her grin.
Carmiabell couldn't dare tell her about the new nickname. Believe me or not, her laughter could lead the school to a serious no windows apartment.
Zuina had a way of painting the town red, but there was no way her humor could purge the whole thought of a black apple in her backpack off her head.
She momentarily switched her glare towards it.
Zuina knew her better and was swift to navigate her glare.
“What’s in your bag?” Her glare stiffened on Carmiabell’s face cuddling her nerves.
“Nothing.” As sheepish as it sounded, it was the best her addled brain could compose.
“That’s what everyone carrying illegal drugs say.”
She wasn’t serious she thought Carmiabell was into drugs, was she?
Apart from the sheen of sweat on her forehead in a cool spring midday, her shivering hands, the squirming like a wanted fugitive, and the unease there was nothing else resembling a drug cartel.
Who was she kidding? She was the real definition of a novice drug distributor.
“If not so, can I see it for myself?” The gesture of stretching her palm had many meanings one of which meant that she could not convince her otherwise. “Just a quick look.”
Zuina could be many things but a snitch was not one of them, and besides they could use an extra head.
Carmiabell threw Phoebi a surreptitious glare which she evaded by switching her to her meal.
“I'll show you in the changing room,” she whispered in low vocals that it seemed like her lips moved without a word.
The three followed each other.
Zuina had pulled some strings to being the schools games captain, so their access to the athletics changing room was an easy pass.
It was empty —Zuina made sure of that— so the three were left to enjoy the reeking sweat of the poorly handled changing room.
Carmiabell almost choked in a huge breath to a sigh of revealing the secret.
She regained composure and clasped the zip to her bag, thrusting it open to a small opening of view.
Zuina was all eyes as well as Phoebi. Each wanted to get the same view of the piece of diabolical art.
To her dismay the apple was not on their view.
Carmiabell unzipped the bag further exposing a wider field. A crooked red-brown stone took her by surprise. It wasn't happening.
She dug her hand in rummaging impatiently through the haphazard contents. The results were still down casting.
She overlapped her bag and sprawled to the not-so-hygienic floor all the content, but there were no traces of the black apple. In compensation for its weight the stone had been gifted.
