Fantasy-Mystery
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Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks is under an ancient curse that threatens to collapse her existence if she does not source the creature that laid it upon her.
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On an easy-going autumnal Monday morning, the last thing Carmiabell's ill...
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Reddish brick fireplace walls flickered under the shade of a raging flame as bright crimson sparks floated out and vanished into the air dry wood blazing to gray ashes.
It took more than a million drops in Carmiabell's head before footsteps up the stairs behind them were to be heard.
They took their time step after the other like a bridegroom on his wedding day, a soothing smell of cedarwood growing by each step.
Carmiabell's belly tumbled to an unceremonious fall both embarrassment and nauseousness striking in equal shares.
As soon as the feet touched the floor he cleared his throat. “Hi, algebra.”
Speaking of stomach falling, it felt as if it was ripping apart everything it met, her heart taking a cruel cardio exercise in its tight confine and disappointingly betraying the thought of low profile.
There was no doubt that it was him.
“Damon?” she called. She couldn't hold back her reflexes.
Damon went around the sofa to the front. “Your one and only.” That smirk that Carmiabell was getting way too used to and a wink in his eyes that Ellialand would stop to enjoy the view.
Despite all the stars in the night sky being secured between his lips, his jaw being chessel, and his brows being copied and replaced meticulously from one of those high prince’s paintings, he had a way of proving just how stupid he was through his speeches. But he couldn't be more original.
Unlike other days, he was surprisingly in a vampire suit; a black trouser; long sleeved, white button up shirt —buttoned up to a spot slightly below his chest, allowing her to peek at his engraved muscles— a red sleeveless coat with parallel stripes of shimmering gray; and a black cloak with an oversized collar.
Carmiabell could bet a fairly designed his attire.
His tempting muscles were semitransparent and protruding through the white, triggering wild imaginations. Very wild imaginations.
“How are you girls?” It took Carmiabell a nich to notice that he was staring at her as she was stealing a picture of him to daydream about later.
Her stomach cuddled in the weirdest manner rumbling just when she needed it.
“I'm fine,” she answered sheepishly, hoping it wasn't as clear as day what she had been looking at.
What happened? Why didn't you come to school? How are you still alive? Did you even go? Did you not? Did you get something?
Quizzes spun around her head in pursuit, but she did not ask a single one of them. She knew Damon had it under control.
Like she read her thoughts he voiced, “I found something,” he grinned, “but it cost me an arm.”
Looking at him, his arms were as fine as hers but twice as thick.
“Vampires grow new body parts,” he justified himself, switching from Carmiabell to his left hand.
“When they drink blood, right?” Phoebi's big mouth had to say it out loud.
“Don't worry, I drunk zebra blood, and damn does it taste salty.”
Like mine, Carmiabell thought.
“So, what did you find?” Zuina budged into the conversation.
“A scroll.”
It was unwitty for him to tuck a scroll on the belt by his butt. Maybe he was planning on a smart magical entrance, but assessing, that was nothing close to magical nor smart.
“Nightmares' secrets are a hard shell to crack. It almost has nothing on it.” He stretched his hand, handing over the scroll to Carmiabell.
A scroll from his butt. Okay.
The scroll was out of color that if she didn't know better she could have mistaken it for one that had been run through desert sand. Its antique, red-brown rod was engraved with symbols of the ancient language on each end bringing out the age in it.
“Nightmare,” Damon said after Carmiabell ran her fingers on the engravings. “The symbols simply mean nightmare.”
Damon had done his homework, if he knew a detail about a long buried language.
“You can read it?” Zuina was equally startled.
“No, I had to broaden my research.” What he was doing throughout the week was beginning to unravel itself.
Carmiabell unfurled it, the two faces beside her moving closer.
Surprisingly, it wasn't as detailed as she expected —Damon had already given them a heads up.
A long scroll containing a one paragraph poem was not exactly what they expected.
Nightmare’s had not been fathomed clearly that was indiscernible.
For thay shall find the dark ones, The eyes shall light from backwards, An illness ye shall suffer, Unless ya get them after.
Frankly, it rhymed but threatened more.
The only words that made sense were illness and suffer. Who was going to suffer an illness, and which kind of illness?
“It means that when a NM looks at you with glowing eyes, on most occasions it happens from backwards, one will suffer an illness that can somehow only be reversed only by the NM.”
“NM?”
“Nightmare.”
It didn't take two blinks to fathom what he had said. Phoebi and Zuina turned to face her.
“What happened when I was not around?” Damon knew he had missed out on something.
The rest of their words went blurry. She couldn't tell if anyone ate the red food, or if Damon did that stupid grin again, or if it all ended in sad eyes facing her.
One thing was for sure, an illness from an ancient curse was no joke, and its end was nothing less than an excruciating pass.
Interested or not, she had to join Damon in his quest for filling the puzzle not only because of her idiotic crush, but also her feeble life.
"One more thing." The words were followed by silence, ears engaging in a seriously sharp job. "Their eyes glow only when they are mad, or when they are using their abilities."
With that said, Carmiabell's list of suspects went down to three neighbors.
