Bubbles and Troubles by Bebe Balocca Page B

taken. “Brock! Brock, where are you?” she yelled. A coyote’s shrill howl answered her.
    “Great,” Carmen muttered. “Just great. All I need to do is search the entirety of Fair Woods completely by myself to find a bratty two-hundred-year-old before he dries up and—dies.” She felt a furry bump under her palm and looked down. Dax gazed up at her with a loyal, concerned expression. “Okay, then,” Carmen said. “Not entirely by myself, at any rate. Come on, good boy.”
    Dax chuffed and followed Carmen into the blackness of Prescott Woods.
     
    * * * *
     
    Four hours later, Carmen felt ready to cry. Her bare feet— why hadn’t she thought to grab her shoes when she’d stormed from the cavern?—were sore and bloodied from innumerable scratches. Her voice was a raspy caw from hours of yelling in vain for Brock. She was exhausted, thirsty, frantic and utterly at a loss about what to do. Dax whined beside her. He seemed to sense the urgency of the situation.
    Carmen’s gaze fell on an enormous live oak tree. Its wide branches spread far overhead and mingled into the foliage around her. At its base, the roots created an inviting hollow that was filled with dry leaves. Just looking at the cosy nook made a yawn sneak out of Carmen’s throat. Dax, her canine enabler, left her side and planted himself on the ground next to the tree. He cocked his head at her as if in invitation.
    “All right,” Carmen gave in. “Just for a few minutes, just to gather my strength.” She nestled into the pile of leaves and leant back against the tree’s furrowed bark. It felt like the most divinely feather-plumped, silk-upholstered bedding imaginable. Dax settled against her and placed his heavy head on her thigh. Carmen fell into a deep, delicious sleep.

Chapter Eleven
     
     
     
    Hours later, sunlight filtered through the treetops and fell on her closed eyelids. Carmen adjusted her shoulders’ position on the wide trunk of the tree and drowsily stroked Dax’s golden fur. Her brow creased slightly as she considered the pros and cons of gaining consciousness. Something stirred importantly under the heavy blanket of sleep—something troubling and time-sensitive. A life-or-death matter…
    “Brock!” Carmen shouted. Distraught, she sat up and looked about. Dax jumped to his paws and barked with concern. Carmen raced into the woods and resumed her search. Dax, ever loyal, matched her step-for-step throughout the long day. Carmen caught fleeting glimpses of curious, inhuman faces in the shadows as she searched, but she had only one face on her mind. “He may be a self-centred brat,” Carmen muttered, “but he doesn’t deserve this.” She paused only to relieve herself, munch a few apples from an opportune tree and drink fresh water from an overland stream. However, as the sun began to go down, Carmen had still seen neither hide nor hair of Brock. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Brock! Brock!”
    A shrill sound erupted at Carmen’s back. Just two feet away, a minuscule person laughed uproariously. Carmen’s eyes widened when she saw the misshapen creature. Beneath a tattered leather dress, wide hips and the faint curve of a bosom revealed that the strange being was female. A long beak of a nose curled down over a pair of thin lips, and a sharp chin jutted out above a skinny neck. Through the dirt-brown snarls of hair, Carmen saw that the ears—though both enormous—were shaped entirely differently. One was long, with a flabby, pendulous earlobe, and one was squashed and plump like a cauliflower. Like the gnome who’d brought refreshments on the lawn of Castle Speranza, this creature’s hands were twisted and knobby at the end of scrawny wrists. A wide stripe of fur rose on Dax’s back and he took one step backwards.
    “She dersen’t worry about the poochie,” the gnome squeaked in a high voice. “Poochie sees but a wee skunk, that he does!” She giggled so hard that