Mirrorlight

Mirrorlight

By Jill Myles

Copyright © 2011 by Jill Myles

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

* * *

Cora wasn’t sure if Stonewood Abbey reminded her more of a museum or a church.

She fumbled with the lights in the hallway, the hair on her arms prickling with nervous fear until she flicked a light on, and warm, bright light filled the entranceway.

And she gasped at the sight of it.

Marble flooring in a checkered black and white pattern stretched out in the expanse before her. A massive wooden staircase crept up the center of the floor, split, and curled around both sides of the room. Shields of several different coats of arms lined the foyer walls. On the far side of the main lobby, she could see a small area designated to be a tour-shop, lined with books and postcards and a stand of shirts. Across from the staircase on the far side of the room were a few lamps, a footed chair or two, and a large portrait sitting atop the enormous fireplace mantel.

“Holy cow,” she breathed aloud. Silence responded, reminding her that she was here at this looming castle by herself for the next three weeks. Her spirits rose slightly as she stepped inside, charmed by the loveliness of the place.

In all her life, she’d dreamt of visiting a castle—and here she had the run of one for three weeks. All to herself! Cora gave a happy sigh.

First thing’s first
, she told herself, realizing how tired and dirty she was. The flight to London had been a 15-hour nightmare from Kansas, and all she wanted to do now was sleep. It was almost midnight in England, and she’d been up for entirely too long.

Yawning, Cora lifted her bags and crept up the stairs, looking for the guest rooms.

After several minutes of exploring and turning on lights as she went, she found a hall with a row of doors—what she assumed was the guest rooms of the immense house. A note was tacked to the first door in the hall, and she pulled it off and unfolded it
Cora darling,

Thank you so much for looking after the Abbey while your uncle and I vacation in
Spain. There’s extra food in the Abbey kitchen, and the neighbor will be around every
afternoon to check on the place. I’ve posted notes on the doors that the Abbey is closed to
tourists for a few weeks, but I want you there just in case any of them happen by. We’ve
assigned the mirror room to you. The house needs a good dusting from top to bottom, and
I’ve counted the silver.

Love and Kisses,

Aunt Martha

Lovely. It didn’t sound like Aunt Martha trusted her with the place, even though it had been Aunt Martha’s suggestion that Cora fly to London and play house sitter. She supposed her mother had imposed on Martha, and that was how Cora had landed the gig.

After all, she’d only met Aunt Martha once, and she certainly had no experience house sitting, much less castle-sitting.

Cora pushed the door open and glanced inside the room, then closed the door again.

While she did have the entire estate to herself, she felt like she should stay in the room designated for her. So she opened doors, looking for one that would be designated as the

‘Mirror’ room.

She found it at the back of the long hall. The room was the smallest and least ornate of the lot, but there was no question that it was the ‘mirror room’ mentioned. A large eight-foot tall mirror dominated the wall on the far side of the room, the only decor on the otherwise dark, wood-paneled walls. Cora set her bags down inside the room and flipped on one of the small lamps on a nearby dresser, gazing around the small chamber that would be her home for the next three weeks.

It wasn’t much. Bigger than a hotel room, but obviously not one of the fancier guest quarters. The bed was a decent size, lumpy but clean and boasting of a pretty, carved headboard. A Louis XIV chair perched in the corner of the room with a yellow pillow tossed on the seat. Cora wandered over to the mirror, admiring it. There was tarnish around the edges that suggested that it was very old indeed, and the frame of the mirror was some sort of heavy silver-ish metal decorated in old symbols. It looked positively ancient, the glass slightly wavy and dark as she examined her reflection. One hand went to her cheek. “I look like hell,” she said aloud.

The silence was deafening, but at the same time, the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she glanced over her shoulder. No one stood in the doorway.

Cora smiled to herself at that, and turned away from the mirror. She hadn’t been in the house longer than a few minutes and she’d already scared herself.
It’s just an old
house
, she reprimanded herself.
And it will be such fun to live here for the next few
weeks…you’ve always wanted to stay in a castle, remember?

She’d just never really thought that she’d have to stay by herself. Then again, she was free to explore to her heart’s content and not have to worry about a single other person.

Cheered at that, Cora began to whistle as she headed off to find a shower.

#

Something woke Cora in the middle of an exhausted sleep. She blinked awake at once, staring into the dark unfamiliar room. Had she heard a thump? Something from outside the small window in the corner of her room? She sat up in bed, rubbing a hand across her face. Perhaps a bad dream? She’d been having a sexy one, actually—one that she hadn’t wanted to wake up from. A dream about a man that had dark eyes and wild, thick hair and great shoulders. Definitely not anyone she knew.

Her sleep-blurred eyes could not find anything out of ordinary in the room, and whatever the sound was, it did not repeat. With a yawn, Cora turned over in bed and pulled the covers close to her chest, her eyes sliding shut.

Just before they did, she noticed that the mirror shimmered. She opened her eyes and squinted at it, wondering where the illumination was coming from. The mirror’s light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and she saw the figure of a large man standing in the full-sized glass.

Her entire body froze in fear.
It’s a shadow
, she told herself.
A trick of the light
. But then the shadow moved, ever so slightly, and she could make out a figure. A hand raised, as if skimming the surface of the mirror.

Trying to reach through the mirror…

With a scream choking in her throat, Cora jerked her blankets around her body and shot out of the room.

She didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Who could? Every time she closed her eyes for a second, she imagined the shadow trying to reach through the mirror, and her entire body quaked with chills.

Of course a place like this had ghosts. It made perfect sense. Stonewood Abbey was at least six hundred years old. Maybe even eight hundred. It stood to reason that at some point over eight hundred years, someone had died unhappily and left a spirit behind. Of course, that didn’t mean that
she
had to stay here and house sit with a ghost, either. She’d write Aunt Martha, tell her thanks-but-no-thanks and get the hell out of dodge.

Now that the sun was peeking through the windows, however, a bit of her courage returned. She’d spent the entire evening camped out on the sofa in the foyer, utterly terrified, every light in the room switched on. Exhausted but brave with the sun at her back, Cora picked up her blankets and headed back to the room, her body stiff with fear.

The door to her room was still shut from the night before. With shaking fingers, Cora turned the knob as quietly as possible, trying not to make noise. The door slid open a crack and she peered inside.

Her room seemed quiet. Normal. The sun even shone through her small window, illuminating a patch of light on her bed. Nothing felt creepy. The mirror was just a mirror. She didn’t know whether or not to feel relieved or stupid that there’d been no signs of an intruder, supernatural or otherwise.
A bad dream
, she told herself. It had been a bad dream and she’d imagined it. Relieved, she pulled out her suitcase and began to change clothes.

A knock sounded at the door downstairs, startling her and eliciting a small scream from her throat. Cora clutched at her chest, dashing out of the room. God, she was never going to last three weeks if she was this wrecked over one night in a haunted room.

She went down the stairs and over to the large main hall door, expecting to turn away a tourist or two. Instead, there was a small, brightly colored old woman on her doorstep with a basket and a beaming smile. She also had on the ugliest hat that Cora had ever seen.

“I’m sorry,” Cora began, “But the museum is closed for the next few weeks—”

“Where’s that lovely Martha?” The woman asked. “I baked her favorite muffins.” She pushed her way into the room, shoving past Cora.

Oh, dear. Cora followed behind the small woman, finger-combing her own messy waves of hair. “Aunt Martha is away on vacation…”

The woman glanced backward and gave Cora a skeptical look. The movement was so sharp that one of the fake birds on her hat fell forward onto the puffy white rim. “Did they abandon you here?”

“Abandon?” Cora echoed. “No, I’m just house sitting—”

The woman tut tutted and moved past Cora, shutting the door to the main hall behind her. “Just because Martha is a family member doesn’t mean she’s an understanding sort.” She gave Cora a sly look. “I bet she counted the silver before you arrived, didn’t she?”

“Well,” Cora began.

“I knew it! So why’d she leave you with her castle if she doesn’t trust you?” Cora crossed her arms over her chest, trying to think of a better way to phrase her relationship—or lack thereof—with her aunt. She knew why her aunt had given her the task.
She needs a job
, Mom had said into the phone, talking to her sister.
She’s
unemployed and depressed, and she needs a change of pace. She’s a good girl, I promise.

And if anything goes wrong, Martha, I’ll handle the bill. Don’t you worry about a thing.

Just do this for me, please
.

God, even her own mother didn’t trust her with this. They just all wanted her out of the house because they thought she was suffering from depression. Her cheeks flushing, she admitted, “I really just wanted to get away. My mom pushed my aunt into letting me come here to house-sit.”

The old woman’s eyebrows raised so high that they disappeared under the brim of her hat. “My goodness. You don’t look like a teenager.”

“I’m not a teenager,” Cora said, bewildered. What was the old woman talking about?

“But you just said your mommy got you this job.”

“No, I—”

The woman waved a hand at her, dismissing her argument. “I don’t have anything against today’s youth, young woman. It’s a good thing you’re here. I spent all night baking these stupid muffins and someone’s got to eat them. Now, where’s the kitchen in this heap of rocks?”

“I er, don’t know,” Cora confessed, trailing behind the woman. “I haven’t had a chance to explore.” She hadn’t wanted to, either, not when it was dark. “Who are you?”

“I’m your neighbor, Miss Muffet.” The little woman opened a door and peered inside.

“You’re who?”

“Miss Muffet.” She waved a hand in the air, her basket jostling. “I know, I know. No cracks about spiders please. You can call me Muffin. Everyone else does.”

“All right,” she said slowly. Muffin Muffet? Judging by the woman’s wardrobe, maybe she was senile. It would explain a lot. “I’m Cora. Nice to meet you.”

“Of course you are, dear,” Muffin said as she waddled down the long hallway. “Ah yes, here, the kitchens.”

The kitchens themselves were warm and cozy, with more of the same dark paneling and checkerboard floor that decorated the rest of the Abbey. This room, however, was large and open, with a hanging rack of pots dangling from the ceiling. Another immense fireplace took up one wall, but Muffin ignored it and headed for the cozy island in the middle of the kitchen, setting down her basket.

Cora grabbed a carafe of milk from the refrigerator and two glasses, and sat down on a stool next to Muffin. The old woman handed her a very brown, charred-looking item.

“What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” sang Muffin cheerfully.

“Oh.” The thing looked as if it had fought a battle with the oven and lost. Cora picked at one of the walnuts dotting the top—at least, she hoped they were walnuts. “Thank you very much for cooking for me. It’s nice to see a friendly face this morning,” she admitted.

“Because you’re all alone in this big place?”

No, because last night she’d seen a ghost. But she couldn’t tell her new friend that.