Mirrorlight by Jill Myles Page B

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,