Thirteen Chances by Cindy Miles Page A

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    Was she hallucinating? Maybe she was being drugged? Perhaps the Ballasters were spiking the tea. Poisoning the cakes.
Was that really cinnamon?
    Another glance around proved to Emma she was indeed all alone. She bumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. Of
course
she was all alone.
    Drawing a deep breath, she continued with her pictures. She knew nothing better to do. Running and screaming was out of the question. What would she say when the Ballasters finally asked her,
What’s wrong, dear?
They’d think she was a complete dodo. Unless the wily old gals were orchestrating the voice themselves, as an added ambience to their haunted castle tales? That had to be it.
    It was her only explanation.
    After several minutes, with no threatening voices to interrupt, Emma decided to gather her courage and head into the ruins. She wanted to get a certain shot as the sun rose and by God, she’d get it. Quickly, she gathered her stuff and headed up the lane. She couldn’t help the constant looking-over-the-shoulder thing she kept doing.
    As Emma passed through the gaping black hole of the gatehouse, she shivered. Strangely enough, nothing happened. Somewhat relieved, she crossed the courtyard to the ivy-covered stairs, climbed them cautiously, then set her stuff down on the wall, waiting for the light to be just right. Unwrapping one of the cakes, she twisted the lid off the thermos and sipped the cocoa the sisters had made her. Still pretty warm, the smooth chocolate heated her insides.
    Just as Emma’s mouth closed over the cinnamon cake, the voice returned.
    “Remove yourself from my wall!”
    Emma inhaled sharply, drawing cake crumbs into her lungs, and nearly choked. While she worked on swallowing the cake, her eyes darted all over but could, as usual, find nothing. Eyes watering, she managed to clear her throat. Now she was mad.
    “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve had enough!” she said loudly. “Either leave me alone or … go away!” After a few moments with no response, Emma glared, lifted the thermos, and drank.
    “Do not think to make demands on my land, wench. I said leave!”
    “Oh!” Emma cried as she jumped at the voice, the thermos slipping from her hand. As she made a grab for it, she overreached. Her boot slipped on the wet stone of the step, and suddenly, Emma felt herself tumbling over the edge. With a frightened yelp, she grabbed on to the outer ridge of the step. She dangled, twenty feet off the ground. Fear crept into her throat, squeezing her vocal cords so tight she couldn’t scream. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Help,” she mouthed, trying to make herself heard, but the word barely coming out like a whispered croak. “Help. Please?”
    “Open your eyes, gel,”
the voice said gruffly.
    “No,” she whispered, and wouldn’t do it. Why should she listen to
that
voice? “Leave me alone.”
    “Open them now,” it said, much more clearly, and much more angry.
    She didn’t care. “No.” She tightened her grip on the step. Her fingers were getting numb.
    “Emma, open your eyes before you bloody fall!” the voice shouted.
    The voice
knew
her
name?
    That got her attention. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
    And stared straight into
the face
—the same face that had scared her the night before. And the face was now attached to a body.
    A big body.
    It crouched on the step, barely a foot away.
    Too frightened to speak, Emma simply stared into the blue eyes looking down at her.
    “Slide your hand toward me. You’ll find a lip on the edge of the step.” He frowned when she didn’t move. “Move your left foot up about an inch. You’ll find a toehold. Do it now.”
    “My fingers are numb,” she answered.
    “Do it anyway.” His voice sounded steady. Even. Not so angry.
    That encouraged her. Although falling wouldn’t kill her, Emma didn’t exactly feel like breaking any bones in a foreign country.
    Slowly, Emma moved her left foot up an inch. Sure enough, she found a small