Halloween Choose Your Own Adventure - Day 2

From now until Halloween, the Manuscript Mavens are running a Choose Your Own Adventure® story, in which YOU vote on what happens next! Every morning brings a new author, from the Mavens to the just-sold, to the best-selling. And every night brings a new twist!

Get your Choose Your Own Adventure® votes in by 8:00pm EST (5:00pm PST) and you'll be eligible for random prize drawings. Vote every day, and you'll be eligible for the Grand Prize--autographed books from Maven pals and Guest Mavens! Don't forget to post your title ideas! The winner will receive a special prize!

Yesterday's tale...

Another vicious crack of thunder rattled the rocks beneath her feet. Her heartbeats quickened with the increasing fury of the swirling black sky. She sprinted for the front step. Her feet slipped and slid on the slush-coated dirt. She'd lost both her bonnet and her breath by the time she reached the rotted wooden door. She knocked until her cracked knuckles bled. Despite the stench of acrid smoke above the decaying thatches, no one answered.

Mary twisted her chapped fingers around the icy brass doorknob, and the door wouldn't budge--the bloody thing was locked tight.

And so our story continues...

“Oh, stuff!” She kicked the base of the door, bringing a jolt of pain to her otherwise numb toes. Hoping someone had come into view to aid her plight, Mary turned to search the lane again. Nothing. No sound. No people. Slushy snow blew into her eye and she turned away from the wind, blinking profusely.

“May I be of assistance?” The deep baritone cut through the air as surely as the chill stole through her threadbare cloak. Mary swung about with a gasp…and stared into eyes the color of ice.

“V-V-Viscount Nightshade,” was all she could manage. How had he approached so silently? A moment ago the road had been devoid of life.

“Your fingers are bleeding.” He took her hand from her breast – for she had grabbed at her chest in her surprise – and studied her battered knuckles. Mary couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. The nostrils of his aquiline nose flared. His pale lips parted and she heard his intake of breath.

Mary pulled her fingers from his leather-clad hand. “I am fine.”

“You are freezing.” He swept her with an assessing look from her bonnet-less head to her shoddily clad feet. “Miss Mary Goodweather, isn’t it?”

“How do you know my name? You hardly ever leave Blackcliff.”

He arched a brow as black as the night sky. “I am a recluse, not a simpleton. I know everything that goes on in Cotswold.”

She opened her mouth, but he took her arm and began walking her toward his ancient barouche. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

No! She mustn’t get into that horrible vehicle! The last person he’d taken for a ride—Mary tripped. Strong arms caught her and pulled her against an even stronger chest. He was wide, she realized, and not frigid as she’d expected him to be. Warmth emanated from beneath his flowing black cloak.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine. You must let me go.” She stared into his pallid face, his odd gray eyes boring into her, making her feel as if he saw much more than anyone else. The moment stretched and the world, even the storm, fell away. Finally, she found her tongue once more. “Please. Let me go.”

“Nightshade!” a high-pitched voice wailed from behind them. Mary spun in the viscount’s arms, but saw nothing. She was sure the scream had come from Hemlock House.

“We have to go.” The viscount grabbed her more firmly.

“No. I want to go home.” Panic unfurled in Mary’s breast, spreading its frantic tentacles until her entire body shook.

“You can’t go on foot.” He steered her toward the carriage, even though she tried to dig her heels into the frozen ground.

“Nightshade!” The eerie shriek sounded again, closer, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else about, save the viscount’s gnome-like driver.

“No.” Mary pulled free, but he swept her into his arms and tossed her over the side of the barouche onto the wet seat.

“Don’t you understand? She’s coming closer. We must find shelter. You haven’t forgotten the tragedy have you?” His stare was accusing, intense, terrifying.

Nightshade climbed into the barouche. Mary shook her head and...

A) from the corner of her eye, saw a zombie staggering off Satan’s Fury. She screamed and the world went black.

B) jumped from the barouche. A banshee floated up from the Dire River.

C) gasped at the sight of her sister running from Hemlock House. Nightshade whispered, “Isn’t she dead?”

D) the barouche lurched forward. Mary pitched forward, knocking the viscount onto the opposite seat and sprawling across his lap.

YOUR TURN: You decide what happens next! Leave your vote in the comments by 8pm (5pm Pacific) every day between now and Halloween---Tomorrow's story continues with the twist YOU choose!

Today's continuation brought to you by Darcy Burke.