Warped

by Maurissa Guibord

  And dreamed.

  She lay helpless where she had fallen, her ankle twisted and throbbing with pain.

  The huge animal fell to its knees beside her and laid its head in her lap. Leaves and small twigs clung to the tangled mane, and blood seeped from a gash in the sleek jaw. Her velvet dress was stained with the dark, sticky fluid. She put out a tentative hand and touched the unicorn’s side. She could feel the animal’s shallow breaths. Her eyes widened as she saw her own hand stained with blood. The smell was thick, nauseating.

  The weaver woman approached and bent over her. Her wizened face was lit with eagerness as she looked over the unicorn. “You’ve done well, child. It will be over soon.”

  “No!” she cried. “Don’t kill it! It’s not a monster. It didn’t kill Will de Chaucy. Its eyes—I think it’s him.”

  “Clever girl,” snarled Gray Lily. She glanced at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him.”

  Men came. They put a cuff of dull gray metal on each of the unicorn’s forelegs and fastened them securely. “Iron will quell your spirit,” Gray Lily said. “And hold you.” She then took a small yellow stone from her pocket and pressed it to the unicorn’s chest.

  Awful sounds filled the air as Gray Lily chanted strange words. And then something impossible happened.

  The girl watched as a curling, silvery thread drifted up from the unicorn’s chest like a wisp of smoke. The unicorn shuddered and its eyes shot open, huge and dilated with fear. But it didn’t move. The thread spun away, faster and faster. The unicorn’s substance faded and finally disappeared. The silver thread drifted on the air.

  Gray Lily held a tapestry. The unicorn’s silver thread undulated through the air and traveled toward her as she spoke. As the old woman worked her magic, the thread wove itself into the tapestry. It looked like streaks of light rippling through dark water. Gray Lily closed her eyes and spoke again, and this time the words rang out clear in the stillness of the wood.

  “Spirit transformed, I call thee.

  Magic enclosed, I capture thee.

  Through warp and weft, I bind thee.

  Let your power be mine for eternity.

  The tapestry is complete.”

  The unicorn was in the tapestry, frozen in a pose of wild torment. Its eyes stared out with a piercing sadness. His eyes.

  The girl screamed. The men staggered back, muttering oaths. Several ran away in terror.

  “You see? Isn’t he fine?” said Gray Lily. She straightened, and she was no longer old but youthful, with thick fair hair and a lissome figure. “I told you I wouldn’t kill him,” she drawled. She ran her hands over her supple body with a smile of delight that was almost obscene. Then her small, dark eyes flickered up. “Now, you, on the other hand …”

  She pulled a dagger from her cloak and advanced.…

  Tessa moaned in her sleep. Her arms thrashed against the twisted covers. Open your eyes. It was dark. Strong hands gripped her arms. “Wake up.” Will de Chaucy leaned over her, the darkness shadowing his features.

  “I had another dream,” Tessa rasped from her dry, constricted throat. “I saw Gray Lily. I saw what she did to you.” And what she was going to do to me.

  “Another dream?” he asked. His voice was so gentle. Just like the touch that brushed her tousled hair back.

  “Yes,” she whispered, suddenly very conscious of how close he was. “I’ve been having the strangest dreams ever since I first touched the tapestry. And now even if I’m not touching it. It was so real. It was like …”

  “You were there,” he finished. He straightened, drawing away.

  Tessa sat up. “We have to do something. I can’t go on this way.”

  “Agreed,” said Will de Chaucy in a low tone.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning the bell on the door of Brody’s Books jangled and a man entered. He was heavily built, with a thin salt-and-ginger-colored fringe of hair around a balding, freckled scalp. His dark gray suit looked rumpled, as if he’d slept in it, and he carried a worn leather attaché case. Tessa watched him from behind the counter, her fingers tapping a pencil on the morning newspaper.

  The man’s glance darted toward Tessa. “Is Mr. Brody in?” he said in a gruff voice.

  Tessa nodded and pointed to where her father was occupied with a broom in the far corner of the store. “Dad,” she called.

  The man gave her a short nod of thanks and the corners of his mouth pressed inward in a curt, professional smile. But his gaze lingered on Tessa’s face. He had pale blue eyes, and there were bags of droopy flesh beneath them that gave him a gloomy expression. He strode past. Tessa wondered if the man could hear the knocking of her knees.

  “Mr. Moncrieff?” said her father. “Hello.” He set down a push broom and dustpan and nudged a large paper bag out of the way with one foot. He strode forward, hand extended. “Jackson Brody.”

  “Yes. I’m Moncrieff,” the lawyer said tersely as they shook hands.

  “I was going to call you this morning,” her father began, his tone apologetic, “but I realized I didn’t have your number. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Of what kind, Mr. Brody?” Any trace of a smile, professional or otherwise, evaporated from the lawyer’s face. A look of hard suspicion took its place.

  “We had a break-in last night.” Tessa’s father pointed to a small side window, one that looked out onto the alley. A piece of cardboard was fastened on where the lower pane of glass used to be. “They stole quite a few valuable books,” he said. “Including the one from the auction.”

  Moncrieff set his case down with a thump. “What?” he said, staring at her father. An angry flush rose in his neck and cheeks. He swiveled to look around the store, and his eyes, now sharp and accusing, raked over Tessa once more. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

  “Nothing,” Jackson Brody replied. “We live upstairs but unfortunately never heard a thing. Came down this morning to find … well, someone had broken a window, gotten in and robbed us.”

  “And you heard nothing?” the lawyer demanded.

  “No,” said Tessa’s father with a shrug. “It’s a large building, and the bedrooms are on the opposite end.”

  “But the tapestry,” Moncrieff said, glaring. “Where is the tapestry?” His freckled lips worked silently as he waited for the answer. His hands tightened into fists.

  Tessa’s father looked taken aback but stayed calm as he replied, “The thieves got that too.” He glanced at Tessa. “My daughter packed it up together with the book last night. It was all ready to go.”

  “That’s right,” Tessa said quickly. “I put them in the same packing crate they arrived in. It was sitting right here on the counter.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. Her pencil was still tapping the paper, though maybe a little faster than before. She set it down.

  “You—you’re lying!” The lawyer took a step and stopped. He raised a hand to his throat and swallowed.

  “No, he’s not!” said Tessa. She jumped up and whipped around the counter to stand next to her father. “It’s true. They’re gone. It’s not my father’s fault. It—it’s mine. You can tell that to … Ms. Gerome.” She took a deep breath. “The box was here in plain sight. The thieves grabbed it. It’s gone.”

  Outside, a police cruiser pulled up.

  Moncrieff’s eyes darted around the store and then back to Tessa. They narrowed to watery blue slits. “Where is it?” he repeated. But his words were thick and seemed to come out with difficulty.

  “Stolen, like we told you,” said her father.

  “They’re gone,” Tessa said, trying to keep her own voice steady. She gestured to the window and the police car outside. “The police are here to investigate. You can stay and give them details if you want, about the book and the tapestry.” She looked the man straight in the eye. The lawyer frowned at Tessa, then stepped toward the storefront window and peered out. He eyed the police officer who was getting out of the cruiser. Moncri
eff gave a dismissive snort and seemed about to say something when suddenly he stopped, his eyes fixed on something else outside. Slowly he shook his head no.

  All at once the lawyer’s face contorted. His neck bulged. His pale blue eyes looked huge and glassy, like marbles, as he glared back at Tessa. “You—you have no idea what she’ll do.” A stream of saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Now, look here—” Jackson said, frowning. His expression turned to alarm. “Hey, Mr. Moncrieff. Are you okay?”

  Moncrieff backed away, snatching a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket to mop his mouth. He made a sickening retching sound and held the cloth tight over his face. He pointed a jabbing finger at Tessa, then he clutched his briefcase and staggered out of the store.

  Chapter 19

  Tessa sat crossed-legged on her bed, holding her cell. With her free hand she pulled at the white, frayed edge around the hole in the knee of her jeans. “Thanks for taking those books home with you,” she said.

  “No problem,” answered Opal. “What’s a little grand larceny between friends? At least, I hope it was grand. I wouldn’t want to do petty. Sounds, you know … cheap.”

  “It was the only thing I could think of,” Tessa replied with a sigh, thinking of her early-morning dash outside to break the window, undo the lock and open the casing. Opal had waited inside to hand things through. They had grabbed a few books from various display cases. Then the two of them had snuck them out to Opal’s car in the darkness. But the tapestry and the Texo Vita Tessa had kept. She’d wrapped them together in a bundle and stuffed them under her bed.

  “Have the police gone?”

  “Just now. The officer interviewed us and looked around, especially on the floor near the broken window and the front door. He said he was surprised we hadn’t had trouble before, not having a security system.” She didn’t think her father suspected anything. “I’ll return everything to the store once this mess is all straightened out.”

  Tessa thought how ridiculous that sounded. Straightened out. Like this was some kind of mix-up at the dry cleaner’s. Yes, ma’am, we seem to have delivered your flying carpet to the wrong customer. You can have fifty percent off your next order.

  And she hated lying to her father. But somehow she felt that the less he knew about Gray Lily, the tapestry and Will, the safer he would be.

  Tessa said good-bye to Opal, closed the phone and turned it beneath her fingers thoughtfully, all the while looking at Will de Chaucy from under her lashes.

  He stood by her window, watching the movement of cars and pedestrians below, his strong profile backlit by the warm afternoon sun. He’d spent most of the morning poring over her books, expressing disbelief that anyone could have so many. Tessa wished she could bring him downstairs to show him the store, but there was no way. Not while her father was there.

  He was wearing a pair of her father’s old dress pants, a faded OLD PORT DAYS 5K commemorative T-shirt and Nikes. It was all she could muster from the back of her father’s closet that she felt sure he wouldn’t miss. Or probably even recognize. The pants were too big at the waist and hung low across Will’s lean hips. The worn cuffs cleared the top of his ankles by two inches. The wrinkled T-shirt was white turned pale pink as a result of an unfortunate washing incident and had a goofy-looking pirate jogging across the front. It was the most ridiculous outfit she had ever seen. He looked completely amazing.

  Tessa frowned, considering Will’s tall, athletic build, the contours of muscled shoulders and biceps beneath the thin cotton fabric as he leaned against the window frame. It probably wouldn’t matter what he wore. It was as if he were made of something different from ordinary flesh and blood, something finer.

  “You’re a very surprising person, Mistress Brody,” Will said, turning as if he had been contemplating her and not the traffic outside.

  She looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed her doing whatever it was she’d been doing. “Huh?”

  “It was a clever ruse, and a daring one,” Will remarked. “But did Gray Lily’s emissary believe you?”

  “His name was Moncrieff,” Tessa said slowly. She thought about the way the man’s pale blue eyes had stared at her. “No, I don’t think he believed me.” She gave a shrug. “Would you?” she added, turning back to Will.

  “Believe you?” Will considered this. “I would want to believe you,” he said softly. He folded his arms and looked outside. “But no. I wouldn’t.”

  There it was again. Why did she get the feeling she was talking about one thing and he was talking about something totally different?

  “They’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder. “Gray Lily will come.”

  “But what can she do?” Tessa argued. “If you’re here with me, and my dad? In broad daylight? In the middle of Portland?”

  “I confess I have seen but a small demonstration,” Will said dryly, “but I would imagine she can do quite a lot. Anywhere.”

  “Well, what do you suggest we do?”

  He turned around. “Ah. I had hoped you would ask. What I would like is … a walk. Down there.” He nodded toward the street. “The sea is nearby, I can smell it.”

  Tessa looked at him. “A walk,” she repeated. She’d wanted suggestions as to “What are we going to do about this weird time-traveling-witch-stealing-your-life thing?” Not a social agenda. He was full of surprises. If she had suddenly been thrown into another time and had some kind of evil witch on her tail, she wasn’t sure a leisurely stroll would be on the top of her to-do list. She shrugged. Well, maybe it would.

  “Okay. But first we’ve got to get you some other clothes,” Tessa said firmly. “It will help make you less conspicuous. You know. Blend in.”

  “Really?” said Will. He looked down at himself in mild surprise. He shrugged. “Very well. You have a tailor who will attend me?”

  Tessa raised an eyebrow. Welcome to William de Chaucy, she thought. Center of the Universe. She fluttered her lashes and stepped forward to curtsy. “No, Your Highness. I’m afraid we shall have to behoove ourselves down to Ye Olde Goodwill and buy some secondhand attire, like the other peasants.”

  There was a pause. Tessa peeked up to see Will looking down at her. He turned away and said quietly, “It’s ungracious of you to mock me, Tessa, as I am a stranger, and unaccustomed to your ways. I’m far from my home, my time. Nothing is as I knew it.”

  Tessa straightened awkwardly and reddened. Ungracious. The word stung.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. Ungracious. It was exactly the right word for her. Lacking grace, social or otherwise. “You’re right.” She looked away. Anywhere but at him. “I wasn’t thinking about how strange all this must be for you. I’ll try to remember. And I won’t call you Your Highness anymore,” she added.

  “Actually, that I don’t mind.”

  Tessa glanced to see Will’s expression. His lips curved up on one side and his eyes were alight with something devilish. He was laughing.

  “You—you—” Tessa lunged forward, half furious, half relieved and half something else so fluorescently impossible she didn’t want to think about it. She reached out to give him a playful shove but found herself unbalanced when he twisted away.

  Will caught her by the shoulders, holding her close. “I don’t believe I have thanked you yet, for helping me,” he said in a low voice.

  For a moment Tessa felt as if she were teetering on the edge of something more than just gravity. She didn’t feel herself let go, but she must have; she felt herself supported by strong arms. So why did she still feel as if she were falling?

  Will smiled at her and Tessa let herself do what she had been trying not to do: she let her eyes meet his. Head-on. She felt held there for a moment. Caught in a warm, golden trap.

  Then something changed as Will stared at her. His look became more intent and his smile faded. She became aware that he was holding something back, something barely restrained behind the careful manners.

  “Why did you
do it?” he demanded.

  “Wh-what?” Tessa righted herself. But he still held her.

  “You heard the question, Mistress Brody. Why?”

  Tessa squirmed. “Let me go. I can’t breathe.”

  Will released her and she straightened. “There is no why,” she said. “I just pulled a thread. I didn’t know what would happen.”

  Will de Chaucy stared at her for a moment, and then, in a return to the cool, formal manner she was becoming used to, said, “I thank you, mistress.”

  Was it her imagination or was there a tinge of acid in his tone? “You’re welcome,” Tessa returned uncertainly. She straightened her shirt over her jeans. “So let’s take a walk,” she said in an uncomfortably bright voice. Practically a chirp. She slipped past Will, grabbed her purse and made herself take a deep breath. Get a grip, Tessa, she told herself.

  She didn’t even look at him when she piped up again, “Let’s go. We’ll use the back staircase so we don’t have to go through the store.” Friendly, but cool.

  “Lead on,” he said softly as he followed her.

  Moncrieff’s face was a dusky blue. He stumbled through the open passenger door, collapsing onto the backseat of the limousine that idled outside the bookstore. Foamy spittle dripped down his front and darkened his shirt as he clawed to loosen his tie and collar.

  After a moment the other occupant sitting in the shadows of the passenger compartment spoke. “You failed me,” she said. Gray Lily faced Moncrieff, regarding his spasms of distress with detachment. She tapped her shriveled fingers against the security glass twice, signaling the driver to proceed. She glanced at Moncrieff as the limo pulled away from the curb. “You didn’t get my tapestry,” she rasped. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t get it.”

  Moncrieff’s blue eyes bulged from his head. He clutched his throat. “Glghhh.”

  Gray Lily pursed her wrinkled lips and narrowed her small black eyes. “I’m sorry.” She leaned forward and cocked her head. “Could you speak up? Oh, I guess not.”