Warped

by Maurissa Guibord

“Yeah,” said Opal, eyeing her. “He smit you good.”

  Tessa sighed and shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t even matter, because this is all some kind of crazy, impossible thing that I don’t even understand.”

  “Uh-huh.” Opal grinned like a maniac and bobbled her head. “Smitten with the esquire.”

  “Okay.” Tessa held up a hand. “Change of subject. Please? Like if the Norn are so in charge, how did Gray Lily manage to steal Will’s thread in the first place?” She stopped, recalling the words of the Norn. “Actually,” she said slowly, “they said threads, plural.” Tessa frowned. “I didn’t really think about that before. They’re kind of intimidating. It was hard to focus. What are you doing?”

  Opal was busy fiddling with something. She turned and slipped the pig bracelet onto Tessa’s wrist. “Here,” she said, pulling the drawstrings closed. “I don’t know how all this is going to end up, but you will definitely need the power of the pig.”

  Tessa smiled and fingered the simple adornment. It wasn’t much to look at. The worn black fibers were frayed here and there, and a couple of the smaller beads were missing. But the chubby jade pig still had that dopey smile on his face. Or his snout, rather. Whatever it was, it felt comforting to have him back.

  Opal rocked sideways to nudge Tessa’s shoulder with her own. “I’ll bet you think of something.” She nodded knowingly. “You’re tougher than you look, girlfriend.”

  Tessa grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not much of a compliment,” said Opal with a hint of a smile. “You look pretty wimpy.”

  “Ha-ha. Come on.” Tessa stood with a sigh and picked up a small canvas tote. It was bulging with food and books she’d packed for Will. Her cooking skills were pretty much nonexistent, but that morning she’d sliced bagels and smeared them with cream cheese, steeped three bags of Earl Grey tea in a thermos and tucked it all inside, along with a couple of apples.

  Tessa slipped the bag absently over her shoulder, remembering Opal’s comment about Will. Maybe she did … like him.

  Who was she kidding? She could barely think of anything but him. It was as if Will de Chaucy’s face, the sound of his voice, even the smell of him had been sizzled into her brain with a hot cattle brand.

  It was early, and the Closed sign hung in the bookstore window. Her father was still upstairs. What he didn’t know, Tessa decided, wouldn’t hurt him. “Okay,” she said to Opal. “Let’s go get Prince Charming.”

  They were about to enter the alley to go to the back entrance when Tessa glanced to the side, squinting against the brightness of the morning sunlight. She glimpsed a large black sedan parked near the corner. New York plates. She wasn’t sure what drew her eye to the car, but as her gaze lingered, the dark outline of the driver inside shifted, crouching lower in the seat. Tessa veered, immediately changing direction. She put her head down as she hissed.

  “That’s him. Don’t look.”

  “Who?” Opal asked. “Will?” She craned her neck to search the street.

  “No! Quit looking! It’s the lawyer. Moncrieff. I’m pretty sure it’s him in a car behind us. He’s watching us.” She could almost feel the gaze of those two droopy blue eyes boring into her back.

  “Jeez.” Opal quickened her pace next to Tessa. “She sent the lawyer after you? Since when do evil witches sue?”

  “He’s kind of a henchman,” puffed Tessa, striding down the narrow sidewalk. “In pinstripes.”

  “What do we do?” Opal asked. “Try to lose him?”

  “Just keep walking.”

  As they reached the corner, Tessa shot a look back down the narrow street. The black car pulled away from the curb. It was following them.

  “Come on!” Tessa sprang into a run as soon as they turned the corner. Opal gave a yelp and followed. Despite the weight of the tote bag, Tessa dug in, relishing the feel of her strong legs and the sight of the pavement flying away behind her. But after a few moments she jerked to a stop. Opal was lagging behind. The black car had turned the corner and Tessa saw Moncrieff at the wheel, his face looking grim as he drew closer. But he was a few cars back and the line of traffic was crawling, stuck behind a city bus that had lurched to a halt to let someone off.

  “Hello?” Opal gasped, coming up beside her. “Heels, here.”

  Tessa muttered something nasty about fashion statements while she swiveled to look around. “This way.” She and Opal dashed in front of the bus to cross the road, and a little farther down they turned onto the next side street. Tessa slowed her steps and threw a glance back.

  At the end of the street the black sedan slowed … and passed by.

  Tessa grinned at Opal. “One-way.”

  Opal looked back in surprise. “Huh. That never stops them in the movies.”

  “Yeah,” Tessa agreed. “But somehow I don’t think this guy wants much attention. Listen, just keep going, okay? I’m going back before he has a chance to loop around.”

  “You sure?”

  “I need to make sure Will’s okay and tell him what’s happened.”

  “Okay,” Opal grumbled. “But be careful.”

  “I will.” Tessa turned and began to run back the way they’d come.

  “And you know all this faithful sidekick stuff?” Opal yelled after her. “It’s really not my style.”

  Tessa slowed and spun around. “I know,” she answered, walking backward a few steps. “How about kick-ass best friend?”

  Opal’s grin flashed. “Now you’re talkin’.”

  Chapter 26

  “Return the threads?” Will repeated after Tessa had told him about her encounter with the Norn. “I don’t understand. Why would they appear to you? And in a looking glass, no less.”

  Tessa shrugged. “I don’t know. They said that there are threads missing, more than just yours. Seven threads. Seven lives. Somehow they knew, or sensed, when I pulled the thread and released you from the tapestry. I guess they think I’m some kind of weaving mastermind. I tried to tell them it was Gray Lily, but they were …” She hesitated. “Kind of snippy.”

  “There are others, then,” Will said, pacing. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a simple white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his tanned forearms. His hair fell in slightly messy waves to his collar, and there was a faint stubble over his jaw. “And these stolen threads must be in the tapestry still.”

  “I guess so,” Tessa said. “And the Norn want them back. Like, yesterday.”

  Will was watching her. “You say that you saw Moncrieff, this legal agent of Gray Lily’s, outside your home?” His jaw tightened. “He followed you?”

  “Yes. But I lost him. He doesn’t know you’re here.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Tessa was baffled by his question. “Do?” she repeated. “What can I do?”

  “Perhaps you should go, while Moncrieff is diverted.”

  Tessa shook her head and placed the bag on the small kitchenette table. “I don’t think he’ll be thrown off for long. I think we had both better sit tight for a little while.”

  “Sit tight?”

  “Stay here.”

  Will nodded. He eyed the canvas bag. “Is there, by chance, any food in that satchel?”

  Tessa smiled. “There might be.”

  Will closed his eyes reverently. “Bless you, mistress.”

  Tessa smiled and felt her cheeks get warm. As Will wolfed down his breakfast, she wandered around the studio. Morning light washed through the high windows and made warm rectangles of sun on the paint-splattered floor. It didn’t seem as overwhelming now, and Tessa went from spot to spot, looking not at the artwork but at the small everyday things, the little places where her mother had been. She drew a finger around a watermark left on a small table, picked up a small palette knife and wiggled the flexible metal between her fingers.

  “Your mother’s work is truly beautiful,” Will said, watching her.

  “Yes, I think so too,” Tessa answered. She pointe
d to the framed landscape of Monhegan Island on the opposite wall. “She had shows all over the country.”

  Her mother’s work had been described as “vividly romantic” and “classical in style but with a new age aesthetic.” Whatever that meant. Sometimes Tessa wondered if, wherever her mother was, her world had become as beautiful as the ones she’d created in her paintings. Tessa hoped so.

  “But there is one that does not fit,” Will said.

  Tessa’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” she asked. She followed Will as he walked over to a small painting set on the floor in the corner.

  “This,” he said, and picked it up. Tessa looked at the painting and caught her breath. She had forgotten all about it. It was a small canvas swirled with pure, thick colors. Below, the scene was wild, whipped into spattering waves in colors of electric green and shimmering gold, while above, the sky swirled in a sunset of magenta and orange.

  “I have never seen a sea look like this from our shores of Cornwall, and yet it seems familiar to me. As an ocean from my dreams,” said Will.

  Tessa looked at him in surprise. Funny, that was exactly what she’d thought too. A dream ocean. She had never thought anyone would see it the way she did. He peered at the corner where Tessa was painted in vermilion. He traced her name with his fingertip.

  “You’re an artist,” he said, looking up.

  Just like that. Not as a compliment or with sarcasm either—a statement of fact. “No,” Tessa answered, flustered. “I’m not. My mother was the artist, not me.” And this was her mother’s studio, Tessa thought. Just as her father had reminded her the day he’d discovered Tessa up here, painting in her own clumsy way. He had shooed her out and locked the door. Turned the key as if he could vacuum-seal the spirit of Wendy Brody.

  Will nodded in appreciation, then turned back to Tessa’s painting. “But you have a talent of your own.”

  Tessa gave a rueful smile. “You wouldn’t say so if you knew how I painted that.” Will crooked his eyebrows in a silent question. Tessa raised her hands and wriggled them shyly. “With my fingers. Weird, huh? There’s something I love about the feel of the paint … the colors.” She shook her head. “But when I hold a brush or a pen, I get clumsy. Something gets lost between me and the paper.” She tilted her head and looked at Will. “I’m not sure if I’m making any sense to you.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, looking at her steadily. “You do make sense. What else have you painted?”

  Tessa looked away. “Nothing. Since then.” She had no real talent. And whenever she tried to paint or draw, she was afraid she was just trying to bring her mother back in some small way.

  Will made a slow circle of the room with his gaze. “It’s a shame such a delightful room is no longer used.”

  “Like I said before,” Tessa answered stiffly. “It was my mother’s studio. She was the artist.”

  There was a silence, and this time it wasn’t comfortable.

  Will set her painting down carefully, as if it was something precious. “Actually, mistress. I wasn’t thinking of painting.” He looked around. “This room would also be very suitable for …” He came closer and startled her by taking one of her hands in his own. “Dancing.”

  “What are you doing?” At his touch she all but jerked her hand away. Not because she didn’t want to touch him. But because suddenly it was all she wanted.

  “Simply this: we are trapped here, for the moment, while Moncrieff cools his heels outside. To pass the time, I am offering you all of the benefits of my training with the dance master Monsieur Foquelaire. Come.” He pulled her to the center of the large room. He bowed. “We begin.”

  Will held Tessa by only the tips of her fingers, raised high in front of their chests. The touch was nothing, the merest contact, but somehow she felt as though she were flying when Will began to maneuver her across the open space, pacing beside her.

  “Forward,” he said, laughing as he watched her feet. “Forward again. Now back. Reprise. Turn. Reverence.” He bowed deeply. “You curtsy now.”

  “Oh, right.” Tessa bent her knees, feeling silly.

  “This is a basse danse,” Will said. “It’s very proper and suitable for court occasions. During which you must not spit, and blow your nose only sparingly.”

  “I’ll try to remember.” Tessa smiled as they proceeded side by side. Once she had the pattern down, she was able to look up across the arm’s length between them, where she found Will’s eyes trained on her. The silly feeling faded. Tessa’s steps became less mechanical as her feet, almost as if by themselves, matched Will’s fluid movements. Soon they were gliding, wordlessly in sync. She imagined she wore a beautiful gown that brushed the floor as she danced. Thick folds of blue velvet swirled against her skin when she turned. They were surrounded by candlelight. They were—

  “You dance well, mistress,” Will said.

  His words broke the spell of her imagination, but her heart still did a little flip at the compliment. Tessa searched for something to say. “It seems very … slow,” she managed.

  “It has to be.” Will looked forward, head upright. “Everyone’s shoes are pinching their toes and they’re stepping on each other’s trains.”

  Tessa laughed but Will kept a straight face. “In truth, it can be a most painful ordeal,” he commented. “My brother, Hugh, would rather fight the heathen hordes than risk his toes to the dance.” He stopped and released her hands. “Now, this, my lady, is the galliard.” He sprang up and landed neatly beside her. “The king himself is a devotee of this particular dance.” He kicked out again and jumped. “It is said to be very daring, very athletic.”

  “Athletic. Yes, I can see,” said Tessa, watching him with a smile. “When do you get to the daring part?”

  “Just here, mistress. Lavolta.” Will suddenly put both hands to Tessa’s waist and lifted her up. She gasped with surprise and clutched his shoulders. He arched back and she felt her weight resting against the firm planes of his chest as he turned slowly in a circle, looking up at her.

  Tessa’s heart was kickboxing in her chest. Her eyes stayed focused on Will’s as he let her down slowly. But he was tall and it was a long way down.

  “You see?” he said, breathing deeply. “Scandalous.” He swallowed.

  They stood facing each other. Will didn’t remove his hands from her waist but leaned closer, his lips only inches from her own. She could feel the warmth of his breath, could smell his skin. She felt herself drawn closer to him. So this is what it’s like to know what you want, thought Tessa as she raised her lips.

  But Will’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Enough,” he said. “Now tell me the truth.”

  Chapter 27

  Tessa blinked. Tried to regain her footing. Wait. No, she was standing up.

  “The truth?” she whispered.

  “Yes, mistress.” Will was so close, his warm breath was a caress on her mouth. “Tell me the truth. I can stand this deception no longer.”

  “Tell you what?” Tessa said, mystified. She was still very conscious of his height, his nearness, but something had changed. His strong, aristocratic features might have been carved from marble. His eyes were cold. Wary.

  “You will make me declare it, I suppose.” Will released his hold on her waist and walked away. He turned abruptly. “You were there. It was you.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “You were the maid in the wood when I—” He broke off, staring at her. “When Gray Lily captured me. How can you tell me it wasn’t you? Your eyes, your face.” He came closer. “Even your hair.” With a brooding look he took a soft coil of it and rubbed it between his fingers.

  At once Tessa thought of his outburst at the waterfront. He had told her then that she resembled someone he knew. But she felt as if he wasn’t seeing her; he was looking through her, to the past. She trembled as he swept his hand away. “It all began with you,” he went on. “I saw you wander into the northern wood
s and followed you.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, to state the obvious. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t have been her. But his words sidetracked her.

  “You followed me?” she repeated softly. “Why?”

  Will hesitated. “I don’t know. I couldn’t help myself. It sounds idiotic to you, doesn’t it? But even now, knowing what I do about you, I cannot seem to stop. I want to …” He took a step closer still. She’d been wrong—his eyes weren’t cold, they were like warm honey. Tessa found her concentration slipping. She could forget everything looking into his eyes. But something he’d said—

  She put a hand to his chest. And straight-armed him back.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What is it you know about me?”

  Will frowned. “Why do you pretend? You recognized me the first moment you saw me. Admit it.”

  “Yes,” she said, without thinking. She had recognized him. Or at least, she thought she had. But only from the resemblance of his eyes to the unicorn’s. And from her dreams or visions, whatever they were.

  “You recognized me because you were there,” Will said angrily. “Admit what we both know, Tessa. You were there in the wood to trap me.”

  Every muscle in Will’s lean frame seemed taut with a barely controlled energy. His voice shook and he sounded breathless as he spoke: “I was drawn to you, mistress. I laid myself at your feet. And even bloody and filthy as I was, you cradled my head. Caressed me.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “And then you watched as the witch shackled me with iron. And cast me into Hell. Or rather, wove me there.”

  “No,” Tessa whispered, backing away. An ugly image leapt to her mind: a picture in a book of a heartless, stupid girl. A virgin in his haunts. She shook her head in a stricken denial.

  Will was unmoved. “You watched as Gray Lily took the unicorn’s life, my life.”

  In his eyes she saw the expression that had been puzzling her, and finally recognized it. It was accusation. He blamed her.

  Tessa rocked back another step, still shaking her head. “It’s not true.” But even as she said it, the violent, vivid images and sensations of her dreams swirled around her. The dank, rich smell of the woods. The sound of hoofbeats pounding the earth. The taste of fear.