“Seven threads. Seven lives.”
Tessa heard the eerie voices of the Norn break through the darkness.
They were telling her to let go. The Norn were trying to take him. For what? To go back to his own time and die of smallpox?
No.
Tessa looked down at her wrist and saw the thin, frayed threads of her bracelet. The pig. Double lucky. Tessa dragged the silver thread closer. She wound it tightly around her wrist, wincing as the burning heat enclosed her skin, and finally, with shaking fingers, tied Will’s thread to the bracelet.
“Double lucky,” she cried. “Please hold him.” She gasped the words and then repeated them, like a chant. Or a prayer. “Double lucky. Please hold him.” She stared at the worn, tattered threads between the beads. The simple bracelet was nothing, and yet what it represented was everything. And suddenly Tessa imagined what it was made of: not just threads. To her, the frayed fibers were people. Her mother. Her father. Opal. And Will. Family, friendship and love. She imagined the threads of everyone she loved and cherished. She called upon every bit of love she had ever been given and asked love to make her strong.
She held on. She would not let go of what she loved. She would give anything to save Will. She would give herself. She would be the seventh thread.
“Take me!” she yelled up to the sky, sobbing. “Take me instead of him. Take my life.”
Something snapped; Tessa fell backward with the sudden release. Will fell to the ground beside her, gasping, holding her wrist in the same spot where she had tied his thread.
“Tessa,” he said, hugging her close. Tessa felt the earth rumble as she wrapped her arms around Will. He was real and warm and smelled, as he always did, of leather and smoky wood and spice. The ground pitched beneath them. A tearing, ripping noise filled the air as the world around them, Gray Lily’s world, seemed to unravel. Trees splintered apart and leaves whirled up to the sky. The moon dissolved, bubbling away across the sky in a streak of light.
Tessa clung to Will. “I’m sorry,” she said, whispering into his ear. She hung on to him, ready for the end.
But that didn’t happen.
Chapter 45
Actually, Tessa couldn’t understand what happened next. It was as if the sky split open and another world washed over the dark one that had just disintegrated. A great, bright wave of it knocked Tessa over, submerging her. She felt herself torn from Will. She screamed, waiting for liquid to fill her lungs, to drown her.
But it wasn’t water that engulfed her. Tessa stood up and breathed. She was alive.
“Where am I?” Her voice sounded unnaturally loud, and echoed back to her. She looked around. She stood on a green hillside. Far beneath her the land ended in a dense cloud, blocking any view of how high she was or what lay below.
But it was dazzling. Each blade of grass at her feet seemed distinct and beautiful. And the colors. This world had colors Tessa had never seen and had no words for. The air around her was as intricate as lace. She reached up and the air seemed to quiver, sending a wave of the noncolors rippling away from her. She looked around for Will, but he wasn’t there.
She could see a small plateau cut into the hillside in the distance; it held a pool of glassy green water on which two swans floated. Nearby stood a huge tree whose stark branches made a tangle against the sea-blue sky. As she walked closer, Tessa heard another sound in the quiet, and somehow she thought it was coming from that tree. It was a sound like breathing.
Three cloaked figures were walking toward her. Tessa recognized them from, well, her bathroom mirror. The Norn had arrived.
They were still cloaked in dark robes, and the only hints that Tessa had of their faces were vague, shadowed features and an occasional flickering gleam of their eyes.
“You have succeeded, mortal,” said one of them. Tessa recognized the deep, hollow voice of Scytha. “The stolen threads have been returned. All except for one.”
For a moment Tessa froze. All except for one. Will. A panicky sense of confusion overtook her. His thread hadn’t drifted away like the others. She’d held on. But where was he? She tried to hide her fear as she replied to the Norn.
“You can’t have that one,” Tessa said.
“We can’t—” Scytha’s booming voice repeated, only to break off in amazement. “Foolish child. What are you saying?”
“You lied to me,” Tessa said steadily. “You told me you would give Will his life back. But you lied. He would have died of smallpox.”
“It was not a lie,” said Scytha. She drifted closer and Tessa saw the piercing shine of the huge shears in one heavy hand. “It was his fate. He must return to it.”
Scytha came even closer and Tessa felt a sense of stillness, of time suspended. She wasn’t aware of breathing or blinking or even having a pulse when Scytha loomed over her. Maybe she didn’t.
“Where is he?” Scytha raised the shears. The sharp blades sang as they opened wide. Tessa tried to avert her eyes against the blinding glare but couldn’t. The light seemed to cut right into her. The shears hovered over Tessa’s head.
One of the other Norn stooped to touch something at her feet. “Stop,” said Spyn. She pointed. “He’s here.”
Tessa saw that a vast fabric had appeared, swirling around the feet of the Norn. Or perhaps it had been there all along; she wasn’t sure. It was made of myriad threads of colors she knew and colors she had no words for. She could see no beginning or end to it.
“She has done something,” said Scytha in a puzzled tone. “Her thread is intertwined with his. Tied together. I can’t cut one without cutting the other.”
Tessa heaved an inward sigh. Will was alive. The feeling of relief was so intense, she felt her knees sag beneath her. Somehow the air supported her.
Spyn wriggled her long fingers at Tessa. “You love him.”
“Yes,” Tessa said. “I love him.”
“It wasn’t a question,” remarked Spyn with a sniff.
The last cloaked figure, who had been regarding Tessa silently from the dark recesses beneath her hood, finally spoke:
“Do you try to cheat fate, mortal?” Weavyr asked quietly.
“I’m not cheating,” Tessa answered. She pointed to the endless fabric. “You just said his thread is there. Returned.”
“But not to where it should be. He belongs to another time.”
Tessa shrugged. “I guess you should have been more specific.”
There was silence as the Norn contemplated this, and then, for the first time in the memory of the world, Scytha’s shears slowly closed—without cutting anything.
“Very well,” said Weavyr. “I suppose we owe the girl something for returning the lost threads.” She bent to examine the Wyrd. “Some semblance of order seems to have been restored.”
“And my father,” said Tessa. “He’ll be all right?”
Scytha gave one slow, emphatic nod. “All will be as we promised, mortal. Just as we extend no pity, neither do we hold grudges. You shall be returned to your life. And Gray Lily will be punished in a manner that is … appropriate.”
Tessa hardly heard what the hooded figure was saying. Having learned that her father was safe, she was weak with relief. She’d come so close to losing him. Just as she had lost her mother, suddenly and without reason. The old hurt welled up inside her. It felt like a hole; it could never be fixed, and it would never go away.
Tessa looked down at the swirling fabric that the Norn had made of human lives. The Wyrd, they called it. “You have all this power,” Tessa said. “You control everything. Why do you do the things you do?”
When no answer came, she pressed them. “My mother,” Tessa whispered. “Her name was Wendy Brody. She was young. An artist. Why did she have to die?”
Spyn shuddered and put her spindly fingers to her head. “You see,” she said. “It’s always the same question. Why? Why? It buzzes in my head.”
Scytha answered. “Your mother died because it was time for her thread to be cut.
”
“But why?” Tessa demanded. “Because you decided?”
“I told you once before,” said Scytha. “Our reasons and our ways are beyond your comprehension.”
Tessa shook her head and replied quietly, “You should try us sometime. You might be surprised.”
There was silence for a moment as the three cloaked figures seemed to mull this over. Finally Scytha shook her head. “Good-bye for now, mortal. Go and live your life,” she said gloomily. “You shall see these blades again one day.”
Then there was a tearing noise and Tessa plummeted into rushing darkness.
She landed, with a muffled crash, on a bed. There was an instant of stillness as motes of dust settled around her; then the frame collapsed to the floor. Tessa pushed herself up, wide-eyed. She was back home. Well, not home, but close. The hotel room of the Portland Regency was just as she had seen it last.
Through the open window wafted a cool breeze, tinged with the scent of brine from the sea. The sound of a car horn blared outside. Tessa stood up, dazed, and looked around. Other than the demolished bed, there was no sign that anyone had been here. The tapestry was gone.
Tessa took several deep breaths and put a hand to her head. It was aching and warm, but otherwise, she was okay. The events of the last few days unfurled in her thoughts. The unicorn tapestry, Will, Gray Lily. Had she been sick and imagined the whole thing? Maybe none of it had even happened.
She stumbled over to the full-length mirror on the wall. “Oh yeah,” she said. “It happened.” A bedraggled, black-haired girl dressed in a torn velvet gown stared back at her. On her finger glowed a brilliant ring of amber set in silver.
When Tessa touched the band of polished metal with a tentative finger, the burnished stone glowed as if a tiny flame flickered inside it. Tessa clasped her fingers tightly around it.
“Thanks,” she whispered, knowing that the Norn probably couldn’t hear her. And that they probably wouldn’t care if they did. She turned to go and spotted something beneath the corner of the bed. She picked up the thick black book and walked out.
Chapter 46
Two weeks later Tessa was in her favorite chair in the corner of Brody’s Books. She stretched out, letting her gaze roam around the updated décor. She had to admit, Alicia had made some good suggestions, including the addition of a small café area, which had brought tons of customers in. Tessa took a sip of her frothy latte. The new espresso machine wasn’t too bad either.
Opal sat crossed-legged on the floor beside her, fingering a tune on her battered acoustic guitar. Her hair was tied up in a twisted silk bandana, and her lilac-painted toes tapped in time to her music.
“So what are we going to do this summer?” asked Opal. “It’s gonna be boring around here, with no imminent death and all. And I never even got to meet my evil twin.”
“That suits me fine,” said Tessa with a smile as she saw her father pacing the balcony above them, his glasses dangling from his mouth. His face was fuller and healthy-looking. He had a huge book in his hands. Tessa squinted. It looked like an antique-plumbing supply catalog.
Life was back to … well, life. Her father had been discharged from the hospital after what the doctors were calling an amazing spontaneous remission. He and Alicia were planning a wedding in the fall. And Opal was Tessa’s best friend again.
Everything was perfect.
Except it wasn’t.
Things had been made right. The stolen threads had been returned. Somehow Tessa had thought that everything would be fixed. She’d had this wild, crazy hope that the things in the past that shouldn’t have happened would have been changed. And yet her mother was still dead. The accident had happened, and nothing was going to change that. Did that mean that somehow in the big scheme of things her mother was supposed to die? That there was a reason? Tessa didn’t know. And apparently the Norn weren’t going to bother explaining things to a mere mortal. She had to live with it. Just as before.
Tessa had started to paint in the studio again, with her father’s blessing. Mostly big colorful, abstract stuff in her own weird style. But the paintings pleased her, and somehow it didn’t feel as if she was trespassing on her mother’s memory. It felt as if she was honoring it. She’d even been accepted by the Maine College of Art.
She should be grateful for her life, for her father’s life and for Opal’s friendship, Tessa thought. And she was. But she couldn’t control what her heart did. And it had decided to break.
There had been no word, no sign of Will de Chaucy. She’d made efforts to find him, but it was as though he had disappeared from the face of the earth, or more precisely, had never been there at all. She had to accept the fact that she would never see him again. But it felt as though she was leaving something precious behind, a part of herself. The part that was the best she would ever be. It hurt so much. But it had to be enough, she told herself, that he was alive, somewhere. The Norn had said so.
He was in the world. He just wasn’t in hers.
The bell over the door jangled and a tall, well-built young man strode into the store from the bright sunlight of the Old Port Square. He wore a crisp white shirt and tailored dark suit. Tucked beneath his arm was a large package wrapped in brown paper. He walked over to the counter and took off his dark glasses, glancing coolly around the bookstore. As his eyes passed her way, Tessa dropped her mug to the floor with a clatter. Opal’s guitar twanged as she got a finger stuck under one of the strings.
“Holy Armani,” Opal whispered. “Isn’t that—” she began.
Tessa stood up. She began walking toward him slowly. Her pace got quicker as she went closer. The lean, chiseled features, the tawny hair. Brown eyes flecked with gold. It was Will. She ran the last few steps and only stopped short of launching herself into his arms.
The young man frowned down at her, looking slightly alarmed. “Good morning, miss.” The accent was more modern English than it had been before, impeccable and clipped.
Tessa’s heart took a downward spiral.
He didn’t recognize her.
“Uh,” Tessa said, backing away. “Uh, hello. S-sorry, I thought you were someone I knew.”
“Lucky chap,” he murmured.
“Can I help you?”
“I do hope so,” said the young man. “My name is William Chase. I’d like to speak to Mr. Brody.”
“Um, sure,” said Tessa, staring at him. William Chase. No wonder all her searches for William de Chaucy had led nowhere. But this was him. It had to be.
“Uh, I work here,” Tessa sputtered. “Er—maybe there’s something I can help you with?” she stammered. Maybe she could form a sentence that didn’t start with a caveman grunt. Closing her mouth would be good too.
“Perhaps,” said William Chase. He drew a sheet of paper from his suit pocket. “I’m inquiring after a book that was recently sold at auction.”
“A book,” Tessa repeated.
“Yes, a book.” He glanced around. “I’ve been led to believe this is a bookstore.” A flicker of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth.
Tessa grinned like an idiot. “We have lots of books.”
“This one you would remember, I’m sure,” he said. “An archaic text, leather-bound and handwritten, in Latin. It was mistakenly placed with a number of items sold from our estate in Cornwall. I’d like to retrieve it as quickly as possible. It’s very important.”
“Yes, my father bought that book about a month ago,” Tessa said almost absently. She was too busy absorbing every facet of his face, his voice. Her eyes caught on one detail. “You have a scar on your cheek,” she said.
William Chase put a hand up to touch it. “Oh, that. I’ve had it forever. My older brother gave me that.” He spoke as he unrolled the package on the countertop. “The book has always been stored with this tapestry,” he said. Inside was a tapestry with a coat of arms woven on a blue background.
“It’s very handsome,” said Tessa, examining it.
There was a u
nicorn in the tapestry, but it was small and flat-eyed, emblazoned on a golden shield. There was no life in it.
“A unicorn rampant has been our family’s crest since the Middle Ages,” William Chase told her.
Tessa peered more closely at the medieval insignia. The most lifelike thing in the picture seemed to be a small flower that was shown crushed beneath the hoof of the unicorn. A pale, faded flower.
“A gray lily,” Tessa said aloud. In the back of her mind she remembered words spoken on a distant hillside. She will be punished … appropriately.
Tessa reached out her hand to touch the tapestry but pulled it back again. “I’d better not.”
“What’s wrong?” William asked. He had a strange, still expression on his face as he turned to her.
Tessa shook her head. “I got into trouble that way once.”
Will looked into her eyes. “Tessa,” he said.
Without thinking she answered, “Yes?”
“You know, I do have the strangest feeling that we’ve met before. In fact …” He pulled her close and kissed her gently. “I’m quite sure of it, mistress.” He let go and stood back.
Tessa swayed slightly, a dazed expression on her face. “Oh,” she said deliberately, “I am so going to kill you.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You couldn’t do it before.”
With a cry Tessa hugged him to her, feeling the warm strength, the bones of his shoulder blades flexing beneath her fingers as he put his arms around her. Tessa breathed in the warm green scent of him and let out a choked whimper.
“I am sorry, mistress,” Will said. “I wasn’t sure that you would remember me when you were returned to your world. I wanted to be sure before I did this.” He kissed her again, deeply.
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