Warped (11 page)

“But Tessa, we’ve discussed this already.” Her father’s plump, easygoing face looked puzzled as he watched her. “I have to return it. The lawyer for the Gerome estate will be here first thing in the morning.”

“I just—” Tessa hesitated. She looked away from her father, plucked up a dish towel to wipe her hands and smoothed it out on the countertop. “I just have the feeling something isn’t right,” she said. Now, that was completely true. Down to her Jell-O-y bones she knew something was not right. Like the whole world, maybe. She wasn’t lying to her dad. She was just . . . not sharing. Yet.

Her father smiled. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to mess with a woman’s intuition. Why don’t we see what this lawyer fellow says in the morning? Maybe we can work something out. But you know, we could really use that money.”

Tessa put the food and drinks on a tray. “Okay,” she said with a puff of relief.

Her father leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Night.”

“Night, Dad,” mumbled Tessa. She hardly heard him walk out. She was staring at the red and white checkered dishcloth spread out on the kitchen counter.

It was moving.

The small towel wriggled as if it were covering a bed of snakes. As Tessa watched, the red and white threads of the cloth began to writhe and separate. They crossed, twisted and rearranged themselves with furious speed. Then they suddenly stopped and the dish towel lay flat once more. Tessa backed away with a little cry, staring at the pattern that had emerged. Stark white letters on a red background said:

Give them back.

Chapter 16

T
essa clutched the tray of food in her trembling hands and walked upstairs. As she balanced the tray on her hip and levered the bedroom door open, she could hear Opal’s voice:

“U.S.A. The United States of America. Actually, we were part of England and then broke away in 1776. We had a war and everything. But we’re cool now. You kind of missed the whole thing.”

Opal was sitting cross-legged on Tessa’s bed while Will stood some feet away. They both looked up when she entered, and by their expressions, Tessa realized how she must look. Maybe as if she’d just seen the ghost of dish towels past.

“What is it?” said Will sharply.

Tessa only shook her head and put down the tray with a clatter. Half of the sandwich pile flopped over and a pickle rolled onto the floor. She couldn’t speak but held her icy hands together, blew on them and turned to look at the tapestry. With its center of tangled black it wasn’t beautiful anymore. The background was the same, with the forest and the distant castle, but the spot where the unicorn had stood seemed dark and full of secret dangers. She was afraid to look too closely at the shadowy threads but afraid to turn her back on them as well.

“I just got a message,” she said in a shaky voice. “In a dishcloth.”

Opal gaped at her. “Huh?”

Will said nothing, but his face was watchful, wary.

“It flopped around and remade itself right in front of me,” Tessa went on. “The threads made letters. It said, ‘Give them back.’ Dish towels are not supposed to do that,” she said, turning to Will. “Just in case you’re wondering if it’s some twenty-first-century thing. This is insane.” She slumped onto the chair and put her face in her hands. “I’m babbling.”

“No,” Opal said doubtfully. “Well, maybe a little. Babble-ish.”

“Where is this cloth?” Will asked.

“In the kitchen. I didn’t want to touch it,” Tessa confessed. A shiver began low in her spine and she straightened, trying to make it stop. “I guess it’s still down there.”

“ ‘Give them back’?” Will repeated. “What does it mean?” His glance swept to the tapestry and back to Tessa.

The shiver started again and Tessa hugged her arms tight to her body. Why couldn’t she warm up? “It means the tapestry, I guess,” she answered. “And the book.”

Opal frowned. “Freaky. So you think it’s a message from the witch that did the unicorn thing to Will. Right?”

“
What
book?” demanded Will.

Tessa nodded to Opal. “I guess so.”

“What
book?
” Will repeated, clipping off each word like an angry elocution teacher.

“I’ll show you.” Tessa stood. “But you have to stay here.” She hesitated at the door. Suddenly she couldn’t bear the thought of going down to the kitchen again. Especially alone. “Opal, would you come with?”

“Yeah. Right behind you,” Opal said, grabbing a tennis racket that leaned against the wall.

Tessa padded downstairs and flicked on the kitchen light. The dishcloth lay exactly where she had left it on the countertop. Except now it was normal. It was just a plain old red and white checkered towel.

“The letters are gone,” Tessa said slowly.

Opal lowered the racket from a batter’s stance and they stared at the towel for a moment.

Opal shot Tessa a reassuring glance. “I believe you,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Tessa. “I’m not sure I do.” She took a deep breath, snatched up the dish towel, stepped on the pedal of the trash can and with a quick toss, threw the towel inside and let the lid slam down. She looked at Opal and both of them broke out in nervous giggles.

“This isn’t funny!” Tessa gasped.

“I know, I know. Why are you laughing?” said Opal, and bit her lip.

Tessa shook her head and sobered, tugging her fingers through her hair as she thought about what to do. She turned and looked at the book on the table. “C’mon,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s bring this upstairs. Maybe we’ll find some answers.”

The
Texo Vita
lay open on her desk, illuminated by a greenish pool of light from the adjustable lamp. Outside, the wind rattled against the dark pane of the window as Tessa turned the crisp yellowed pages with a gloved hand. The lines of black script were so small and ornate, they looked like spiders crawling off the page. She could make out some of the letters here and there, and some dates. That was about it.

Opal leaned over Tessa’s shoulder. Will paced behind them, finishing the last of a ham sandwich.

“Do you recognize any of this writing?” Tessa asked him, turning and leaning back in the chair.

“No,” said Will, giving the book a brief glance. “Should I?”

“I suppose not.” Tessa closed the book with a sigh. “I don’t know how this can tell us anything.”

Will stopped pacing. He reached over her and plucked the book away. “I said I did not recognize it,” he said quietly. “That does not mean I am incapable of
reading
it.”

Tessa gave him an exasperated look. “You might have said so.”

“You might have asked.”

“Okay, kids,” said Opal under her breath. “Let’s all get along.”

Will read the cover aloud. “
Texo Vita.
”

Tessa recalled the conversation with her father. “That means ‘the weave of life,’ right?” she asked.

He ran a considering hand over the letters. “More precisely it means ‘to weave life.’ ”

“Okay. That makes more sense,” Tessa murmured. She looked at the tapestry. “Not in a good way, but more sense.”

Will gripped the book by the spine and began to riffle through it.

“Hey!” Tessa cried. She peeled off the cotton gloves and shook them at Will, but he only turned away, completely absorbed in scanning the pages. She tossed the gloves down with a sigh. The book had survived for five hundred years. A little spicy brown mustard probably wouldn’t hurt it now.

“It looks like a diary,” he said after a moment. “Where shall I begin?”

“Anywhere,” Tessa said.

Will put a finger on the page and read rapidly:

Thirteenth December, 1506

A baby born last night in village to whey-faced daughter of Winna Humphries. Girl child. Darkling Well-formed and red-faced, took teat. I was paid four eggs and a plank of dried fish for delivering.

The weaving becomes harder. My joints ache so, and I am clumsy with the fine work. But I must keep working. I must find a way to obtain the threads.

Will turned a number of pages slowly, his eyes scanning the scrawled writing with apparent ease before reading again:

Dunnington. Nineteenth April, 1507

Guinea hens not laying for four days. Killed one for dinner and ate with mashed peas and soaked trencher of manchet. Teeth are hurting most painfully and bleeding some.

But it does not matter. I have discovered the key to obtaining my desire. It was sold to me by an Arabian trader.

The key was discovered on the shores of an eastern sea. I now have the key. I have the craft. I shall soon have what I seek.

Seventh July

Have not yet mastered the way to bind them.

Harvested ten canes of young ash sapling. To be cured in sea brine and char wort, then thistle-smoked and dried on untouched stone. This shall be the frame. The path of the thread must pass through the center of the crossing weft.

Wove four cubits of linen broadcloth and sold at market cross for five shillings.

Will shifted his stance and his voice slowed:

Fourteenth June, 1510

Must find proper manner of warp fiber to contain the thread. Saw a fine, long-legged calf in John Haysmith’s pen. Sinew?

Will stopped abruptly and looked up. “There’s no doubt of it. Gray Lily wrote this,” he said. “This is the diary of the witch who trapped me.” Will scanned quickly through several more entries. Then he stopped and read silently.

“What is it?” asked Tessa, going closer and peering over the edge of the page.

“This—this is some years later,” he said in a low, hoarse voice.

Opal stood on his other side. “That’s weird,” she said. “The handwriting looks the same. But it’s clearer. Less wobbly than the earlier pages.”

“Read it,” Tessa said. She glanced at Will’s face and added, “Please.”

In a slow voice Will began:

Hartescross. Twelfth September, 1511

The hunt is complete. I thought the older son, Hugh de Chaucy, would kill the unicorn. He is as brawny and stupid as a young bull. He thought of nothing but vengeance for his brother. I do believe he thought me mad with my laughing. ’Twas only that he did not know the jest. He cut a gash over the creature’s face with his sword but was knocked aside, his shoulder split open to the bone by the unicorn’s horn. The girl did not stay in the clearing as she was bid. She lost her wits from fear of the hounds and ran away. The unicorn followed her, stumbling and bloodied from the lances. He laid his head on her lap. The girl did scream and cover her face . . . .

Will’s voice slowed and stopped. The muscles of his jaw were clenched, and his hands gripped the book so hard, Tessa could see the white of his knuckles straining through the skin.

“Stop reading,” she said in a faint voice. The wound on his cheek had broken and two fresh drops of blood clung to it, bright and glittering as tiny rubies.

“No,” said Will. He stared at her. “Listen.” He looked down at the page and went on, sounding breathless now, almost as if he’d been running:

They put the iron shackles on the unicorn and it lay still. The villagers didn’t want it killed. Some of them even marked how the creature did seem to have a keen look to its eye. Almost human. I laughed again at that.

Will stopped and let out a low breath, but his eyes stayed fixed on the words.

They stayed back—wisely enough, as they had seen how the thing had nearly flayed a man open with its horn. They cowered in fear as I took the thread from the creature.

I have my unicorn at last. He is woven into the tapestry and will remain imprisoned there forever. I am young again, beautiful and strong. I will travel far from this place, where no one will know me. My life is just begun.

Will let the book drop. The thud as it hit the floor made Tessa jump.

“She turned you into a unicorn,” Opal breathed. “A real unicorn? And
then
she put you in the tapestry.”

“Yes.” Will wiped his hands on his tunic, as if trying to clean them. “She steals the thread of a life, and from it she creates what she desires. Then she pulls the thread once more to place that creature in the tapestry.” He stared at the tapestry. “There may even be others trapped within her woven spell. As I was.”

Tessa turned to Will as the realization of what had happened to him struck deep inside her. “They never knew the unicorn was you?” she said, looking up at his face. “The people of Hartescross, even your brother tried to—” She broke off.

He faced her and his eyes narrowed on hers with a golden stare, blazing and cold at the same time. He touched the wound on his cheek.

“Yes. They tried to kill me. My brother nearly succeeded.”

Chapter 17

T
hey read further, getting the rest of the story bit by bit. After capturing the unicorn and finishing her tapestry, Gray Lily had prospered. She’d moved from town to town, marrying and outliving (as she related in a gloating tone) a number of wealthy husbands. She became a lady of wealth and influence. And she never aged.

She kept the tapestry locked away from harm and prying eyes.

The last entry was dated October 12, 1842. Gray Lily was calling herself Madame Lillian Genoise and living in Paris.

“Gray Lily. Lillian Genoise,” Tessa murmured, and yawned. It was two in the morning. She rubbed her eyes. They felt like they’d been rolled in kitty litter. Not even clean kitty litter. All at once she stopped and straightened up. “Lila Gerome,” she said.

“Huh?” Opal’s eyes were bleary too.

“Lila Gerome,” Tessa repeated. “That’s who my father said the lawyer was working for.” She looked at Opal and Will. “Could it be her? Is Lila Gerome really Gray Lily?”