Warped (31 page)

“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 unicorn 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.

“But where have you been?” Tessa demanded when they finally broke apart. She stepped back and took in the clothes, the expensive watch on his wrist.

“It will take time to explain,” Will said with a smile, “but thanks to your deeds, I have a rightful place in this world. I have a home. I even have a history. It seems that in 1511 Hugh de Chaucy was the only survivor of a terrible plague of smallpox in Cornwall. But he survived to be the Earl of Umbric’s heir. He married and had twelve children.”

Tessa clapped her hand to her mouth and laughed. She was so happy for Hugh.

“My family’s name, our lands and title all survived. I have a place in the world, Tessa. Although”—he ran a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture—“the path ahead is not certain.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.” A feeling of happiness swept over her. “It’s really you,” she whispered. Then she yelled, “Dad! Come down, please. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Will hugged her, and his lips grazed her cheek as he bent down and whispered, “So you finally accept it. We are destined to be together?”

“Uh-huh.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate.”

“I didn’t before,” Tessa said. She took his hand and, looking down, wove her fingers into his. The connection felt strong. It felt right. “But I’ve learned a lot,” she said slowly. “Every person makes a difference. And the choices we make, the things we do—they matter.” She looked up into Will’s eyes. “And now I
do
believe in fate. Especially the kind we make ourselves.”

Epilogue

B
eneath the tree Yggdrasil, the Norn spoke to each other after a long silence.

“How has she done this?” said Spyn. “Having the key alone would not have twisted his path so.”

“They shared a connection from the past,” said Scytha.

“Perhaps—”

“No.” Weavyr shook her head. “She has the gift. It is the only explanation.”

“Does she know?” Scytha asked in a dismal tone.

No one answered. The Norn stood silent for a time, pondering this question. Then they returned to work.