Warped (30 page)

“Let go of me!” screeched Gray Lily. Her demeanor changed; she wore the expression of a cringing, frightened child.

“Not on your life,” Tessa whispered.

“Lymerer!” groaned Gray Lily. “Come to me.”

But at the edge of the clearing Tessa could see the huge man staring with horror at what was happening to his mistress. He made no move to help her. Or perhaps Gray Lily was simply unable to work his thread, to force him to do her will.

Tessa pulled Gray Lily’s thread with both hands, faster now, and watched as the woman’s already-weakened form began to shrivel. Her skin wrinkled. Her body twisted and shortened. A look of torment made Gray Lily’s face grow rigid, and her mouth opened wide in a gaping scream. “It’s mine!” she screamed. “It’s mine!”

Tessa closed her ears to the unearthly noises from Gray Lily’s widening black mouth. The gaping maw grew larger until it seemed to engulf Gray Lily’s face; the lips rolled back, and it swallowed itself.

Gray Lily was gone.

Tessa held the purple thread, and for a moment she felt it. Felt the power of holding a life in her hands. She knew that she could do things with it. She could have control. What could a person do with power like that? Anything.

The thought was intoxicating.

And terrifying.

Tessa dropped Gray Lily’s thread. It twisted away from her, snaking through the dark air, then floated up into the night sky and finally disappeared.

Hugh de Chaucy stood up. Before Tessa’s eyes he seemed to straighten and grow taller. He held a hand before him and gripped it into a fist. Then he threw his head back and laughed, his milky blue eyes transformed into bright, twinkling crescents.

“You’ve done it, Tessa Brody. You have released us. Thank you,” Hugh said in a rich, booming voice. Before the final words left his mouth, his thread was already winding away. Hugh’s body became transparent, and a gleaming crimson thread floated into the night.

The lymerer and his dog drifted away in black coils that were nearly invisible against the dark sky. And from the woods, two other threads rose. The snake and the dragon, Tessa thought. All the threads rose higher, twisting and gliding their way free. And then Tessa understood what had happened. She’d found the first stolen thread after all.

The old weaver, whose life had been broken by tragedy, had wanted freedom from the Norn. She had wanted control of her own life. So the first thread that Gray Lily had ever taken was her own.

It was just as the Norn had predicted. Once the first stolen thread was returned, the others were released. Six threads returned. Only one to go.

Tessa turned to the unicorn, and through her tears, she saw it. The pale, silvery thread of Will’s life began to rise up and wind away from the beautiful creature’s lifeless form. The silver thread, lit by the moonlight, looked like a ribbon of liquid mercury.

“No!” Tessa ran forward, reached out and caught the swirling thread. Simply caught it.

The force that pulled the thread skyward was incredibly strong. And there was pain. It wasn’t the cold pain of having her own life pulled, but warmth that threatened to burn her. Tessa cried out as the heat lapped her fingers like an invisible flame. But she couldn’t let go. She knew what she wanted. It was Will. She would never let go.

“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

A
ctually, 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

T
wo 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.”