Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

toward the street. "The sea is nearby, I can smell it."
    Tessa looked at him. "A walk," she repeated. She'd wanted suggestions as to "What are we going to do about this weird time-traveling-witch-stealing-your-life thing?" Not a social agenda. He was full of surprises. If she had suddenly been thrown into another time and had some kind of evil witch on her tail, she wasn't sure a leisurely stroll would be on the top of her to-do list. She shrugged. Well, maybe it would.
    "Okay. But first we've got to get you some other clothes," Tessa said firmly. "It will help make you less conspicuous. You know. Blend in."
    "Really?" said Will. He looked down at himself in mild surprise. He shrugged. "Very well. You have a tailor who will attend me?"
    Tessa raised an eyebrow. Welcome to William de Chaucy , she thought. Center of the Universe . She fluttered her lashes and stepped forward to curtsy. "No, Your Highness. I'm afraid we shall have to behoove ourselves down to Ye Olde Goodwill and buy some secondhand attire, like the other peasants."
    There was a pause. Tessa peeked up to see Will looking down at her. He turned away and said quietly, "It's ungracious of you to mock me, Tessa, as I am a stranger, and unaccustomed to your ways. I'm far from my home, my time. Nothing is as I knew it."
    Tessa straightened awkwardly and reddened. Ungracious . The word stung.
    "I'm sorry," she blurted out. Ungracious . It was exactly the right word for her. Lacking grace, social or otherwise. "You're right." She looked away. Anywhere but at him. "I wasn't thinking about how strange all this must be for you. I'll try to remember. And I won't call you Your Highness anymore," she added.
    "Actually, that I don't mind."
    Tessa glanced to see Will's expression. His lips curved up on one side and his eyes were alight with something devilish. He was laughing.
    "You--you--" Tessa lunged forward, half furious, half relieved and half something else so fluorescently impossible she didn't want to think about it. She reached out to give him a playful shove but found herself unbalanced when he twisted away.
    Will caught her by the shoulders, holding her close. "I don't believe I have thanked you yet, for helping me," he said in a low voice.
    For a moment Tessa felt as if she were teetering on the edge of something more than just gravity. She didn't feel herself let go, but she must have; she felt herself supported by strong arms. So why did she still feel as if she were falling?
    Will smiled at her and Tessa let herself do what she had been trying not to do: she let her eyes meet his. Head-on. She felt held there for a moment. Caught in a warm, golden trap.
    Then something changed as Will stared at her. His look became more intent and his smile faded. She became aware that he was holding something back, something barely restrained behind the careful manners.
    "Why did you do it?" he demanded.
    "Wh-what?" Tessa righted herself. But he still held her.
    "You heard the question, Mistress Brody. Why? "
    Tessa squirmed. "Let me go. I can't breathe."
    Will released her and she straightened. "There is no why, " she said. "I just pulled a thread. I didn't know what would happen."
    Will de Chaucy stared at her for a moment, and then, in a return to the cool, formal manner she was becoming used to, said, "I thank you, mistress."
    Was it her imagination or was there a tinge of acid in his tone? "You're welcome," Tessa returned uncertainly. She straightened her shirt over her jeans. "So let's take a walk," she said in an uncomfortably bright voice. Practically a chirp. She slipped past Will, grabbed her purse and made herself take a deep breath. Get a grip, Tessa , she told herself.
    She didn't even look at him when she piped up again, "Let's go. We'll use the back staircase so we don't have to go through the store." Friendly, but cool.
    "Lead on," he said softly as he followed her.
    Moncrieff's face was a dusky blue. He stumbled through the open passenger door, collapsing onto the backseat of the limousine that idled outside the bookstore. Foamy spittle dripped down his front and darkened his shirt as he clawed to loosen his tie and collar.
    After a moment the other occupant sitting in the shadows of the passenger compartment spoke. "You failed me," she said. Gray Lily faced Moncrieff, regarding his spasms of distress with detachment. She tapped her shriveled fingers against the security glass twice, signaling the driver to proceed. She glanced at Moncrieff as the limo