Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

pulled away from the curb. "You didn't get my tapestry," she rasped. "I told you what would happen if you didn't get it."
    Moncrieff's blue eyes bulged from his head. He clutched his throat. "Glghhh."
    Gray Lily pursed her wrinkled lips and narrowed her small black eyes. "I'm sorry." She leaned forward and cocked her head. "Could you speak up? Oh, I guess not."
    Moncrieff's limbs twitched and his eyes rolled wildly. With a jerk his two hands shot forward, as though he were reaching for Gray Lily, to strike or throttle her. But he slapped his palms together and held them, trembling, in silent supplication.
    "Very well," Gray Lily said with a sniff. She plucked at the piece of black thread she held in her lap with her knobby fingers.
    Moncrieff collapsed backward, heaving in gasps of air. He twisted to look at her. "Ms. Gerome?" he wheezed.
    "Oh. Of course," she commented, looking down at herself. "You haven't seen this." She waved a hand to indicate her shrunken, elderly form. "I had a setback."
    Gray Lily reached toward Moncrieff. He shrank back, but she only patted his knee. "I'm sorry I had to do that," she said. Her expression might have been that of a teacher who had just reprimanded a child. "Really, I am. But sometimes, Moncrieff, I just don't think that I'm getting through to you. You see, the book and the tapestry mean the world to me." She frowned faintly and her lined face seemed to fold in upon itself. "Consider it a matter of life and death," she said. "Yours." She tilted her head. "We understand each other now. Don't we?"
    The man lay huddled in the far corner of the seat. Tears streamed down his face. He gave a jerking nod.
    Gray Lily sighed. She took a square of white silk from her purse and tossed it at him. "Here. Clean yourself up," she told him. "Then tell me everything."

Chapter 20

Will set down the bag of clothes they'd bought from the thrift shop and stepped into the road. Now dressed in faded jeans, sneakers and a black T-shirt, Will could have passed for any modern-day teenage guy. Except for one thing. He stood in the center of Wharf Street, staring at the length of paved tar with a line in the middle as if it were a piece of abstract art. He crouched and touched his palm to the blacktopped surface.
    "It's warm," he murmured. His expression, as he examined it, was one of startled delight. "Who made this, Tessa?"
    Tessa was on the sidewalk, trying to look nonchalant as passersby eyed the strange young man in the road. "Um, I'm not sure," she answered. "The city, I guess. The government?" She hoped he didn't lie down and listen for buffalo.
    "It is beautiful," Will said. "So smooth. No ruts. No mud. Verily, coach wheels must fly on such a surface." He straightened up and smiled over at her. "This world is remarkable. I feel as though I am in a dream that goes on and on. Nothing is real." He hesitated. "Except--"
    "Car!" Tessa yelled, and dashed forward to yank him back to the curb. A Subaru wagon drove by. Slowly.
    "I guess it wasn't that close," Tessa said. She released her clutch on his elbow. "Nothing is real except ... what?" she prompted. But Will de Chaucy was off again, walking away, like a kid at an amusement park.
    He peered into shop windows, looked up into the sky to see a plane passing overhead, headed down the recessed steps of a tattoo parlor and squinted into a grate in the sidewalk. Tessa followed along, watching. Apparently he had to touch everything, she noted with a smile. And everything seemed wonderful to him. Not only was a paved road "beautiful," but garbage cans were "ingenious." Bicycles were "astounding." Streetlights? Forget about it. And they weren't even lit yet.
    Confusing questions came up that Tessa would never have expected, leading to weird conversations. For instance, how the Time and Temperature Building didn't actually control those things.
    They came to the waterfront. The dark water murmured beneath the creaking pier, and hungry gulls wheeled and scree -ed overhead. The air smelled of fish and diesel fumes, while chugging ship motors made a constant drone in the background. Will cast an appreciative glance at some older fishing boats rocking against the dock. "I'm delighted to see that wood still floats upon water," he said solemnly.
    Tessa's answering smile faded at the fast-food wrappers and Styrofoam debris in the water below them. "There's a lot of pollution in it, though." She leaned on the railing and let her eyes trace the horizon, over the