Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

familiar ragged outline of Diamond Island and the faraway blink of the East End Harbor light. "People have really messed up the world," she said. "It must be a lot cleaner where you come from. Unspoiled."
    Will, to her surprise, burst into laughter. "Hartescross? Cleaner? I confess that I do not recall it so."
    What was his home like? Tessa wondered. His family? She longed to ask, but maybe it would be too painful for him to talk about. He'd been pulled out of a tapestry on her wall only yesterday. She would be freaking out if she were in his place.
    What was she thinking? She was freaking out in her place.
    "You've been handling all this"--Tessa waved a hand to encompass the modern world--"pretty well." When Will looked confused, she clarified. "You seem to be adapting to this time. You're not afraid of anything."
    Will shrugged and said dryly, "I have been turned into a unicorn, Tessa. I believe my constitution has been hardened to surprises. Most of them, anyway," he added as an afterthought. "And you're wrong. I am afraid."
    He glanced around and up, at the warehouses, office buildings and the steeple of a church that formed the skyline behind them. "But I see much that is fine and admirable." He turned to her. "Maybe you don't realize how lovely it is"--his voice slowed as he looked down at her--"here."
    His eyes held hers. At that moment Tessa had the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to drag Will de Chaucy close to her. To touch his skin. To know that he was real. So strong was the feeling that she found herself reaching out-- What was the matter with her?
    She glanced away, breaking the spell of his gaze. She lowered her hands and jammed them into the pockets of her jeans. "Yeah, it's nice, I guess." She could feel heat lapping at her neck, her cheeks. So much for cool.
    "My father says women who blush are very headstrong." He squinted away from her, out toward distant waters. "They're ruled by their blood."
    "Really." Tessa considered this. Will had spoken as if his father were still alive. And somehow she didn't think headstrong was the word he'd been about to say. Probably something a little more medieval. Involving lusty wenches, maybe. She gave him a skeptical look. "So your father knows a lot about women?"
    "He knows nothing," Will said with a crooked smile. "But he keeps seeking tuition. Diligently."
    Tessa smiled, her self-consciousness fading. "My father isn't married anymore. My mom died a few years ago."
    "I am sorry."
    "It's okay." Tessa laced her fingers together and studied the fine, crisscrossing lines of her palms as she spoke. "She died in a car accident. They never let me see her ... afterward. It was like she just left and never came back."
    "I did not know my mother," Will said. "She died giving birth to me. I am told that I resemble her." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "My father never speaks of her. Was your mother like you?"
    "Like me?" Tessa glanced up. "No," she answered with a rueful shake of her head. "She wasn't like me. She was a famous artist. Well, pretty famous, anyway. A painter. But mostly she was just my mom." Tessa remained silent for a moment. She kicked at the splintered beams of the dock and went on. "Sometimes my mom would laugh so hard she would cry and hold her stomach. I used to love that." Tessa smiled softly. "And I feel like she's still here," she whispered. "Somehow." She blinked, shocked at herself. Not only that she'd said something so perfectly lame and sappy, but that it was true. Completely true. And now her eyes were starting to fill up. She focused her gaze straight ahead. "But I have my dad. Things are fine."
    "I am glad of it," Will said quietly.
    Tessa glanced over at his profile. His eyes were still trained on the sea. Tessa was thankful he didn't seem to notice when she reached up quickly and brushed away the tears.
    They stayed silent for a few moments. But Tessa wasn't uncomfortable with the pause. Maybe they each had a memory to think about. And five hundred years or four years, Tessa thought. Or even a day. What was the difference, really?
    "Who are your friends?" Tessa asked.
    "My brother, Hugh," said Will with a smile. "He's a great, bullying lout of a fellow. You would like him--everyone likes him." He frowned. "Or they did. " He shook his head and turned to her. "And you? Mistress Opal is your bosom companion?"
    "Um. Yeah, I guess," Tessa laughed. "She's my friend. And has a bosom. Wow, she would love that you called her that."
    "Did I