Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

hands. The book had thick, yellowed pages with the unevenly stacked edges of old-fashioned hand-binding. On the cover, in swirling, embossed letters, Tessa could make out the title:

TEXO VITA
    " Texo Vita . What does that mean?" she asked.
    "I have no idea," her father admitted. "It's Latin, I suppose. Hmm. Vita means 'life,' doesn't it?" He opened the book, then, nestling it in the crook of his arm, gently turned a few of the pages. Tessa stepped closer. The pages were covered with a thin, scrawled handwriting, but she couldn't make out any of the words. They were normal letters but all jumbled up and crowded, with way too many consonants and squiggles.
    "I've never seen parchment like this," said her father, "except in a museum. I believe it's vellum. From sheepskin."
    She nodded. "The cover has a little bit of red rot. How old do you think it is?"
    Her father frowned. "I'm not really sure," he said, continuing to scan the text with a look of absorbed fascination.
    His expression was priceless, Tessa thought. As if he'd just won the book lover's lottery or something. Her father closed the book and set it down gently on the table. His hands hovered over it for a moment, as if he were afraid it would fly away.
    "You think it's worth a lot?" Tessa asked.
    "Could be. But something like this is beyond my expertise. I know an antiquarian book specialist in Portsmouth. I could take it for an appraisal." He turned back to the crate and reached in again. "Let's see what else we've got here."
    "Wait a minute. Don't--" Tessa broke off as her father lifted the tapestry out.
    Her father peered at it. "Huh. Not in terribly good shape, I'm afraid."
    "Really?" Tessa said, staring at the unicorn. She couldn't tear her gaze away from it. "I think it's amazing."
    Her father glanced up. "You like it?"
    Tessa wasn't sure if like was the word to use. "I've never seen anything like it," she said. "It's beautiful." She tilted her head, studying it. The scene was so lifelike; it almost seemed to be in 3-D. The detail was even a little unnerving.
    "Here," her father said. "You take it." He held out the tapestry.
    Tessa hesitated.
    Her father chuckled. "You act like it's going to bite you. It's only a little dust."
    She held her breath and reached toward the upper corner of the cloth. Her fingers touched the spot where a tiny bird was pictured, flitting against the distant sky. Nothing happened, of course. What was the matter with her? She took the tapestry from her father.
    "Thank you," Tessa said. She held it in front of her, feeling the surprising weight of it. Again she had the sense of warmth and softness as she held the curled edge.
    "We can go through the rest tomorrow," said her father.
    Tessa nodded. "I've got to go get ready. I'm going out."
    "That Hunter boy, right? I'll listen for him." Her father eyed the lasagna with suspicion. "That's not one of those diet dinners, is it?"
    "Vegetarian. Enjoy," Tessa mumbled. She was already heading down the hall, still holding the tapestry at arm's length, considering it as she walked. She wondered if it could possibly be as old as the book. Despite what her father said, she thought it couldn't be. It looked too well preserved. The colors were so bright. She tried to imagine why anyone who owned it would have sold it.

Chapter 3

Lila Gerome leaned back in the leather seat of her private jet and tapped the rim of a cut-crystal flute in contemplation. She gazed out the window and took a sip of the chilled champagne. She enjoyed flying. She liked seeing the world down below her, as it should be seen. Far below were the tiny houses, bridges, cars and, even smaller still, people. Tiny, insignificant things, they were like so many pieces on a game board. She had been like that once. Not anymore.
    She stretched out slim, silk-clad legs and let out a faint sigh. Had anyone been sitting nearby, they would have wondered that such an old, creaky sound could have come from such beautiful lips. Lila Gerome often made odd noises. On some occasions it had been amusing for her to let others hear them. For instance, she recalled a brief period of time--when was it? Oh yes, the 1970s. She had performed as the rock singer Belinda. She had rocketed to fame on her unique vocalizations and crooning ballads. And then, just as suddenly as her bright flame of stardom had flared, it was tragically snuffed out. Drug overdose. So sad.
    To this day there were some fans who insisted on playing her vinyl records