Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

hoods of the Norn and imagined cruel eyes looking back at her. She sensed no compassion, no feeling at all. "And Will," she said, forcing herself to go on even though her voice sounded more and more feeble. "If Will's thread is returned to you, then he'll get his life back too?"
    There was a pause; then Tessa heard the gloomy voice of Scytha. "Yes. His life will be restored. Just as it was before his thread was stolen."
    "But does that mean that--" Tessa began, but stopped. The figures wavered in the mirror.
    "Find the first," the Norn whispered together. "Return the seven."
    "No. Wait!" Tessa cried.
    But the Norn had disappeared.

Chapter 36

Alone in her room, Tessa dressed carefully. She dressed for bravery. Her most comfortable jeans, faded and worn until they were soft as flannel, and patched on both knees with swatches of velvet. A black stretch tank top, and over that a delicately crocheted black sweater with white and crimson roses scattered through it. She brushed her hair until it lay shining in a thick curtain down her back and then braided it, twining a piece of soft red velvet ribbon through it.
    She looked in the mirror and saw herself as she never had before. Her blue eyes were bright, and stood out in contrast against the dark arches of her eyebrows and her pale skin. Patches of rosy color stained her cheekbones, as if she were lit from inside. She stopped for a moment to put on earrings: two dangles of tiny pink crystals and freshwater pearls that had belonged to her mother.
    She wondered if this was how Will felt putting on armor. She looked down at the jade pig bracelet on her wrist. Somehow it didn't feel very lucky now.
    Still, it couldn't hurt.
    Tessa walked to the hotel carrying the Texo Vita , which she had wrapped in brown mailing paper and twine. The sun was setting and the sky was tinged an eerie purple. It wasn't far to the Portland Regency, but maybe she should have called a cab; fog from the harbor was drifting through the narrow streets. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. Tessa tugged her sweater closer against the damp and quickened her steps.
    The hotel lobby was warmly lit with crystal chandeliers; soft piano music played in the background. Tessa walked across the broad marble foyer.
    At the desk she said, "I'm Tessa Brody. I have something for Gr--Ms. Gerome."
    The desk attendant smiled. "Oh, right. She told us she was expecting someone." He reached beneath the counter and handed her an envelope.
    "Thank you." Inside the envelope was a card key and a slip of paper. The paper said:
    Room 413. Come alone or de Chaucy will die .
    A shiver passed through Tessa, but she stuck the note in the pocket of her jeans and went to the elevator.
    On the fourth floor she walked down the carpeted hallway and stopped at 413. She listened. She couldn't hear any voices or movement inside. She hesitated for a moment, thinking. This was probably not the smartest thing she had ever done. But what choice did she have? Her father, Will, Opal ... Everything she cared for was at stake. She slid the card key into the lock, opened the door and went inside.
    "Hello?" she called.
    The hotel room was empty and silent. Next to her the door to a darkened bathroom was open. A king-sized bed stood against the wall, and a desk, a TV console and an armchair were arranged against the opposite wall. The room was dimly lit from a small tableside lamp, and the striped drapes were drawn tight. Tessa approached the bed, where the tapestry was spread out.
    She fixed her eyes on the frayed square of fabric that had made such a mess of her life, searching. She let out a breath, half relief, half disappointment. He wasn't there. The center of the picture was empty; the unicorn was still gone. The background was different, however. It seemed darker and much more ominous. Woven in thick yarns of umber and black and the deepest of hunter greens, the forest now twined like a thick cage around the grassy clearing. There were no flowers; there was no hint of brightness or life anywhere. The only light in the scene came from a streak of lightning that tore across one corner of the fabric and lit a thundercloud into an eerie, glowing mass. On the distant hillside the dark outline of the castle still appeared, but the fairy-tale quality was gone; the castle loomed over the scene like something from a horror movie.
    Could it be a different tapestry? Tessa reached out with a tentative hand and recoiled at the contact. The fabric was as