Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

in. Tessa took a sip of her frothy latte. The new espresso machine wasn't too bad either.
    Opal sat crossed-legged on the floor beside her, fingering a tune on her battered acoustic guitar. Her hair was tied up in a twisted silk bandana, and her lilac-painted toes tapped in time to her music.
    "So what are we going to do this summer?" asked Opal. "It's gonna be boring around here, with no imminent death and all. And I never even got to meet my evil twin."
    "That suits me fine," said Tessa with a smile as she saw her father pacing the balcony above them, his glasses dangling from his mouth. His face was fuller and healthy-looking. He had a huge book in his hands. Tessa squinted. It looked like an antique-plumbing supply catalog.
    Life was back to ... well, life . Her father had been discharged from the hospital after what the doctors were calling an amazing spontaneous remission. He and Alicia were planning a wedding in the fall. And Opal was Tessa's best friend again.
    Everything was perfect.
    Except it wasn't .
    Things had been made right. The stolen threads had been returned. Somehow Tessa had thought that everything would be fixed. She'd had this wild, crazy hope that the things in the past that shouldn't have happened would have been changed. And yet her mother was still dead. The accident had happened, and nothing was going to change that. Did that mean that somehow in the big scheme of things her mother was supposed to die? That there was a reason? Tessa didn't know. And apparently the Norn weren't going to bother explaining things to a mere mortal. She had to live with it. Just as before.
    Tessa had started to paint in the studio again, with her father's blessing. Mostly big colorful, abstract stuff in her own weird style. But the paintings pleased her, and somehow it didn't feel as if she was trespassing on her mother's memory. It felt as if she was honoring it. She'd even been accepted by the Maine College of Art.
    She should be grateful for her life, for her father's life and for Opal's friendship, Tessa thought. And she was. But she couldn't control what her heart did. And it had decided to break.
    There had been no word, no sign of Will de Chaucy. She'd made efforts to find him, but it was as though he had disappeared from the face of the earth, or more precisely, had never been there at all. She had to accept the fact that she would never see him again. But it felt as though she was leaving something precious behind, a part of herself. The part that was the best she would ever be. It hurt so much. But it had to be enough, she told herself, that he was alive, somewhere. The Norn had said so.
    He was in the world. He just wasn't in hers.
    The bell over the door jangled and a tall, well-built young man strode into the store from the bright sunlight of the Old Port Square. He wore a crisp white shirt and tailored dark suit. Tucked beneath his arm was a large package wrapped in brown paper. He walked over to the counter and took off his dark glasses, glancing coolly around the bookstore. As his eyes passed her way, Tessa dropped her mug to the floor with a clatter. Opal's guitar twanged as she got a finger stuck under one of the strings.
    "Holy Armani," Opal whispered. "Isn't that--" she began.
    Tessa stood up. She began walking toward him slowly. Her pace got quicker as she went closer. The lean, chiseled features, the tawny hair. Brown eyes flecked with gold. It was Will. She ran the last few steps and only stopped short of launching herself into his arms.
    The young man frowned down at her, looking slightly alarmed. "Good morning, miss." The accent was more modern English than it had been before, impeccable and clipped.
    Tessa's heart took a downward spiral.
    He didn't recognize her .
    "Uh," Tessa said, backing away. "Uh, hello. S-sorry, I thought you were someone I knew."
    "Lucky chap," he murmured.
    "Can I help you?"
    "I do hope so," said the young man. "My name is William Chase. I'd like to speak to Mr. Brody."
    "Um, sure," said Tessa, staring at him. William Chase. No wonder all her searches for William de Chaucy had led nowhere. But this was him. It had to be.
    "Uh, I work here," Tessa sputtered. "Er--maybe there's something I can help you with?" she stammered. Maybe she could form a sentence that didn't start with a caveman grunt. Closing her mouth would be good too.
    "Perhaps," said William Chase. He drew a sheet of paper from his suit pocket. "I'm inquiring after a book that was recently sold at