Warped (14 page)

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 say something funny?”

“Pretty much constantly. Sorry. No. It’s just the language thing. We have different expressions.”

“Yes, Mistress Opal used many I did not understand.” Will tilted his head to regard Tessa. “She seems to know you very well.”

“Better than anyone,” Tessa agreed.

“What is a control freak?” he asked.

Tessa stared, crossed her arms. “She did not say that.”

“It is offensive?” Will frowned, looking taken aback. “An insult?”

“Yes. I mean
no,
” Tessa said. “And I’m not. I’m just careful, is all. Responsible. And not in a freak way.”

“I understand,” said Will. He nodded gravely, though the hint of a smile curved his mouth. “I’m sure that is what she meant.”

Finally he bent his head back, breathing in the ocean air, then turned to her. The cut over his cheek was still painful-looking, but at least the redness seemed a little less intense.

“Stop worrying,” he said, as if he had read her mind. Then he grinned at her, displaying his crooked front tooth.

Tessa caught her breath and smiled back. Will’s smile set something loose inside her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, averting her eyes.

Was there something between them? More than being thrown together by some crazy witch’s spell? Maybe that was just wishful thinking. She looked into his sunlit brown eyes once more. Her thinking certainly
was
full of wishes lately.

A cool, fresh wind blew up, lifting Tessa’s hair and lashing it into dark swirls. She grabbed a piece of it and unconsciously twisted it around one finger.

A change came over Will’s face.

“It
is
you,” he said. The smile left and he stared at her the way he had when he first saw her. With anger and hurt and something else that she couldn’t understand. He turned away with a brusque motion and stalked off.

“Hey!” Tessa yelped, but he didn’t stop or even slow down.

She stared after him. “So much for easy to be with,” she muttered. One minute he was Prince Charming, looking at her in a way that made her breathless. The next he acted as though she had the plague or something.

She ran to catch up. “What’s the matter?” she demanded, out of breath.

“Not a thing,” Will answered, his long legs covering the pavement in swinging strides and his gaze leveled straight ahead.

“Obviously,” said Tessa, matching him stride for stride. At the corner Will stopped and put a hand out to a brick wall. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Tessa asked.

“No. Yes. I do not know. You look like someone. The girl from the village who—” He broke off abruptly and shook his head. “But it can’t be. My madness is simply becoming complete.”

Tessa wondered who the girl had been. Just a girl, or something more? But Will’s expression didn’t invite questions. He straightened and looked around. “What is that
smell
?” he demanded.

Tessa sniffed. The aroma of oven-fired dough, garlic and tomato sauce wafted past them as if it were on invisible little Italian legs. She pointed across the street. “It’s Vic’s Pizza,” she said. “C’mon. We didn’t have breakfast.”

They split a large, gooey cheese pizza—Tessa having decided that traveling to the future, discovering the existence of pizza
and
deciding on toppings was really too much to expect from anyone.

After the pizza was gone, Will slumped back in the restaurant booth with a dazed, slightly goofy expression on his face. “Pizza is . . . ” He laughed aloud. “A wondrous food.”

“Worth the trip?” Tessa asked, smiling. Then, horrified at what she’d just said, she sputtered, “I mean—I didn’t mean—Wow. That was really insensitive. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be distressed.” Will’s face turned thoughtful. “I’m sure there is a reason for this journey. Perhaps it is preordained. Do you think fate has brought us together?” He watched her with an intensity that made it seem the answer was important.

“No,” Tessa said without hesitation. It was the one thing she was completely sure of. “It was just a loose thread. An accident.” Will didn’t seem satisfied with this answer and opened his mouth to speak, but Tessa shimmied farther into the booth and tried to look really absorbed as she flipped through the music selections on the little jukebox at the end of the table. “We need to figure things out,” she said.

“Figure? What things, mistress?”

“What to do,” she said, making vague gestures in the air. “How to fix this. You.” He frowned. “I was not aware of being broken.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, in point of fact. I do not comprehend you in the least. Explain yourself.”

Tessa just stared at him for a moment. His imperious tone seemed so formal, and completely at odds with his modern clothes, his shaggy, unkempt hair. He looked like a hot surfer and sounded like King Arthur.

“Well,” she sighed. “We need to come up with a plan. For instance, where are you going to go? Where will you stay? What do we do with the tapestry, and the book?”

“Very well,” said Will, nodding agreement. “But first I have something to ask you.”

Tessa’s eyes fastened on his briefly; then she looked away.
Nope. Not again. Do not go there
. His odd reaction at the waterfront was still vivid. She wasn’t about to get lured in by the charm only to be squashed like a plague-ridden bug. If bugs got the plague. Maybe that was only rats.

“Hmm?” she replied. She pushed F9 for two Smash Mouth songs. Exactly what she needed right now for distraction. Something upbeat and friendly but cool.

“Is Tessa short for something?” he asked. When she hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. “Your name. Surely that’s not all of it. I’m afraid if you don’t tell me, I shall have to guess.”

Silence.

“Very well. Is it Theresa?”

“No.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Stop.”

“Contessa,” he said with a knowing nod.

Tessa laughed. “God. Please. You’ll never guess.” Did she really have to do this? She huffed. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you sometime. But it’s a secret. A deep, dark secret.”

“Really? I’m honored.” Will leaned forward. “Should we whisper, perhaps?”

Tessa folded her arms across her chest. “My full name is Tesseract Margaret Brody.”

“Tesseract,” Will repeated. At least he didn’t laugh. But he really did look confused, thought Tessa, with his eyebrows pulled together like that and the full, firm band of his lower lip slightly . . .
Cut it out
.

She rolled a plastic straw—“a fantastic invention”—between her fingers. “When my mom was growing up,” Tessa explained, “she was crazy about this book called
A Wrinkle in Time
, and she named me after—”

“A player in the story?” Will tugged the straw from her fingers.

“Sort of.” Tessa sighed. “Margaret is the girl’s name in the story. Meg for short. But my first name is . . . ” How to explain it? “More like a mathematical idea from the book. A theoretical construct.” At Will’s puzzled expression, she went on, “My mom was artistic. Not just about her painting, about everything, about life. Unfortunately, that included baby names. A tesseract is”—she recited from long practice—“the fourth-dimensional analog of a cube. A shape formed from two cubes with all their corners connected. Like this.”

She took a pencil from her bag, sketched a design on a napkin and showed him.

“Fascinating,” said Will. But his eyes were on her, not the paper. “Tesseract. Do you know, in the Greek your name means ‘four rays of light’?”

Tessa stared at Will. She was caught, tangled up in his eyes again.

In the Greek?
Who
was
he? She realized her mouth was hanging open. She shut it with a snap. “So now you know my secret,” she said lightly. “I’m an imaginary mathematical oddity.”

“You seem real enough to me.” Will reached forward as if to brush a lock of hair from her cheek but checked the motion and dropped his hand.

Tessa let out her breath. He hadn’t touched her, but she felt a whisper of warmth on her skin as if he had. Will de Chaucy, she thought. What had ever given her the idea that she knew him? She didn’t understand anything about him. He was the almost-perfect stranger.

Chapter 21

W
ill and Tessa walked in silence from the pizza parlor. As they neared the bookstore, Tessa ducked into the alley that skirted the building.

“This way,” she told Will. “You can’t stay in my room. My dad would be . . . upset if he knew.” Amazing. She had never realized how fluent she was in Understatement.

“Of course,” Will replied.

Tessa took a ring of keys from her bag and flipped to one she hadn’t used in a long time. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

Tessa pointed up. “Top floor. Technically my dad owns the whole building. But we don’t usually use this back entrance.” They walked in and climbed the set of creaky stairs covered with cracked linoleum. On the top floor Tessa stopped at a closed door. She hesitated for a moment, weighing the small key in her palm, then put the key in the lock, opened it and stepped in. Memories tugged at her like grasping fingers as she walked into her mother’s art studio and flicked on the light.

The large, bare-floored open space sprawled around them, lined with canvases propped against the walls. A low table held jars crammed with brushes, their variety of tufted and fanned bristles making weird floral-like arrangements. Crumpled tubes and jars of paints were piled in shoe boxes beneath.

“You can stay here for now,” Tessa said, turning to Will. “Until we figure out what to do.” Her voice echoed against the vaulted ceiling overhead and came back to her, sounding small and uncertain.