Warped

By Maurissa Guibord

Tessa doesn't believe in magic. Or Fate. But there's something weird about the dusty unicorn tapestry she discovers in a box of old books. She finds the creature woven within it compelling and frightening. After the tapestry comes into her possession, Tessa experiences dreams of the past and scenes from a brutal hunt that she herself participated in. When she accidentally pulls a thread from the tapestry, Tessa releases a terrible centuries old secret. She also meets William de Chaucy, an irresistible 16th-century nobleman. His fate is as inextricably tied to the tapestry as Tessa's own. Together, they must correct the wrongs of the past. But then the Fates step in, making a tangled mess of Tessa's life. Now everyone she loves will be destroyed unless Tessa does their bidding and defeats a cruel and crafty ancient enemy.

Chapter 1
Cheever's Fine Auction House was packed on a stormy spring afternoon. The auctioneer's voice carried over the patter of rain drumming on the high, dark-beamed roof of the former dairy barn. "Number ninety-four. Last lot," he announced to the crowd.
"Thank God," said Tessa Brody under her breath. She'd been sitting there so long, she'd probably have an impression of the chair slats engraved on her rear end. Auction butt. Not good.
"Nice collection of books from an estate sale," the auctioneer boomed. "Some old leather-bound editions of the classics, and some more unusual stuff too." Beside Tessa, her father leaned forward in his seat, making the flimsy wood creak. "Four boxes," said the auctioneer. "Nope, make that five," he added as his assistant lugged out one more. This was a wooden crate instead of cardboard like the others. The assistant set it on top.
"These are the ones I want," Tessa's father whispered.
"Really?" Tessa eyed her dad. Jackson Brody twirled his bidding placard, which looked like a Ping-Pong paddle, between his fingers while his knees jiggled and his heels tapped the concrete floor.
Tessa smiled at him. "Way to be nonchalant, Dad."
She shifted to give the elderly man on her other side a little more elbow room, and rattled the last of her ice in a sweaty paper cup. If she'd had any patience, which she didn't, it would have been gone about three diet colas ago. She and her father had been there for hours, since the preview, and had watched the bidding on what seemed like every Kewpie doll, vintage bedpan and tarnished tea service in greater New England, waiting for the collection of books her father was interested in. Naturally, it would be the last lot.
The auctioneer's assistant took the top off the wooden crate and pulled something out. It looked like a faded, rolled-up rug.
"Look at that," said the auctioneer. "You get a bonus with this lot. Open it up, Charlie. Looks like an old piece of tapestry was tucked in with this last crate of books."
Tessa narrowed her eyes and shifted to see as the assistant lifted the piece up. It unfurled with a faint puff of dust to reveal a woven fabric about three feet square. A brilliant white unicorn was poised against a darker background. Across the length of the auction hall the unicorn seemed to glare at Tessa from the tapestry. Its eyes were a blazing golden brown.
A feeling of dizziness swept over Tessa. Her eyes fluttered closed and the cup of ice slipped from her hand.
Hoofbeats.
Tessa heard them. The distant but clear sound of hoofbeats rose above the murmured noise around her. Louder. The air shuddered with the sound of hooves pounding against the earth. They were coming closer, faster.
Hoofbeats. Savage. Frantic. Closer.
"Tessa."
Tessa gasped. Her eyes flew open.
"You okay?" Her father was concerned, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he peered at her.
Tessa didn't answer for a moment. She listened. The sound of hoofbeats was gone, but her breathing was ragged and her heart pounded beneath the thin fabric of her T-shirt.
"I--I'm okay," she stammered finally. "I thought I heard something. Did you hear something?"
Her father bent to retrieve her fallen cup. "Like what?"
Good question. Tessa brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind one ear. "Nothing." She straightened up. "I guess I zoned out for a minute. It must have been the rain on the roof. I'm fine."
"Do I have a bid of seventy-five dollars?" the auctioneer said. He nodded at a number of raised placards. "Seventy-five. Do I have one hundred? One hundred. Do I have one twenty-five?" In the front row a woman with a black beret perched on her gray curls shot an arm up. Tessa's father lifted his placard to raise the bid. This process went on briskly for a few moments, but gradually the hands became more hesitant and their number dwindled. Tessa's father settled back in his seat. He gave Tessa a half smile and shrugged.
He was giving up.
"Going once," said the auctioneer.
Tessa nudged her father. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she wanted him to get this. It was important.
"Going twice. Two seventy-five." Tessa nudged harder. Her father winced. But he shook his head no. Without thinking, Tessa grabbed her father's hand and hoisted it up, still holding the paddle.
"Tessa!"
The auctioneer acknowledged the bid. "Three hundred dollars. Thank you in the back." The bidding went on.

Later, the rain had diminished to a fine, cold mist as Tessa helped load the boxes into the back of the Subaru. The last one, the wooden crate, was the heaviest. She hefted it onto her hip and tried to wedge it in with the others. "Why," she said, giving it a few forceful shoves, "does the last one never, ever fit?" She gave up and rested the crate on the bumper.
"Easy there," her father said. He took the crate from her and set it down with a grunt. His face was red from exertion, and he wiped his forehead with his flannel shirtsleeve. Jackson Brody had a square, solid face that, over the last few years, had drifted toward pudgy.
"My wallet and I talked it over," he said, eyeing her. "You're never allowed near an auction again. You're a menace." He shook his head. "Must be all those teenage hormones."
Tessa glanced out at the parking lot, where people were loading stuff into their cars. She swiveled back and gave her father a level look. "Okay. Dad? Remember that list of things you're not allowed to talk about? Add Tessa's hormones."
"Right," her father sighed. "But the point is you can't act on every impulse you have, Tessa. It'll get you into trouble."
"Yeah, I'm a real wild one, all right."

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