Warped (Maurissa Guibord) Read Free Page B

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 backward, listening for a prayer to Satan. Lila's laugh rattled deep in her throat.
    She'd had many different lives, different names, over the years. Such was the burden and the delight of immortality.
    Having to keep moving was a bitch, though. It was an inconvenience she suffered through every twenty-five years or so. Remain in one place too long and the neighbors would begin to wonder. Why does Lila Gerome never seem to age? For the years went by and still she kept the face and figure that would have been beyond the skills of Park Avenue's most adept plastic surgeons. So she had to move, disappear and reappear somewhere else. Always youthful, always beautiful.
    She adjusted a heavy silver ring on one hand. It was a distinctive piece, with a lustrous yellow stone set in its center.
    Across the narrow aisle she caught a glimpse of her countenance in the stainless steel galley. Silver-blond hair, perfectly sculpted features and luscious red lips. Her real self was perhaps revealed only in her