Timekeeper (12 page)

“Rebecca … I’m afraid this is too much to believe,” I say gently. And to think I’d been afraid that
I
might be called mad!

“I knew you would say that,” Rebecca says dismissively. “Watch me.”

She reaches up, pressing her hand against the high collar of her neck, and murmurs something inaudible. Suddenly her
body
hovers above the room
. I bite back a scream, watching in utter shock as she spins like a tornado—and then disappears.

“Rebecca!” I whisper, terrified.
What is she
? My mind suddenly flashes back ten years, unearthing a memory I hadn’t thought about in ages: that curious day in the park when the two of us saw the Vanishing Girl. Was Rebecca one of
those
?

She returns instantly, smiling triumphantly. Her hands, empty before her disappearance, are now clutching a piece of paper. “Well! Now do you believe me? I just spent two minutes in this same room in the year 1900.”

I stagger backward in shock, unsure of whether Rebecca is the lucky time traveler she claims to be—or some sort of demon. She seems to read the fear on my face and rolls her eyes before handing over the wad of paper. I unfold it and see that it is a square ripped from a calendar. A calendar dated 1900.

I stare at her in stunned silence. This conversation has rocked the world as I know it; it’s opened up endless possibilities, and now I feel my first flame of envy, the sudden all-possessing desire to have what she has. I know in this moment that I will never be the same—that from now on, I’d give anything to share in her power.
I
am the academic; I’m the one fascinated by the future. I know it’s unkind of me, but all I can think is:
It should have been me instead
.

“Take me with you,” I plead. “You know how much I long to see the future. Please take me with you.”

Rebecca watches me with a self-satisfied expression. I know that she relishes this moment, the first time I’ve ever begged her for anything. Rebecca has always been power-hungry, with
her place in society feeding her obsession. As one of the most prominent heiresses in America, she has all the trappings of power—but being a young woman in our time means she will always be ruled over by someone else, from her parents to her future husband. And so she savors any opportunity to hold others under her thumb, to show the world that
she
is in control.

“I don’t know that I can,” she answers slowly and deliberately. “I’m not quite sure that’s how it works. But if it does, there’s only one way I would take you with me. As my husband.”

I nearly snort with laughter. She has to be kidding. But as I look at Rebecca’s serious expression and hungry eyes, I realize with alarm that this is no joke.

“But Rebecca, you couldn’t possibly expect your parents to ever let you marry me,” I insist, trying to talk her out of this harebrained idea. “It would kill your mother to see you with anyone less than a baron.”

“I don’t need my parents’ permission anymore, or anything else from them,” Rebecca fires back. “I’ve been to the future, and I can go again and again, discovering inventions and banking secrets that I can bring back to our time. I’ll make us a fortune and we will be independently wealthy, with no need to even be connected to the Windsors.”

“What are you saying, Rebecca?” I stare at her in horror. “You mean to disown your family
and
make a dishonest living?”

“Only if I have to,” Rebecca replies, shrugging.

I shake my head, aghast. “Why me? Why do all that to be with me, when you could have such an easier time of it with someone in your own station?”

“Because you’re the only one who understands me, who
wouldn’t try to control me,” Rebecca answers candidly. “And I’ve always liked your face, ever since we were kids. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to have.”

And suddenly, the time-traveling heiress walks up to the middle-class butler’s son … and kisses me boldly on the lips. My heart sinks as I realize I am trapped. I don’t have the slightest romantic feelings for Rebecca, and the sensation of her lips on mine gives me a slight shudder. But then, her friendship certainly made my childhood in the servants’ hall a far brighter experience. I especially remember her kindness after Father died, the way she shared all her newest games in an effort to distract me from my sadness; the way she convinced her parents to let her dress in black mourning clothes for a whole month after he died. There are far worse things than being married to my friend, and being able to travel or maybe even live in an evolved future New York makes it a worthy bargain.

“All right,” I agree. “If you’re sure. But I don’t want us making a dishonest living. So we’ll have to wait to marry until I’ve finished university and started work.”

Rebecca flashes her teeth in a wide smile and pulls me close. It is only later that evening, as I struggle to fall asleep, I realize—I was
bribed
into making her a proposal. I know I shouldn’t trust her, yet I can’t resist following her lead. She bemuses and fascinates me, and though my pride prickles at the thought, I want to be like her. I want the power she carries: the ability to do the impossible.

G
rounders are human beings who cannot travel through time. Ninety-five percent of the population falls into this category, blissfully unaware of the power and ability that forever eludes them. Hence, we Timekeepers never tell Grounders our secret. No good can come of it—only jealousy, resentment, and the desire to expose our Society
.

A Timekeeper is required to keep his or her time-travel ability hidden from one’s own family, waiting to reveal this gift only to the heir of the Key, just before passing away from the physical world. It may sound lonely to keep such a secret all your life, but know this: so long as you are in the Time Society, you are never alone. You’re surrounded by people just like yourself—those who understand you in a way no one else ever could
.

—THE HANDBOOK OF THE TIME SOCIETY

7

The chime of the nearby grandfather clock jolted Michele’s mind back to the twenty-first century. She sat still for a long moment, her thoughts swimming with visions of a teenage Irving and Rebecca on their nineteenth-century Christmas Eve. She stared down at the journal, feeling a strange sense of betrayal, knowing that her father had been engaged to someone else in the family before her mother—someone as evil as Rebecca.

She slid the bookcase open and peered to check the time, jumping to her feet when she saw it was six o’clock. Walter and Dorothy would be expecting her for dinner. Gathering Irving’s journals in her arms, about to step out of the passageway, she suddenly had a funny feeling that his box of secrets should remain in the tunnel. The diaries had survived this long in the
passage … maybe it
was
the most secure hiding place, safer than Michele’s bedroom. And what if, by taking the journals away, they would be gone when Irving checked in his Time? Michele couldn’t bring herself to get his hopes up that Marion had finally found them. Reluctantly, she placed Irving’s letter and diaries back inside before closing the panel.

As she made her way from the library to the dining room, her mind consumed by all she’d just read, Michele had a thought so startling, she nearly tripped over her own feet. If all had gone according to her father’s plan, if Marion had been the one to find his journals and use the key … then
Michele would have been born in the nineteenth century
. In a way, her 1994 birth date was a mistake—a flaw.

She was still recovering from this realization when she joined Walter and Dorothy at the dinner table. The first course, a bountiful salad, was already set, but Michele wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat a thing after the day she’d had.

“How was it?” Dorothy asked when she sat down.

For a moment Michele froze, wondering if they had somehow found out about the passageway and the diaries, until she remembered the video.

“It was so surreal and amazing to see them.” Michele smiled at the memory. “I never thought I would ever get that chance. They were so happy and affectionate, singing and laughing. I want to always remember them like that.”

“I suppose—you must think worse of us now,” Walter said haltingly. “Since we were the ones to separate them.”

“No. I might have thought that once, but not anymore. It was Rebecca who separated them. I’m convinced, especially
after seeing that video, that my dad returned to his own time to protect my mom from Rebecca. Maybe he knew she would be in danger as long as he stuck around.” Michele reached for her grandparents’ hands across the table. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Walter squeezed her hand gratefully, while Dorothy blinked back tears.

“I never realized … how long I’ve needed to hear those words. That it wasn’t our fault,” she said quietly.

“I know my mom would agree,” Michele said sincerely. “No one could have imagined the truth, but I know if my mom were here today, she would forgive you—and she would be sorry for all the years lost.”

“When we learned that she named us your guardians, we actually thought … maybe she had forgiven us,” Walter murmured.

“Maybe,” Michele agreed. “I think she must have realized things were different than she’d imagined.”

The three of them were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Michele wondered if she should tell her grandparents about the passageway and the diaries—they were sharing so much with her now, while she had managed to rack up a handful of confidences to keep from them. But then she remembered Irving’s words in his letter:
“… our secret place.”
They clearly hadn’t wanted Marion’s parents to know about the passageway, and Irving never intended for them to read his journals. Michele felt a pull of loyalty to her father. She knew his secrets weren’t hers to tell.

“Are you still sure about staying in New York?” Dorothy asked suddenly, a wrinkle of anxiety appearing on her brow.

“Have you given any more thought to getting away, like we suggested?”

Walter cleared his throat. “What Dorothy means is, we understand you want to handle this your way, but … you only have four days left and it doesn’t seem like there’s any sort of plan. If we hide you, at least we have some control in keeping you safe.”

Now Michele was
really
glad she hadn’t told them about the stolen key. They would have never let her out of their sight.

“I do have a plan. It just involves me finding out as much about my dad and Rebecca as I possibly can,” Michele told them.
And, of course, getting my key back somehow
, she added silently. “I’m not going to run away; it won’t solve anything in the long run. There’s really nothing you can say to convince me.”

Dorothy gave a resigned sigh and glanced at Walter. “Then I think we should call Elizabeth.”

“I still don’t see how she can help,” Walter argued. It was clear they’d already had this conversation.

“She talks to the
dead
, Walter,” Dorothy said urgently. “She can somehow … make a connection between Michele and Irving, before Michele risks going back in time.”

“Okay, whoa.” Michele held up her hands. “What in the world are you guys talking about? Who is this Elizabeth person who talks to the dead?”

“
Supposedly
talks to the dead,” Walter clarified. “We have no proof that she’s for real.”

“Sure, but who is she?”

“Elizabeth Jade—she grew up with Marion,” Dorothy answered.

“They went to elementary and middle school together, but they lost touch in high school, when Elizabeth’s parents sent her to boarding school in Massachusetts. We heard from the Jades that Elizabeth had some problems at school, and for a while she was being handed off to a series of different psychiatrists. But she always insisted that she
wasn’t
crazy—she was a psychic medium. Her talents had flourished while she was away, and her classmates were naturally frightened when she could predict events and see the dead.”

Michele listened with rapt attention.

“Her family turned away from her, of course. Here on the Upper East Side, the daughters of prominent families are expected to marry up and become the belles of New York society. The last thing the Jades wanted for their daughter was a controversial career as a psychic medium. But then, several years ago, Elizabeth was instrumental in helping the NYPD solve a kidnapping case and rescue the victim. From that moment on, she’s been something of a celebrity. She just wrote a book on using self-hypnosis to awaken psychic gifts, and it hit the top of the
New York Times
bestseller list.”

“She sounds amazing. I wish she and my mom had kept in touch,” Michele remarked.

“Elizabeth called the day Marion died,” Walter said, his voice low. “The girls hadn’t talked in nearly twenty years, and for some reason on that day, Elizabeth thought of her and wanted to get back in touch.”

“That’s why your grandfather doesn’t want to have anything to do with Elizabeth—she’s another reminder of that terrible day.” Dorothy looked gently at her husband. “But there’s
no doubt in my mind that she has the talent everyone says she has.”

Walter heaved a sigh. “It’s up to you. I don’t agree, but if you want to talk to her, I won’t stop you.”

“I want to.” The conviction in Michele’s voice caught her by surprise. “Better yet, I want to meet in person. Let’s set something up for as soon as possible.”

DAY FOUR

Before Michele knew it, November 19 had arrived: the night of the Autumn Ball. Part of her thought it was completely nuts to put on a fancy dress and attend a school dance in the middle of her crisis, when time was quickly running out, but she couldn’t bring herself to let Ben down. Moreover, she needed to find another opportunity to talk to Philip—not to steal him away from his date, as much as she secretly wished she could, but to find out
how
he could see Rebecca, and what he knew. She had to find an excuse for a private moment with him at the dance, though after the choir-room debacle, she had a sinking feeling that he’d be avoiding her all night.
But if I can just get him to listen to me, to really
hear
what I’m saying and believe me, maybe then he’ll open up and tell me the truth
, Michele thought hopefully. Her mind raced with visions of them banding together to defeat Rebecca, returning to the closeness they once shared and recovering Philip’s memory along the way. Michele knew it was a long shot … but it was all she had.