TIMEKEEPER
By
Alexandra Monir
Publishing
January 8, 2013; Random House
CHAPTER
ONE
DAY
ONE
Walter and Dorothy
Windsor lingered over their afternoon tea, peacefully unaware that the one they
feared had stolen through the gates to their home. As Walter thumbed through
the New York Times and Dorothy hummed
along to the symphony echoing from the nearby radio, the girl in black strode
up the white stone steps and turned the knob of the front door, unseen by the
Windsor Mansion’s household staff. While her footsteps echoed through the Grand
Hall, Walter sweetly reached over to touch his wife’s cheek. It had been so
long since they’d been happy, and now, with their granddaughter finally in
their lives, it seemed they might be getting a second chance.
Suddenly the
library doors swung open, and all the light left the room. Dorothy let out a
strangled scream, clutching Walter’s hand. Hot tea streamed painfully onto Walter’s
legs as he knocked over his cup in shock. For a moment the only sound was the
frenzied crescendo of the piano and strings from the symphony playing on the
radio, until Walter found his voice.
“Rebecca,” he gasped.
The door slammed
shut and Rebecca Windsor stalked toward them, her mouth curved in a knowing,
mirthless smile. Even as Dorothy cowered in her husband’s arms, she couldn’t
tear her eyes away from Rebecca, unable to fathom how a woman long dead could
so realistically appear to be herself at age seventeen. She looked just like
her chilling portrait from the Windsor family album of 1888, with the same
angular pale face, steely dark eyes, and black hair piled onto her head in a
fashion that accentuated her sharp, unwelcoming features. The folds of her
voluminous Victorian dress swathed around her like drapes of armor. She looked
terrifyingly alive, yet there was a translucence to her appearance that made
her almost inhuman.
“Why are you here?”
Dorothy burst out, her voice thick with tears. “We did everything you asked—you
said it would keep her safe, but you lied! Our daughter is dead because of
you!” Her whole body shook with agony as she remembered the last time she had
seen Rebecca, and the horrors that had followed.
“You failed,”
Rebecca said coldly. “You failed to keep
Marion away from Irving, and that is the reason why she is dead, and why we now
have Michele on our hands. You were supposed to prevent the girl from being
born, not bring her into my house to live!” Her voice rose with fury.
“This hasn’t been
your house in over a hundred years, Rebecca,” Walter shot back. “It’s our home
now, and we are the only family Michele has. She will live with us for as long
as she likes.”
“The only family
she has? You must be forgetting her father,” Rebecca hissed. “Now that you’ve
gone and brought her to New York, it’s only a matter of time before she finds
him. The girl has inherited Irving’s talent.” She spat
out the word.
Walter and Dorothy
stared at each other, aghast.
“Yes, that’s right.
She’s gone into the past and made a mess of things. Just as her father sought
to destroy my life and took your daughter from you, Michele too is leaving
carnage in her wake. Didn’t I tell you what
happens to children born from crossed times?” Rebecca’s voice lowered to a
deceptively silky tone. “The only remedy is to alter the past. Michele must not
exist. It’s time for us to work together again.”
Dorothy covered her
mouth with her hand as if she were going to be sick.
“We won’t hurt our
granddaughter,” Walter snapped.
“It doesn’t have to
hurt. If you follow my instructions, Michele will simply vanish, as if she’d
never been born. What’s more, you will have your daughter back.” Rebecca’s
voice lilted as she dangled the carrot before them. “After all, without Irving
and Michele, Marion would still be alive today. Wouldn’t she?”
“Stop it!” Dorothy
sobbed. “Stop torturing us. We trusted you once, and it was a terrible mistake.
Why are you doing this?”
“That man took
everything from me!” Rebecca shouted, her face contorting into a monstrous mask
of rage. “I won’t stop until there is nothing left of him.”
Suddenly, a loud
crack sounded in the room. Rebecca reached up in alarm, grabbing at her face,
but it was too late. The youthful layers of skin began to peel off, disappearing
piece by piece as they fell to the floor, leaving behind a pockmarked skeleton
of a face crumpled with wrinkles. Her body shriveled and shrank, a tall teenage
frame transforming into that of a grotesque old woman in her last breath of
life. Dorothy buried her face into Walter’s shoulder, horrified by the sight,
but simultaneously feeling a flicker of relief as she remembered from years ago
that Rebecca was forced to slink back from where she’d come when her youthful
façade faded. Only this time, Rebecca’s face betrayed no hint of defeat.
“Seven days,” she
said, her mouth stretching into a chilling smile. “That’s how long I must
endure being separated from my physical body—that’s how long I’m forced to live
like a ghost. It may be painful, but it’s hardly any time at all.” She leaned
forward, a malicious glint in her eyes. “All I have to do is remain in your
time for seven days, and then I’ll have achieved my full human form and
Visibility here in this century. Do you know what that means?” Her now-elderly
voice filled with hate. “It means that everyone, not just you two fools, will
be able to see me, and when they look upon me they will find a perfect girl of
seventeen. It means that I will have human strength once again, combined with
my power as a Timekeeper. In seven days, I can kill Michele myself.
Just like that.” Her eyes narrowed. “The choice is yours. Do you want your
granddaughter killed—or do you want her to simply disappear, as if she never
even existed? You know what needs to be done, and you must decide quickly. As I
said . . . seven days is hardly any time at all. I’ll be seeing you then.”
Rebecca’s image
wavered above them before disappearing into a spinning wind. Walter and Dorothy
clung to each other, their faces stricken.
“What are we going to
do?” Dorothy whispered.
Walter didn’t
answer.
* * *
Michele Windsor dreamt of an antique grand
piano in a gilded music room. At first the piano stood alone—but moments later
Philip appeared, seated behind the instrument with his fingers resting contentedly on the keys. He began a bluesy ragtime piece,
his signet ring catching the light as he played with a passion that could bring
chills to even the most callous of people. He seemed to be asking a question as
he played, hoping to find the answer in the melody.
Michele stepped out of
her shadowy corner of the room and caught Philip’s eye. His face lit up and he
gave her his slow, familiar grin, changing the tune to the song he always
played for her, Schubert’s Serenade.
Michele sat beside him, and after
finishing the song, he raised her hand to his lips.
“Didn’t I tell you I
would find you again?” he whispered.
Michele smiled and
tilted her face toward his, tingling in anticipation of his kiss. In this
moment, he was all that existed.
* * *
Philip.
Michele awoke from
the dream, her body still warm from his touch. The sensation of cold linoleum
prickled against her skin and she realized with confusion that she had somehow
ended up on the floor.
“She’s awake!” a
familiar voice cried out in relief. It took Michele a couple of moments, but
she recognized the voice as belonging to her closest friend in New York,
Caissie Hart. She felt strong hands gripping her shoulders and glanced up to
see Ben Archer, one of the jock stars of the junior class, pulling her up to a
sitting position.
“Michele, can you
hear us?” Ben asked urgently.
“Wha—happened?”
Michele managed to croak, her throat feeling like sandpaper.
“You passed out,”
came the deep voice of Mr. Lewis, Michele’s history teacher. He stood above her,
his face creased with concern. Through her blurred vision, Michele could make
out the rest of the class crowding around behind him, all of them eyeing her
curiously. She felt her face redden in embarrassment. It was bad enough being
the new girl with the famous last name; now she
could add “the girl who randomly faints in the middle of class” to her
list of attributes. She had a feeling the stares and whispers were going to
follow her even more than usual.
“It happened right
after the new guy arrived,” Caissie whispered in Michele’s ear, giving her a
funny look.
With a jolt,
Michele remembered the boy who had walked into class minutes before. He’d been
the spitting image of Philip Walker, bearing the same name and even wearing his
ring. It couldn’t have been him, Michele
thought desolately. I must have imagined that the new guy was Philip. Still,
she felt her heartbeat quicken as she looked up, secretly hoping that Philip
Walker might be somewhere among her classmates.
She immediately saw
a lone figure standing off to the side. Michele gasped, covering her face with
her hands in shock. She peered through her fingers, and he was still there—Philip.
Time momentarily stood still as Michele’s disbelieving mind drank in every
detail, from his beautiful piercing blue eyes to the thick dark hair that she
had once run her fingers through,, the tall and strong body that had held her
close, and the lips that sent shivers down her spine with every touch. She
hadn’t been imagining things—it was him! But how
could he possibly be here, in Michele’s own time?
Weary from
fainting, she tried to stand up but found that she could barely raise herself
off the floor. Her body seemed frozen, but she could feel a hot current of
electricity coursing through her.
“Philip,” she
murmured, reaching out her hand. A few of the students snickered, while Ben
turned to her with a bewildered look; Michele barely noticed. She stared at the
resurrected Philip Walker, who inexplicably ignored her outstretched hand, not
coming any closer. But he was watching her, his eyes searching.
“I’m going to take
Michele to the nurse’s office,” said Caissie, hoisting her up to her feet. “I
think that fall made her loopy.”
“I’ll help you,”
Ben offered.
“No,” Caissie said
a little too quickly. “We’ll be fine.”
Throughout the
exchange Michele was barely present, unable to take her eyes off Philip. She
felt an ache from being so close and yet unable to touch him. He was just standing
there, making no effort to come near her, and Michele felt her first flare of
doubt. What if she was imagining things? Could it be a mere coincidence that he
looked just like her Philip, that the two of them shared the same name? But
then she remembered the signet ring on his finger—and Michele felt certain that
Philip Walker had found a way back to her, just as he had once promised.
Michele tried to
protest as Caissie led her out of the classroom, but Mr. Lewis insisted.
“You’re not coming back to class until the nurse confirms that you’re all
right. I’ll be expecting a note from her.”
Michele didn’t know
how she could bring herself to walk away from Philip only minutes after he had
inconceivably appeared in her Time. She reluctantly followed Caissie, and as
soon as they were in the hall and away from prying eyes, Caissie yanked her into
the nearest restroom, her expression rattled.
“What just
happened in there? I thought you were having a seizure or something! The new
guy came in and two seconds later your eyes rolled back and you just . . .
fainted.” She lowered her voice. “Was it because of his name?”
Before answering,
Michele quickly threw open each of the bathroom stall doors to make sure she
and Caissie were alone. When she turned back to Caissie, her friend was staring
at her as though contemplating whether Michele might have officially gone off
the deep end.
“It’s not just his
name, it’s him. Philip is back,” she said
breathlessly.
Caissie sighed. “I
was afraid that’s what you were thinking. Believe me, I get that it’s a weird
coincidence for him to have the same name as your Philip, but that’s all it
could possibly be—a coincidence.”
Michele shook her
head. “It has to be him, Caissie. He looks exactly
like Philip, and not only that, he’s wearing the same ring that Philip Walker
gave me in the 1920s, the one you saw me wearing just last month—the ring that
I somehow lost!”
“But Michele,
you’re the only one who can travel through time. Philip never could,” Caissie
gently reminded her. “And if the new guy really is your Philip, then why did he
just stand there? It didn’t seem like he knew you at all.”
She swallowed hard.
Philip’s return was a miracle—she couldn’t bear the thought that it might not
be real. “Maybe he doesn’t want to let on to everyone else that we already know
each other? I just need to talk to him. Come on!” With a shot of adrenaline,
Michele grabbed Caissie’s hand and pulled her out of the bathroom.
“Wait.” Caissie
stopped her. “Didn’t you hear Mr. Lewis? I really do have to take you to the
nurse.”
Michele hesitated,
and Caissie wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay. He’ll still be here
when you get back,” she said with a slight smile.
It was only when
they reached the nurse’s office that Michele remembered what she had seen just
before fainting: a dark cloaked figure sweeping past the classroom window,
seconds after this new Philip’s appearance. Though she didn’t understand why,
the sight had frozen her with terror.
