“Long story short, the key sent me back to the Windsor Mansion—in 1910. Only a couple people could see me while I was there, and Philip was one of them. We fell in love,” she said quietly. “It was like something out of a movie, the type of relationship that I assumed was just a fantasy. But it was real for us. We even wrote music together. ‘Bring The Colors Back’ was our first song.”
Philip swallowed hard, as a light seemed to dawn in his eyes.
“But our difference in Time was too big a hurdle,” Michele continued, sadness creeping into her voice. “I couldn’t control my time traveling, so sometimes he had to wait for weeks on end to see me, only to have me in 1910 for just a couple of hours. I couldn’t exist fully in 1910, and I tried and failed to bring him into the twenty-first century with me. We couldn’t go on like that, with a century between us. But even after, we never stopped loving each other. We exchanged letters when I traveled into the 1920s, and he left me a ring—the ring you’re wearing right now.”
Philip glanced down at his hand in shock. “This? My dad gave it to me. He said it was a family heirloom.”
“Well, are you related to the same Walkers?” Michele asked with a faint smile.
Philip nodded. “I remember my dad telling me stories about visiting their Newport house as a kid, just before it was donated to the Preservation Society. It had a French-sounding name, Palais de la Mer or something.”
“That’s it!” Michele cried. “I was there. So then what your dad said was true. The ring is a family heirloom.”
“But how would it get back into the family if your whole story is true and it was given to you all those years ago?” Philip challenged her.
“I don’t know. But one of the last time periods I traveled to was 1944, and when I came back to the present, the ring was gone,” Michele told him. “It was also in 1944 when I finally saw Philip again. This time he was all grown up, and he had changed his identity to Phoenix Warren. Faking the death of Philip Walker and taking on this new persona was the only way he could pursue his music and live in freedom from his oppressive mom and uncle. That was the night he told me he had written the symphony Michele for me.” Philip stared at her, speechless.
“That was the last time I saw him—before you showed up at school.”
“So let me get this straight.” Philip let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m supposed to believe that you’re a time traveler and I’m a reincarnation of my great-great-great-uncle who also happens to be a famous musician who dated you a hundred years ago?”
Michele bit her lip. “Um. Yes. In a nutshell.”
“Then either the world has gone insane, or we both have.” Philip took a shaky breath. “I wish I could tell you no part of me identified with that unbelievable story you just told, but … well, I don’t remember the events you mentioned, but it was weird—when you were talking, I felt like … like I knew what you were going to say before you said it. That déjà vu feeling.” Philip was silent a moment. “Home—that’s what I thought of when I saw you that first day in class. I felt like I’d come home again, and it confused the hell out of me. I’ve been feeling that way again since last night when we were—wherever that was—and I don’t think I can fight it anymore.”
He reached for her hand. As their fingers laced together, Michele felt a warm glow spreading through her, a happiness that she was almost afraid to trust.
“I’ve been so hopeful that you would remember—it’s hard to believe this moment is real,” Michele blurted out. “How do I know you won’t forget again, that things won’t go back to the way they were before?”
“Because now that I’ve come out of this—this fog, I don’t want to waste another second. I need to be in your life,” he said firmly. “I can’t stay away from you anymore.”
His face was so sincere that Michele knew she could believe him. She didn’t know who initiated it, but suddenly she found herself in his arms, her head nestled against his chest as he stroked her hair. Nothing had ever felt so perfect. Philip is right, she thought. It does feel like coming home.
“I can’t believe this is real—that you’re real,” Michele murmured, closing her eyes.
“I know.” Philip’s breath was warm against her ear. “It’s the funniest feeling—like I’ve found something I never knew I was missing.”
Michele smiled, remembering when she met Philip for the first time in 1910. “I know just what you mean.”
After what might have been minutes or hours in his embrace—she had lost all sense of time—Michele remembered her mission from the day before: to find out what Philip knew about Rebecca. She wished she could stretch this one moment of peace and never have to face the dawning threat, but she forced herself to speak up.
“I hate to bring this up now, but—about the other day in the choir room …” Her voice trailed off and Philip nodded for her to continue.
“When that woman—creature—showed up, it seemed like you had seen her before,” Michele said carefully. “I need to know, because—well—she wants to kill me.”
Philip’s face paled. “What?”
Michele began to tell him the story of Rebecca and her father, and the torment that had followed her family ever since. When she finished, Philip’s response astonished her.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but—I have a feeling I’m the one who is supposed to stop Rebecca.”
“You?”
Philip’s eyes took on the faraway, trancelike expression that Michele noticed whenever a memory of his former life took hold.
“Since I was a boy, I’ve had this recurring nightmare—her creepy voice in my ear, telling me there’s a girl I have to stay away from. Once I moved to New York, she became more than just a voice. She started following me, haunting me with a new urgency—and now I could see her.” He shuddered. “I think she knows that I can hurt her somehow. Or maybe the … the other Philip did something. That’s why she didn’t want me to find you—didn’t want me to remember.”
“I can’t let you get in the middle of things with her,” Michele insisted. “I already told Philip in the 1930s to stay away from her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“It’s too late for that,” Philip said gently. “I’m already in the middle of it, and if I can somehow protect you, then I want to. We can’t let Rebecca win.”
Michele took a deep breath. She couldn’t find the words to respond, but the look in his eyes let her know he understood.
A text alert sounded on her phone, jolting Michele out of the moment. She glanced down to read the message from Annaleigh: So sorry to interrupt! But your grandparents said it’s getting late and they’re anxious for you to come home.
“I should get back,” Michele said reluctantly.
“Okay, I’ll walk you home.”
Michele felt a glimmer of delight at the disappointed look on Philip’s face. He wants to spend more time with me! she thought happily. Once they reached Windsor Mansion, there was a nervous pause before they said goodbye, until Philip gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” she called, her cheek tingling from his kiss. She stayed in the Grand Hall for a few minutes after Philip left, feeling a ridiculous urge to break into a happy dance.
DAY SIX
Michele Windsor sat on a rickety rocking chair in the drawing room of a brownstone townhouse. A thin novel lay across her lap, but she ignored the words waiting on its pages. Glancing out the window of the sparsely decorated room, she sighed heavily at the sight of Gramercy Park below her, looking like a sibling of the park she had known in her youth—in the other Time. It was similar in appearance but different in personality; its greenery and shrubbery shinier, newer. Gazing at the park was yet another sign that Michele didn’t belong here.
She watched the scene below her window: rough-hewn women hawking flowers and fruit outside the gates, while the upper-middle-class ladies inside chatted genially on pristine benches, ignorin
g their poorer sisters outside the park. Gentlemen in top hats and walking suits paced the lawn, cigars dangling from their lips as they spoke, their sober expressions suggesting the topic of conversation was business. Children ran through the grass, shouting and playing, while harried nannies trailed after them.
Michele watched the park every day, waiting, numbly biding her time until her entrapment in 1904 ended. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been stuck here, in limbo, unable to reach Philip or her father … or anyone she knew.
Her scalp ached and she reached up, desperate to topple the tightly wound ringlets piled on her head, but she stopped herself just in time. She knew it would only be more of a bother to have to reconstruct the elaborate hairstyle again later. She fiddled with the tall collar of her afternoon dress, which always seemed to make her neck feel itchy, while the corset that slimmed her waist caused her breath to come out in shallow gasps. Michele thought longingly of her girlhood, when she dressed in free, unrestricted clothing. It felt so long ago that she could hardly envision what those clothes looked like, but she remembered how light she had once felt, running through the city in cotton fabrics, with none of these heavy skirts weighing her down.
“You’re trapped here, aren’t you?”
Her head snapped up. She knew who was speaking before she even saw her face. Rebecca Windsor, her dark vicious eyes glaring at her in the dull light of the room.
“I tried to warn your foolish grandparents of this. A time-crossed child is an aberration. And nature always corrects its mistakes.” Rebecca stalked forward. That was when Michele saw the knife glittering in her pocket. She opened her mouth to scream as Rebecca raised the blade, but no sound came out. Everything turned black.
Michele woke from the nightmare in a cold sweat, gasping for air. As the sight of her bedroom filled her vision, her heartbeat slowly returned to normal. She exhaled shakily, relief flooding through her as she looked around and saw that she was, without a doubt, in her true Time. That was just a dream, but this is reality. I’m here, where I’m supposed to be. Yet she couldn’t help wondering if it was a warning. She shuddered, remembering what it had felt like to be prisoner of another Time. All the thrills of time travel had disappeared when she was trapped, leaving only the desperate sensation of a lost child trying to get back home.
She found Walter and Dorothy sitting together in the Grand Hall, making a pretense of conversation, but Michele knew they had been waiting to catch her before school. With the seventh day approaching, she could see the growing anxiety in their faces. “Stay home today,” Dorothy blurted out. “We’d feel better.”
“You don’t have to worry about me leaving the house. It’s not like Rebecca is any less dangerous here,” Michele pointed out.
“But we’re here,” Dorothy insisted.
Michele squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “I promise I’m being careful. It almost seems safer to go on with my normal life—like it’ll be harder for her to get to me when I’m surrounded by people, as opposed to the three of us sitting at home waiting.”
Walter nodded. “Come home straight after school, then.”
“I have an appointment with Elizabeth,” she told him. “But I promise to come home right after that.”
Philip was standing by her locker when Michele arrived at school, and the sight was enough to temporarily drive away all her fear. He looked like a vision straight out of her daydreams, from the quiet happiness in his smile when he saw her approach to the way he leaned against her locker as if telling the world he was waiting for her. But the most fantastical part of all was that he finally belonged in her own Time. He was back—they were back—and the miracle of it seemed powerful enough to keep them safe, no matter the danger.
“Hi,” she greeted him, unable to control her growing smile. He grinned back at her. At first the two of them hesitated, unsure what to do, but then he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a hug. Though it was quick, Michele felt the lingering closeness of his embrace even after they pulled away.
She heard a slight gasp behind her, and she and Philip both looked up to see Kaya Morgan push past them, her eyes red.
“What happened?” Michele asked in a low voice.
“I ended it,” he said, looking after Kaya awkwardly. “I went to her place this morning and had the conversation. Not that there was much to end. She’s a great person, but we were just hanging out. It wasn’t anything serious. I liked her mostly because she distracted me.”
“From what?”
“From you,” Philip confessed. “From the way I felt whenever I saw you.”
“Was it so bad?” Michele asked, only half kidding.
“I felt like I’d lost my mind around you,” Philip said quietly. “I still feel that way. Looking at you, I get these—these flashes of memory, and the only thing that makes me feel better is when …” He broke off, and reached for her hand. Michele felt her heart jump at his touch.
The bell rang, and Michele and Philip glanced down, smiling nervously as they walked hand-in-hand toward U.S. history. Michele felt like they were under a spotlight as students in the halls openly gawked at them. They passed by Olivia and her snobbish group of Old New York descendants, who immediately began stage-whispering about “the shocking alliance of a Windsor and a Walker!” while a trio of freshmen stopped in their tracks to stare.
Michele and Philip dropped their hands when they reached the classroom, but it was clear that everyone inside had already seen. Ben stared down at his desk while Kaya gave Philip a pained look. Michele lowered her eyes guiltily, wishing there was a way she and Philip could be happy without anyone else having to get hurt. She scanned the room for Caissie, knowing that at least one person would be glad to see them together—but she wasn’t there.
When the bell rang for lunch, Michele practically flew to the dining room. The few hours alone had left her practically delirious with the need to see Philip, to feel his closeness. She wondered if their separation had given her a new, deeper urgency in her feelings toward him. Knowing what it felt like to lose him, even though she now had him back, left a lingering pain, like a scar that still stung.
Her anxiety lightened when she saw Philip standing in the lunch line, looking her way. She grinned and caught up to him.
“Hey,” he greeted her with a smile.
“Hi.” Michele heard grumbling behind her.
“I probably shouldn’t be cutting in line,” she said sheepishly. “I’m going to go to the back, but do you—do you want to sit at our table?”
“Yeah,” he replied warmly. “I’ll get your lunch, don’t worry about waiting in line.”
“You sure?” Michele looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. She wondered if this counted as their first official date in the twenty-first century.
“Of course I’m sure. I’ll come find you at your table,” he told her. “What can I get you?”
“Oh … I’ll have the pasta and an iced tea,” she told him shyly. “Thanks.”
Michele skipped toward her usual table, to find only Matt sitting down.
“Hey, Matt. Do you know where Caissie is?”
“No idea.”
Michele narrowed her eyes. “Wait—have you guys talked since the dance?”
“Not exactly,” Matt said uncomfortably. “Things have been so weird since then. We probably shouldn’t have gone together.”
“Why do you say that? Is it because of the sophomore girl you were dancing with? Are you really into her?” Michele asked, disappointed. She’d been rooting for Caissie and Matt to get together, ever since becoming friends with the two of them.
“No! But she’s been acting so cold to me over that, when she’s the one who was with that Willis dude half the night.”
“It’s only because she was hurt,” Michele told him. “You kind of blew her off.”
“I didn’t! I just—I don’t know.” Matt glanced down at his plate. “It felt strange, being on a date with her.”
“In a good
or bad way?”
“Good,” Matt admitted. “But still weird. She’s been my friend forever.”
“I really think you guys just need to talk. You’re too good together to let anything get in the way,” Michele encouraged him.
Matt diverted the subject as he spotted Philip heading toward their table. “So the rumors are true,” he said under his breath. “I’m impressed. No one’s ever taken a guy away from Kaya Morgan before.” He reached up to high-five Michele, but she ignored him.
“I didn’t take him from anyone. It was just … we’re supposed to be together.”
“Uh, o-kay,” Matt laughed.
Ignoring all the eyes in the dining room focused their way, Philip placed the two lunch trays onto the table and took the seat next to Michele. She smiled at him. As the three of them talked easily, Michele felt the urge to pinch herself to prove that he was actually here—and that this happiness was real.
After school, Michele stepped out of the Windsors’ SUV and in front of the Dorilton on West Seventy-First Street. For a moment she just stood outside, looking at the Beaux-Arts limestone and brick castle of an apartment building. With its massive sculptures, arched balconies, and towering mansard roof, the Dorilton reminded Michele of something out of a Walt Disney fairy tale—except there was nothing childlike or innocent about it. The building looked as if it had stood on New York soil forever, with decades of secrets buried in its walls.
After Elizabeth buzzed her in, the iron gates swung open and Michele walked up to the main entrance and into the formal lobby. Taking the elevator up to the tenth floor, she followed a long hallway until she reached Elizabeth’s apartment.
“So good to see you again!” Elizabeth hugged her warmly, and Michele again felt the instantaneous ease of being in her presence. She followed Elizabeth into the spacious, whimsically decorated apartment, until they reached a New Age-y meditation room. The walls were decorated with colored scarves, and a soft blue chaise stood in the center, surrounded by cozy floor cushions. Crystals hung from the windows, creating rainbows in the room as they caught the light, while burning incense and essential oils filled the space with a soothing scent.
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