“Go ahead and lie down on the chaise,” Elizabeth instructed Michele. “Today we’ll be following my methodology of using deep breathing and relaxation to awaken the subconscious. Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Simply breathe in … and out … in … and out …”
Michele followed the breathing pattern, Elizabeth’s melodic voice lulling her into a state of hypnosis. Michele’s eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, yet they moved furtively beneath her shut eyelids.
“Now see yourself standing in a big circular room. As you look around, you see that you are standing before a mirror. You watch as the image in the mirror becomes clearer,” Elizabeth instructed. “You touch your face and the image mimics your movement. And you realize that this image is you, as you are now in this lifetime—but you are in the distant past.”
Even in her state of hypnosis, Michele recognized that the girl in the mirror looked just like her dream from the night before—the Michele who was trapped in 1904. Her hair was dressed in a poufy pompadour topped off with an elaborate picture hat, and she wore a starched white blouse tucked into a floor-length slate-blue skirt. As Michele looked in the mirror, her fear slipped away. She knew it was time to find her father.
Letting her mind focus on the desired Time like an incantation, Michele felt the air swirl around her body, and her stomach jumped as she rose above the floor. She slowly blinked her eyes open, knowing that everything she was about to see would be different.
Elizabeth and the meditation room had disappeared. In fact, every thing in the room was gone. Michele stood in the middle of an abandoned apartment, with nothing surrounding her but cherrywood floors and bare walls. It was completely silent until she heard the swish of ice skates, and Michele hurried to the window, catching her breath at the sight.
New York was blanketed in snow. The rolling hills of Central Park were a glistening white, while the trees glittered with flurries instead of leaves. Spread out below the Dorilton was a small pond of ice, with two smiling young boys dressed in winter leggings, wool coats, and fur hats skating along its surface. At the edge of the rink, Michele spotted a liveried footman helping a lady shrouded in a heavy velvet coat exit a horse-drawn carriage.
I did it. I went back in time—without the key! Did that mean she, Michele Windsor, was one of the Timekeepers with this rare ability? Or was this all a byproduct of hypnosis?
Michele stepped out of the empty apartment and raced through the corridor into the elevator, her eyes widening as she reached the lobby and main entrance of the Dorilton. A line of carriages bordered the porte cochere, and displays of turn-of-the-century winter fashions adorned the men and women who swarmed the entrance, from voluminous coats and veils on the ladies to fur-collar overcoats and homburg hats on the gentlemen. Though fascinated by the wintry Old New York scene, Michele shifted her focus to the Windsor Mansion. She remembered Walter’s words, that in the 1900s Irving was not just the family lawyer but also a close friend, and she knew home was the first place to begin her search.
Using nothing more than the power of her mind, Michele directed her thoughts to the Windsor Mansion of 1904. With a jolt, she was lifted off the snow, her body sent spinning, until she landed with a stumble on familiar ground.
As she stood outside the entrance gates, the Walker Mansion pulled her gaze. Philip was likely somewhere inside; only he would be just twelve years old in 1904, far too young to know her. Michele glanced up at the house that would one day be a modern apartment building and saw a shocking flash of yellow—a familiar ponytail darting past the front window. The figure hurried out the door, bounding down the steps in jeans and a trench coat.
Michele watched, stunned, as the girl strode toward Windsor Mansion. Her expression was alight with awe as she took in the surroundings of 1904, oblivious to who was waiting for her. Michele could practically hear her heart thudding through her chest as she followed the blond ponytail, the distance between them growing smaller until they were both at the same streetlamp covered in snow at the end of the block.
“Caissie.”
She jumped at the sound of Michele’s voice. Slowly, she turned around.
“It is you,” Michele whispered in horror.
Caissie’s eyes filled with panic as she looked at Michele. Before Michele could say another word Caissie took off, sprinting away from her toward the hotel next door. Still in shock, Michele needed a few moments to register what had happened. Her legs felt weak as she ran after Caissie, hurrying up the stairs to an unfamiliar Renaissance building that bore the name PLAZA HOTEL. Her mind numbly registered that this must be the first Plaza, the short-lived hotel that was later rebuilt into a landmark.
Michele pushed through the front doors of the old Plaza, adrenaline surging through her as she scanned the lobby. She saw a blur of furs and mufflers as guests socialized before the fire, but no sign of Caissie. Michele turned around just in time to spot the blond ponytail disappearing out the Plaza doors. She raced after Caissie. As her feet hit the curb outside the Plaza, she felt a scream rise in her throat, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stop it.
A sinister, dark-haired woman was just feet away from Michele, marching purposefully toward the Windsor Mansion. She stared straight ahead with steely eyes, unaware of Michele’s presence.
It’s Rebecca—in her own Time, Michele realized with horror. She was older now, in her thirties, and her face had a pinched and puckered expression, as if permanently repulsed. Rebecca pulled a stopwatch from the pocket of her floor-length skirt and then quickened her pace toward the Windsor Mansion. Michele hung back, her palms clammy with fear as she hid in the shadows of the Plaza’s awning.
As soon as Rebecca disappeared from view, Michele sped across the street, darting between two horse-drawn carriages, her eyes searching frantically for Caissie. Her heart leaped into her throat when she finally saw Caissie running toward Central Park. Michele took a deep breath and sprinted through the oncoming traffic, her feet throbbing as she ran, until she reached the Artists Gate entrance to the park. At last she caught up to Caissie. Michele took her by surprise, yanking her ponytail, and Caissie fell backward.
“OW!”
Without missing a beat, Michele snatched her key from around Caissie’s neck and grabbed onto Caissie with her other hand.
“Windsor Mansion, present-day!” she cried into the air.
Caissie screamed bloody murder as their bodies rose and spun through the air. When they landed on the ground in front of the Windsor Mansion gates, she leaned over to retch in the bushes, causing a passing couple to exclaim with disgust. Michele ignored them, relief filling her lungs as she fastened the key around her neck. There was hope again. But when she turned back to Caissie, shock and anger flooded her anew.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
“H-how did you do it?” Caissie’s voice was a terrified squeak. “How did you get there?”
“You mean without my key that you stole?” Michele’s voice rose as she stared at her friend in dismay. It was Irving and Rebecca’s story all over again. “I trusted you, I confided in you! How could you do that to me?”
“It’s not—it’s not what you think,” Caissie stammered. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Oh, right, because it’s so easy to just accidentally steal a necklace,” Michele scoffed.
“That’s not what I mean.” Caissie took a shaky breath. “It was … this voice I heard. When the blackout happened, I was passing the choir room on my way to class and I kept hearing someone calling to me—telling me I had to take your key, that it wasn’t just for my benefit but yours too.”
Michele looked at her in disbelief. “You actually expect me to buy this?”
“I couldn’t see anyone, but the voice kept telling me that you were in trouble—that you weren’t supposed to time travel anymore, that you’re time-crossed and if I wanted you to stay alive, I had to take your key away—and bring it here.”
Miche
le froze at the words time-crossed. She had definitely never told Caissie anything about that.
“Did you see the person whose voice you heard?” Michele asked urgently. Did Caissie have the Gift of Sight?
“No, I couldn’t see anyone or anything,” Caissie admitted. “It was just a woman’s voice—but I swear, I’m telling the truth. She told me to bring the key to the Windsor Mansion in 1904, that she’d be waiting for me there—waiting to help us both.”
Michele drew in a sharp breath.
“That person is trying to kill me. So unless you’re on her side, which maybe you are, I suggest you stop listening to voices.”
Caissie’s jaw dropped. “I—you never told me—I didn’t realize …” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
“Was that the real reason you stole my key and pretended like you knew nothing about it when I told you it was missing?” Michele asked evenly.
Caissie’s face crumpled. “Okay, I’ll admit that I wanted to see the past. I mean, it wasn’t fair that you were the one who got to have all these adventures, and I had to be the lowly sidekick just hearing about it all! When I thought that I could experience time travel too, and help you in the process … it just seemed too good not to try. I never meant to hurt you. And besides, it turns out you don’t even need the key! What’s that about?” Caissie looked at her in amazement.
“I don’t know what’s going on. If you had any idea how crazy my life has been …” Michele’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt me, but the fact that you would lie like that and steal from me … that changes things. I don’t know how I can trust you anymore.”
Caissie looked away. “I get it.” She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
Michele nodded but didn’t speak. Caissie lingered a moment, then got to her feet.
“I should go home,” she mumbled. “I’ll see you at school.”
Michele watched Caissie walk away, a knot forming in her stomach. If Rebecca could convince her own friend to turn on her, then things were even more dire than she’d thought. And if Michele hadn’t seen Rebecca in the nick of time, she would have walked straight into Rebecca’s clutches. Michele had encroached on Rebecca’s own Timeline by entering a year where she lived and possessed her full strength and power—a Time when Rebecca had no need to wait seven days.
Rebecca had somehow known that 1904 was where Michele would go.
There have only been a few Timekeepers to possess the ability to travel without their Key. Those of us with this rare skill experience a stronger presence when time traveling, and may find additional powers within as the years pass. Like petals opening on a budding flower, we too seem to be constantly in bloom.
—THE HANDBOOK OF THE TIME SOCIETY
12
Michele returned to Elizabeth’s apartment in a state of fluster.
“How did that happen?” she exclaimed as soon as Elizabeth opened the door. “Did I just disappear into thin air from your meditation room? And was it all from hypnosis, or did I actually travel through time without a key?”
Elizabeth was beaming with pride. It was clear she’d been hoping for this result when she set up the day’s session.
“You did disappear from the room, though I wasn’t worried. I knew you were still here—just in a different year,” she said simply. “And I believe it was a combination of hypnosis with your innate time-travel abilities that caused it. In fact, have you ever noticed brief moments when you feel as if you’ve slipped into a different time—without intending to or realizing it?”
Michele nodded, remembering the dance with Philip and when she ran to the Osborne while watching time change around her.
“You see, you were so conditioned to believe that you could only travel with the key, you needed a little help from your subconscious to show that you are the one with the power,” Elizabeth explained. “You have a true gift, Michele—unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
Michele sank into a chair in amazement. “I—I don’t know what to say! All along I thought I was just lucky to have found my dad’s key, and of course I still think that, but now to know it’s my own ability too, is an incredible feeling. Thank you for showing me.”
“Thank you for letting me witness something so extraordinary,” Elizabeth returned earnestly.
Michele noticed the hour on the overhead clock and stood up. “My grandparents want me home on the early side, but before I go, there’s somewhere in particular that I need to travel to. Do you mind if I make the jump from here?”
Elizabeth grinned. “Go for it.”
And so Michele closed her eyes, focusing on the headquarters of the Time Society … where she hoped to find the remaining answers she needed.
“And who might you be?”
Michele’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of a man’s surprised voice. She felt herself sinking into a carpeted floor as she gripped the key necklace.
“Ahem.” The voice was back in her ear again. “Care to tell me who you are? I know you’re not registered, so how on earth did you get into the Aura?”
The Aura. Michele sucked in her breath at the realization that she had made it—that she was finally in the place she had read and wondered so much about. She looked around at the cavernous, dark-wood lobby and her mouth fell open at the sight of all the people.
A couple sat together by the fireplace, the man dressed in a three-piece striped suit and 1920s-style Panama hat, while the woman wore a sleeveless black mod dress reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. Through the lobby’s double doors burst a young man dressed in a silver uniform made from a fabric Michele couldn’t identify. He spoke into a device that looked like a cell phone, and a hologram of a smiling woman appeared beside him. Michele shook her head in amazement. These people were fascinating. Timekeepers. Each of them from a different era.
Coming out of her daze, Michele realized that the voice she had heard was speaking to her. She turned around to find herself slumped in front of a long reception desk, while a middle-aged man wearing spectacles and a nametag that read “Victor” stood, peering down at her.
“Sorry, I’m a little out of it,” she told him apologetically. “I’m Michele.”
Victor glanced down at the key around her neck, and his spine stiffened. “And what would your last name be?”
“Windsor.”
Victor immediately picked up his phone. “Ida. Michele Windsor has arrived.”
Michele eyed Victor suspiciously. The way he had spoken, it sounded like this Ida person had been expecting her.
“Follow me.” Victor slipped out from behind the reception desk.
“Where are we going?” Michele asked. “Who’s Ida?”
“Who’s Ida?” Victor repeated, in apparent disbelief at such a question. “Only the president of the Time Society!”
“What about Millicent?”
Victor looked at her sharply. “How do you know about Millicent?”
Michele bit her lip. There was no simple answer to that question. “I … I read about her.”
She followed Victor through the winding corridors until they reached a tall bronze doorframe.
“Come in,” a clear, bright voice called from behind it.
As Michele entered, she realized that this must have been Millicent’s drawing room, the setting of Irving’s confrontation with Rebecca. It looked just like his description.
Ida stood up, a mercurial figure with catlike gray eyes and short, curly dark hair. She was dressed in what looked like a business suit of the 1950s, a short-sleeved powder-blue jacket with a peplum and a full skirt. Her face had the otherworldly look of someone far older than her generation, but without the lines and wrinkles that characterized the elderly.
“Thank you, Victor.” As he left the room, Ida’s focus turned to Michele, fixing her with a scrutinizing glance.
“Hello, Michele. Please have a seat. I always wondered when you would f
ind us. Your story is one I know so well.”
“What do you mean?” Michele pressed.
“I met your father once,” she said, her expression far-off. “I wasn’t born until 1920, but I joined the Society in my teens and quickly rose through the ranks working for them.” She gestured to her presidential surroundings, as if proving her point. “One of my assignments—missions, we call them at the Society—when I was twenty years old, was to go back in time to February the second, 1888. Strange things had happened that day, and I was instructed to be another witness to the events.
“Another Timekeeper, Hiram King, and I were to lead a girl named Rebecca Windsor around the Headquarters and show her to then-president Millicent August’s office, as if she were joining the Society,” Ida recollected. “But it was all a setup. When Hiram and I brought Rebecca into this very room, Millicent and your father were waiting to confront her, to take back the key and the power that she had stolen from Irving. She was banned from the premises and escorted back to New York, while Irving Henry became our newest member. It was a day none of us could forget. It was the first and only time we have ever had an impostor attempt to infiltrate our world.”
Ida paused for a moment, as if seeing that day all over again in her mind. She continued, “After Irving was inducted into the Society, he decided to stay here at the Aura for a while, and he chose the year 1991 for his first mission. All of our rooms are decorated and furnished in the style of the date that denotes them, and we also provide documents and literature on the era in each guestroom. So after spending a few days immersing himself in 1991, he disappeared into the future.
“One of the young Timekeepers who helped prepare Irving went upstairs to check on him and found his room empty. We were all pleased for him, knowing this meant he must have made a successful trip into the future. But that was the last our Society ever saw of Irving Henry. He was thought to have so much potential, especially with his father having been one of Millicent’s favorites—but he never set foot near Society Headquarters again.
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