Also by Alexandra Monir
Timeless
Timekeeper
Available in December 2012 from Delacorte Press!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2012 by Alexandra Monir
Cover art photograph © 2012 by Michaela Stejskalova/Shutterstock Images
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-97739-7
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Secrets of the Time Society
About the Author
New York City—Present Day
Michele Windsor dreamt she was walking along an unfamiliar beach, and though she was supposed to be alone, she had the frightening sensation of another presence behind her. Afraid to look, she kept her eyes on the sand, concentrating on the seashells beneath her feet, until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She tentatively glanced back—and cried out in terror.
A line of black-cloaked girls in Victorian dress trailed Michele ominously, their faces hidden by the veiled netting on their hats. At the sound of Michele’s cry, the girls lifted their veils and raised their eyes in unison. That was when Michele saw that they all had the same pale, sharp face, the same stringy black hair and flashing dark eyes. It was one teenage girl multiplied, a girl whose furious face was a strange blend of young and old. A girl who seemed almost ageless.
New York City—January 1888
Rebecca Windsor was conscious of the sudden tremor to her hands as she took the leather-bound book from her mysterious visitor. “The Handbook of the Time Society,” she read slowly. She narrowed her eyes at the tall, willowy figure of Millicent August. Rebecca had been surprised to find this stranger with the long silver hair waiting for her when she returned home from tea with the Vanderbilts’ dull daughter. It was frankly shocking that the footman had let this woman, who had never been properly introduced to the Windsors, into the parlor of the family’s brand-new Fifth Avenue mansion. Rebecca could easily have had Millicent turned out, but she had never been able to resist anything that carried a whiff of the improper or the unexpected. So now she sat eyeing the enigmatic woman, who looked back at her unflinchingly.
“Go on, then. Read it,” Millicent commanded, with none of the deference Rebecca’s wealth and station usually elicited from those who addressed her. She looked warily at Millicent before beginning to read aloud.
“Time may be the master of most human beings, but yours is a body and soul it cannot conquer. This unshakeable, undisputed force, that turns day into night and infants into elders, keeps its inner workings and phenomena under a mostly impenetrable veil. If you are reading this, then you have been chosen to lift the curtain.” Rebecca drew in a sharp breath and snapped the book shut, her heart beginning to race. “Who are you really?”
Millicent smiled, her green eyes glittering in the light from the gas lamp. “I am the founder and president of the Time Society. It would seem that you are one of us—a Timekeeper, one link in a select chain of individuals born with the gene that enables us to move and manipulate Time. That is why I am here.”
Rebecca was stunned. It had never occurred to her that there might be others like her, and now she was unsure whether this turn of events was a misfortune or a blessing.
“It’s all right,” Millicent said smoothly, as though reading Rebecca’s thoughts. “You will be glad to join the Society, to have peers. It must be quite lonely to lead a double life at just seventeen years old, having no one with whom to share it.” She peered closely at Rebecca, almost testing her to see if she had in fact shared her secret with anyone. Rebecca thought briefly of telling Millicent about him, but she quickly decided against it.
“I rather like being the only one with this sort of … magic,” Rebecca admitted instead.
Millicent smiled thinly. “That too is natural. But you see, your power will grow much stronger once you join the Time Society. You will meet Timekeepers who can do things you’ve only dreamt of, and you will learn from them.” She leaned forward intently. “That is the purpose of the Society I founded half a century ago—to find others born with the Time-Travel Gene so we may use our gifts collectively, become stronger, and preserve our history while protecting our future.”
Rebecca’s head spun with so many questions, she barely knew where to begin.
“But—how can you look so young?” she blurted out. “You said you founded the Society half a century ago? But you don’t even look my mother’s age!”
“It’s called age shifting,” Millicent said, the odd phrase sending a shiver up Rebecca’s spine. “Simply put, it is a way of traveling through time in the body of your younger or older self. You can learn to do it too. If you join the Society, I will teach you.”
“How did you find me?” An unpleasant thought occurred to Rebecca, and she adopted her haughtiest tone as she asked, “Have you been spying on me?”
“I certainly wouldn’t call it spying,” Millicent demurred. “Long ago, the Society formed a committee of Detectors to locate unregistered time travelers. They can be quite easy to spot when you know what to look for—a woman wearing modern clothing while wandering about in Revolutionary-era Philadelphia, for instance, or a man appearing out of thin air whom others do not notice. You, dear, were spotted looking wildly out of place in the New York City of 1918.”
Rebecca flushed, unable to hide her smile as she thought back to that exhilarating afternoon. It had been only her second time-traveling episode. As disbelief had given way to astonished acceptance, she had realized that time travel was the answer to every question—the mysterious means by which she might obtain everything she had ever wanted.
As the slow, sepia-toned Manhattan of 1888 had faded, replaced by the kinetic and colorful city of 1918, Rebecca had floated through the city as if in an ecstatic dream. Her eyes drank in the great inventions people of her time fantasized about but didn’t dare hope to experience: the horseless carriage, the radio, the moving picture! Rebecca stood in rapture on the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue, watching not just one automobile but a parade of them, in different colors and models. They carried beaming men in army uniforms, who waved to the crowds through an onslaught of ticker tape and confetti while other New Yorkers held up banners proclaiming victory in something called World War I.
Later that day, Rebecca had raced into the back row of the grand Mark Strand Theatre, watching with openmouthed awe as a giant screen flickered to life and elegant black-and-white characters danced about, telling a story. It was stunning to witness how much had changed in a mere thirty years, and when she had gone home to 1888, it was with the dull disappointment of returning to a world without luster. If it weren’t for him, I would have stayed, Rebecca thought wistfully. Stayed in that thrilling New York of 1918.
“Rebecca?”
She snapped back to the present at the sound of Millicent August’s voice. “I beg your pardon—I was just remembering,” Rebecca murmured. She flipped through the handbook in her lap, watching as each page surrendered to the next. The pages we
re covered with what looked like riddles and answers, and she felt her heartbeat quicken with anticipation. I need to understand, she realized. I need to be able to do all I can with my new power.
Rebecca looked up at Millicent. “You were right to come. I would like to join your Society.”
“I am very pleased to hear it,” Millicent replied, her tone betraying no hint of surprise. Clearly Millicent had known what Rebecca’s answer would be. The thought annoyed Rebecca; she loathed being predictable.
“Tell me more,” Rebecca demanded, jumping out of her seat to pace the room. “How could your Detectors see me? Whenever I’ve gone into the future, I’ve been invisible to everyone.”
“You have to spend a full seven days in another time before your body leaves its true present and joins you in the past or the future. Until then, you live like a ghost, appearing only to those who possess the gift of Sight. These are usually ordinary people with no powers themselves but who can see spirits, angels, and time travelers,” Millicent revealed. “It is often an inherited gift.”
Rebecca nodded, trying to take this all in. “And why is it that I am like you—a Timekeeper?”
Millicent frowned. “You really don’t know?”
Rebecca wondered for a moment if she had made a misstep. “However should I know?”
“Well, it’s the key, of course,” Millicent explained. “The power is in the key.”
Rebecca’s pacing came to a halt.
“The Key of the Nile, which we all possess, is what marks us as different from the rest of the population,” Millicent continued. “These keys, which came from ancient Egypt, form the shape of the ankh, the hieroglyphic character for eternal life. And in fact, the abilities brought forth by these keys do link us closely to the immortal.”
Rebecca instinctively reached up to touch her neck, where a key hung on a gold chain, tucked under the high collar of her tea gown.
“Before they depart this earth, Timekeepers always give the Key of the Nile to a family member,” Millicent said. “Every member of the Time Society is related by birth to another time traveler, and each family’s key is completely unique. That is why time travel is considered an inherited gift, like the Gift of Sight. What’s curious is that no one from your family has ever been in the Society—which would mean that whoever gave you your key must have lived their entire life as an undetected time traveler. Who was it?”
I stole it.
“I—I don’t remember,” Rebecca lied, the key burning against her chest. “I think I’ve always had it—I only found it recently, in an old box of things I’d forgotten about.”
“Is that so?” Millicent asked, a slight edge to her voice.
“Yes,” Rebecca replied, drawing herself up to her full height. “It looked like just an ordinary key to me at first, so I cast it aside—until I discovered its power just this year.”
To Rebecca’s relief, Millicent nodded. “I see. Still, it’s a shame. I am so interested to know the identity of the Timekeeper who came before you.”
Before even thinking the question through, Rebecca blurted out, “If the key is what allows me to time travel, does that mean that if I hadn’t received it … I wouldn’t have this power?”
“The power runs in your family’s blood, in the Time-Travel Gene,” Millicent said slowly, looking so intently at Rebecca that the girl was forced to avert her eyes. “That is why you were given your key. Now, the key is the traveling device; most Timekeepers cannot move through time without it. Yet there are a few extraordinary Timekeepers who have learned how.”
As Millicent spoke, Rebecca felt the blood draining from her face and the cold weight of disappointment settling in her stomach. Millicent glanced at the mantel clock and stood. “I should be going now, but first, I’d like to invite you to attend the grand opening of our new Time Society headquarters next week. Nearly all of our members will be there, so it will be the ideal way to introduce you.”
Rebecca paused. Could she still go through with this? But Millicent was watching her expectantly, so she nodded quickly. “Of course. Where is it?”
“In San Diego, California.” Millicent chuckled at Rebecca’s wide-eyed expression. “Why, you’ve gone thirty years into the future! California will be a very short trip for you, especially if you follow the directions in your handbook.”
Rebecca stared down at the book in wonder. As she walked Millicent to the door, she asked, “Why San Diego? What’s there?”
“One of our members was involved in the building of the first luxury hotel in California, the Aura Hotel,” Millicent answered. “He is quite brilliant, and was able to design it so that it appears to the public as simply a grand hotel, but when registered Timekeepers enter, it transforms into our headquarters. It is like a train station from which we can depart one time period for another—but set in a seaside hotel.”
As Millicent’s hand closed on the doorknob, Rebecca opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped herself just in time.
“Goodbye, then,” Millicent said. “I’ll see you in California?”
“Yes.” Rebecca nodded. “I’ll be there.”
She watched Millicent leave the room and then sank back into her seat, staring angrily at the flames burning in the fireplace. So the gift of time travel wasn’t really hers. The thought was like a sickness.
Rebecca hadn’t thought twice about snatching the key years ago, on the one day she had managed to escape her governess and secretly explore the household staff’s quarters. The Windsor family butler, Byron, had died suddenly, and Rebecca’s childhood infatuation with Byron’s handsome son—an infatuation that had grown into an obsession—had implanted in her the desperate need to explore his dead father’s room before the man’s presence was forever wiped away. Rebecca had been raised with the belief that none of the servants had belongings of their own, that all their possessions belonged to the house they served. So her twelve-year-old self, drawn to the exotic golden key she found on the late butler’s pillow, had picked the key up and stuck it into her dress pocket without shame, then put it away in a secret box containing other pilfered possessions.
She’d forgotten about the key until the box resurfaced just this year. Now seventeen, she knew when she saw it again that the key was special. It had twitched before her incredulous eyes, as though it were desperate to get out of the box and come to life. And it had brought Rebecca to life, sending her into futures far more exciting than the ornamented cage she lived in as a young Victorian heiress. Yet Rebecca had never really given the key its due. Though she knew it contained magic, she had refused to credit her remarkable ability to time travel to anything other than herself. It had always been of the utmost importance for Rebecca to feel like the most powerful force in her world. But now, to know that the greatest experience and achievement of her life would never have been hers if she hadn’t stolen a butler’s key years ago … it was unthinkable!
As Millicent’s words about the Time-Travel Gene echoed in her ears, Rebecca was overcome by a wave of nausea. Did Byron intend to give the key to his son? Does this mean that he was supposed to be the time traveler … and not me?
Rebecca tried to imagine telling her beloved what she had done; that the miraculous power she had told him about was stolen from his dead father and was likely meant to be his own. He would never speak to me again; he would never look at me again. She panicked. He would be lost to me forever. I can never tell him.
Rebecca wrung her hands desperately. All she wanted was to go on as if she hadn’t learned the truth about the key, but did she dare? What if the Time Society discovered she was a fraud? She couldn’t imagine Millicent August taking the news kindly. Rebecca could lose everything.
But I’ll for certain lose everything if I tell the truth, Rebecca realized. Yet if I go on as before, I can still have it all: unimaginable power as a member of the Time Society and a life spent with the man I love.
As she looked down at the Time Society handbook in her lap,
the secrets held within its pages seduced her, silencing her conscience. “I am the keeper of the key now,” she quietly declared. “The power has been transferred to me.”
New York City—October 25, 1910
Rebecca sat stiffly with the other spinsters on the balcony above the Windsor ballroom. It was their duty to chaperone the dancing debutantes and young men, making sure no one enjoyed themselves too much. As if that were even possible, Rebecca thought wryly, remembering the balls of her youth: the constricting gowns, the intricate dance steps of the quadrilles that were such a bother to remember, and the boys crowding her who clearly only wanted access to the Windsor fortune. And now here she was, nearly forty years old and feeling like a stranger in her old home—the home that now belonged to her saintly brother George and his family. Life’s regrets had etched deep lines in Rebecca’s face, had grayed her black hair. She was all too aware that the boys she used to dance with, now attending the ball as husbands and fathers, would no longer recognize her.
She watched the blur of dancers in their formal finery without really seeing them, heard their laughter and chatter without really listening, until a change in the scene made her blood turn cold.
Her niece’s fiancé, the handsome young Philip, was leading an unfamiliar girl into the ballroom, gazing at her with an intensity that gave Rebecca the uncomfortable sensation of having trespassed upon a private moment. Her heart dropped as she remembered how her own face had once glowed the same way, how she had basked in the precious hours spent with the one person she wanted most—before she learned the ugly truth that he had never returned her feelings. The memory was too painful, and she pushed it away, letting anger consume her instead, as she wondered how Philip could look at anyone else like that when he was engaged to poor Violet. Rebecca stood up to find her niece, but then she saw the girl in Philip’s arms more closely. Her smile seemed to pierce Rebecca’s skin.
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