The cook gave him a respectful nod. “Do we have the final tally for dinner yet, Martin?”
“Yes, we do. The table will be set for six tonight,” Martin announced. “Mr. Henry is staying to dinner.”
Michele’s heart nearly stopped
“It’s a good thing I’m making his favorite stew,” the cook said fondly. “I didn’t know Mr. Henry was back or I’d have prepared a plate of fresh shortbread for his tea.”
“He only just arrived, and the footman is serving him tea on the lawn now,” Martin told her. “But I’m sure the shortbread would be welcome tomorrow if he stays the night—”
Michele didn’t wait a second longer. She bolted through the servants’ hall and up the stairs, past the butler’s pantry and into the dining room; then she dashed through the Grand Hall and outside to the back lawn, feeling her heart almost burst out of her chest when she saw the man in the distance, sitting in a wicker chair, his eyes closed as he tilted his face to the sky.
She drew closer, holding her breath. Irving Henry opened his eyes at the sound of her approach. He stared at Michele and she gazed back at him, soaking in every detail of finally looking upon her father—in person. Irving Henry had aged, but he was still handsome. In his face, Michele could see a lingering shadow of the boy her mother had loved.
When he broke the silence, his voice was incredulous, hopeful, and familiar.
“Marion?”
Michele struggled to speak. “N-no. I’m not Marion.”
Irving peered closer at her. His eyes filled with disbelief as he saw his face reflected in hers.
“The Vanishing Girl,” he murmured. “The Vanishing Girl from the park.” He sat up straighter.
“You remember,” Michele breathed, looking at him in amazement. “I can’t believe you remember that day.”
Irving’s face tensed and Michele could almost see him remembering his companion from that day; she could practically feel him wondering if she was there because of Rebecca.
“Who are you really?”
And Michele said the words she had imagined saying all her life.
“My name is Michele Windsor. I’m your daughter.”
Irving gasped. He stared at her in astonishment, uncertainty momentarily flickering in his eyes—but then, as he looked into her face that so resembled his own, conviction took hold.
“I … I have a daughter?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Michele shakily lifted her necklace, showing him the key. Irving dropped to his knees at the sight, tears glistening in his eyes.
“I don’t understand. How could I have never known about you?” he asked, looking at her as if afraid she might disappear.
“My mom didn’t know she was pregnant until—until you left.”
“My daughter—you’re my daughter,” he echoed dazedly.
Irving let out a sob. Slowly he stood, and then he had his arms around her, hugging her as tears spilled from her eyes onto his sleeve.
“Dad,” Michele cried, “I finally found you!”
Irving’s body shook as he spoke. “Leaving Marion was the worst mistake I ever made. I thought it would only be temporary, that I was protecting her. I thought the key would lead her back to me. But I was wrong, and my biggest regret is the time I lost with her—and now, with you.” He looked at her intently.
“Where is she? How is she? I’ve waited so long—I would give anything to see her again.”
Michele couldn’t speak. As she looked away, Irving shook his head frantically, fighting off comprehending such a terrible truth.
“No—no, it can’t be,” he whispered. “Not Marion.”
“It was a car accident.” Michele’s throat was thick with tears. “Two months ago. That’s why I had to move here. That’s why I have your key. It was in her safe—she never realized what it was.”
Irving looked at her desperately, his eyes seeming to beg her to tell him it wasn’t true, that Marion was still alive.
“I never stopped loving her,” he said after a long pause. “From the moment I returned to my Time, I knew I might not see her again. But all the years that passed didn’t change a thing. I’ve thought of Marion every minute, I’ve missed her every day. I became a lawyer for the Windsor family just so that I could feel closer to her. I only left to protect her, to give her a better future. I suppose it never occurred to me … that I would fail.”
“You were protecting her from Rebecca, weren’t you?” Michele asked.
Irving looked at her sharply, his forehead creasing with worry. “What do you know about Rebecca?”
“I read the journals that you left for my mom. But it’s more than that.” Michele took a deep breath. “Rebecca is out there in the future, in my Time, and she wants me dead. The new president of the Time Society told me that Rebecca murdered Millicent August in 1910 and stole her key. That’s how she’s been able to time travel and Age Shift into my time.”
Irving’s face paled. He seized Michele’s hand. “Stay here in 1904 with me,” he pleaded. “I can shield you from her; she won’t even know you yet. Please, don’t go back if she’s after you. Let me protect you, the way I meant to protect Marion.”
“I can’t stay,” Michele told him regretfully. “She’s threatening my grandparents and my friends; I can’t leave them while she’s out there. And tomorrow, we might have a chance to finally end this. We’re meeting her on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ll have help with me—don’t worry.”
“I can’t stand knowing you’re in danger. It’s all my fault.” Irving looked at her desperately. “Please—there has to be something I can do.”
Michele remembered Ida’s words, but she hesitated to repeat them. She had only just met her father; she couldn’t bear to have him risk his life for her.
“I have nothing left,” Irving said quietly. “I lost Marion, and now that I’ve found you—I couldn’t bear losing you too. If there’s even the slightest chance of my being able to help, I must do so.”
Michele blinked back a fresh wave of tears.
“The new president of the Time Society, Ida Pearl, told me that Millicent had this theory.… She believed that an Age Shifting Timekeeper would have to—to die in multiple Timelines besides their own in order to be gone for good.” She shivered. “I have no idea how it would work, and I can’t even imagine being responsible for someone’s death.”
Irving’s face filled with determination.
“You could never be responsible. This is all Rebecca’s doing. We have to do whatever we can to end this, to protect you. I knew Millicent, and I would trust in any theory she had.” He thought quickly. “I could trick Rebecca into meeting me on the Brooklyn Bridge the same day as you—only in our time. If I can defeat her in my time and you succeed in yours, then if Millicent’s theory is correct … this could be the end of Rebecca.”
“I got a … a tip that she would be there on November 23, in my time, at eleven p.m.” Michele looked up at her father, overwhelmed with emotion. “I wish you didn’t have to see Rebecca again. I’m afraid of what that will be like for you.”
“There’s no need to worry. I’m glad to do anything I can to protect you.” As Irving looked at her, it seemed to Michele that he could see into her thoughts. “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked gently.
Michele nodded slowly.
“When I found your journals in the passageway this week, I was so grateful I got to hear your story and learn about you. I only wish Mom had been the one to find them.” She lowered her eyes. “I went to the Time Society after learning about them from your writings, and the president told me that as a time-crossed child, I’ll be involuntarily split between your Time and my mom’s, traveling against my will. It’s already started.” She looked up at her father fearfully. “I don’t know how to control it.”
“Oh, Michele.” Irving’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know. I never meant for you to have this burden. But now that I’ve met you … you’re perfe
ct, and I know that you were meant to be here, to do great things with your gifts and your life. I promise—I will do everything I can to try and help you.”
Michele smiled, moved by his words.
“There is one bit of hope. Today I learned I can travel without a key just like your father could.”
She watched as Irving’s eyes grew wide and he beamed with pride.
“Unbelievable! You can’t imagine how many times I’ve tried to do the same since leaving the 1990s, yet I’ve never been able to time travel without the key. The gift must have skipped a generation. You’re my father’s granddaughter indeed.” He gazed at her fondly.
“But if you can’t travel without the key, how did you return to 1888 after leaving it behind for my mom?” Michele asked.
“I held on to the key while beginning my Time jump, dropping it only after I felt myself moving into the air. The physics professor I worked for at the time was my one confidant—he believed in time travel and was fascinated by my story. He took the key as it fell from my hand, and he was to make sure Marion received it. I wonder, when he saw that I didn’t return and Marion never left … why didn’t he tell her the truth?”
“I looked him up when I found the note he left for my mom along with the key. He died after a years-long battle from a stroke,” Michele explained sadly. “He must have never had the chance to talk to her.”
Irving clasped both her hands in his. “Your mother and I … our story is a tragedy, and I feel the pain and loss every single day. But you—you are the ray of light in all this.
Discovering you now … it makes everything seem all right. Millicent always said the most skilled Timekeepers were the ones who could travel even without their key—like a wizard able to do magic without a wand. Time-crossed or not, you are powerful,” he told her firmly. “I know you will be able to have the full life you want and deserve, regardless of what the Time Society says.”
“Thank you … Dad. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. And now that we know I can travel without the key …” Michele reached around her neck to unfasten the necklace, but Irving stopped her.
“No, it’s yours. I want to know that you’ll always have it with you, if ever something should happen and you need it. Besides, you’re meant to hand it down to your own child one day.”
His image began to waver in front of her, his voice faint as he said something she couldn’t hear, and Michele reached out for him, desperate to keep her father with her for just a little longer.
“Dad, I can feel it—I’m going back!” she cried out.
He pulled her into one last hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you until now,” he said intently. “But this isn’t the end. You can always find me. The past is open to you. You are a Timekeeper. And I will do everything I can from here, to help you succeed. My daughter, I love you.”
Michele smiled through her tears. “I love you too.”
And then she felt her body begin to hover above the ground, her father’s image blurring, until he was gone and she knew with certainty that she was back in her own Time.
DAY SEVEN
Michele awoke feeling like the world had somehow changed overnight. The sky was a darker, duller gray with not a trace of sun, and the usually speeding cars and squealing sirens of Manhattan were uncharacteristically quiet. It was as though the city were hiding in anticipation of Rebecca’s impending Visibility.
This time Michele relented when Walter and Dorothy asked her to stay home from school. She hated to think about it, but should Rebecca succeed that night, Michele wanted her grandparents to have one last memory with her. The three of them spent the day huddled together, talking about everything: their memories of Marion, Michele’s meeting with Irving, and her relationship with Philip. It would have been her most special day ever spent with Walter and Dorothy, if it weren’t for the event that lay ahead.
Philip pulled up in his Audi at dinnertime, and as Michele introduced him to her grandparents, she thought how surreal and strange it was that their first meeting should be taking place before this impending fight against Rebecca. Walter and Dorothy had listened in astonishment to Michele’s story over dinner the previous night, when she revealed her relationship with Philip and his knowledge of Rebecca. She could tell they’d been frightened by the idea of history repeating itself with another romance across time, but they also seemed to find comfort in Philip’s potential to help her.
After a tense dinner where none of them managed to eat, the four of them piled into Philip’s car, Michele taking the front seat. As they were driving, Philip placed a reassuring hand over hers, and she marveled at her ability to feel sparks from his touch, even at a moment like this.
1953
Philip Walker buttoned up his overcoat and wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck, trying to fend off the sudden, fierce gusts of wind. He’d certainly picked the wrong day to go for a brisk walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. Only a few pedestrians joined him and he could hear their disgruntled mutterings about the weather.
I’m already halfway across. No sense in backing out now, Philip thought with a shrug, and he continued along the path.
1904
Irving waited in tense anticipation at the walkway in the center of the Brooklyn Bridge. Would Rebecca come? He’d sent a telegram to meet on the bridge and never heard back, though he knew she always liked to keep people on their toes. After all these years, he imagined she’d be too curious to refuse. He tapped his foot nervously while he waited, his thoughts more than a hundred years in the future with his daughter.
2010
After parking the car, Philip, Walter, and Dorothy surrounded Michele, rallying around her as they stepped onto the bridge. The four of them moved toward the railing, and Philip’s fingers laced with hers as they looked out over the darkened East River. For one brief moment Michele let down her guard, pretending they were on a date rather than on this dreaded outing. And then she heard her grandmother scream.
1904
Irving’s spine stiffened as the hateful vision came into focus: a tall, stately figure with a mass of black hair and feral dark eyes, stalking toward him. He fought a wave of nausea, his hands balling into fists, as she came closer.
“Irving Henry. I knew you missed me.”
The intimacy in her voice was repugnant. Irving forced himself to stay calm, to meet her eyes. As he looked into them, he drew back in horror at what he saw.
1953
Philip Walker felt eyes boring into him. He turned to see one of the other pedestrians glaring at him with distaste. He peered closer, doing a double take in alarm. Was it really …? Yes. It was Rebecca Windsor, the very person Michele had warned him about twenty years ago. Philip hadn’t seen Rebecca in nearly a half-century, yet still Rebecca recognized him, eyeing him with hatred. Philip’s heartbeat quickened with fear as he remembered Michele’s words. “She wants me dead.”
2010
Michele and Philip spun around at the sound of Dorothy’s screams, then clung to each other as the figure from their nightmares advanced toward them. Rebecca looked frighteningly powerful in her full human form, her body tall and sturdy with black curls coiling around her hostile face like snakes, her eyes black pools. She wielded a fire torch in her hands, and Michele cried out at the sight of her grandmother—hunched over in agony as Rebecca’s flames burned at her feet. Michele raced to her side, just as Rebecca dropped a second torch, directly hitting Michele’s leg. Michele screamed in pain, her legs buckling beneath her as the fire burned. She heard Philip yelling as she hit the ground; she could hear him and Walter struggling to stamp on the flames surrounding her and Dorothy. In the split second Michele and her protectors had their eyes down, fighting the fire, Rebecca moved in behind her. And the sharp blade of a knife sliced into Michele’s side.
Michele howled in pain. This was it, she was going to die. She watched in horror as blood seeped through her shirt, the fire still enveloping her jeans.
Over Do
rothy’s screams and Philip’s roar of rage, she heard a cold voice say the words, “At last.” The final thing Michele saw before blacking out was Rebecca Windsor brandishing the bloodied knife, her savage eyes gleaming.
1904
Irving trembled with fury as he looked at Rebecca, the vision filling his mind: Michele, doubled over on the Brooklyn Bridge, covered in blood and flames while Rebecca stood over her with the blade. He had to do something—he had to stop it.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Rebecca smirked. “You haven’t seen me in sixteen years.”
Irving seized her with a force he never knew he had, pushing her up against the railing of the bridge.
“You will never. Hurt. My. Daughter,” he growled in her ear, before throwing her over.
2010
“NO!” Philip cried in agony. Watching Michele passed out and bleeding on the burning bridge, he felt as if he were being split in two. The sight of Rebecca’s smile set him over the edge. He let out a strangled yell and lunged toward her, catching her off guard. Gathering every ounce of his strength, Philip lifted her body. Walter rushed forward to help shoulder the weight, and the two of them hoisted her into the air—pushing her over the Brooklyn Bridge before she had the chance to harm Michele again.
1953
It happened so fast. Philip’s mouth fell open in shock as he watched what looked like an invisible hand pushing Rebecca over the bridge. One moment she was there, walking toward him—the next she was dead in the waters below. He backed away from the sight.
Did I do that? It wasn’t possible. But then … who? How?
Philip hurried forward, anxious to get far away from Rebecca’s final standing place. As he ran to the end of the bridge, a thought floated through his mind, flooding him with relief.
Michele is going to be okay; she’s safe. Rebecca can never hurt her again.
2010
As Rebecca’s body hit the East River, Millicent’s key at long last snapped off the thief’s neck, flying straight up into the sky.
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