The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret

By Sharon Ledwith

Fourteen year-old Jordan Jensen always considered himself a team player on and off the field, until the second Timekeeper mission lands him in Amsterdam during World War Two. Pulled into the world of espionage, torture, and intolerance, Jordan and the rest of the Timekeepers have no choice but to stay one step ahead of the Nazis in order to find

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirror World Publishing
• Release date: Oct 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781987976199

Sharon Ledwith

Sharon Ledwith is the author of the young adult time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS among others. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.

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The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret

Sharon Ledwith

E-BOOK EDITION

The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret © 2016 by Mirror World Publishing and Sharon Ledwith

Edited by: Justine Dowsett

Cover by: Justine Dowsett

Published by Mirror World Publishing October, 2016

All Rights Reserved.

*This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons is entirely coincidental.

Mirror World Publishing

Windsor, Ontario

www.mirrorworldpublishing.com

[e-mail]

ISBN: 978-1-987976-19-9

Praise for the Last Timekeepers Time Travel Series:

I highly recommend The Last Timekeepers series not only for its new twists on epic tales from the past, but for strong character development and quality writing. Sharon Ledwith knows how to pull you in and keep you there. You won’t want to put her books down, no matter how big of a kid you are. ~ Lisa Fender, author of The Lorn Prophecy Series

The Last Timekeepers – Action-packed adventure on every page. Your tween or teen reader won't want to put it down! ~ Lisa Orchard, author of the bestselling Super Spies Series.

The empress of time portals, Sharon Ledwith propels her readers along with her cast of quirky characters through a time-traveling journey they won’t soon forget. Ledwith leaves no stone unturned when it comes to researching her destinations and breathing life into real or imaginary personalities from the past. Her uncanny knack for tween dialog makes for a very entertaining read. ~ Rita Monette, author of the Nikki Landry Swamp Legends Series

Also by Sharon Ledwith:

The Last Timekeepers Series

The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis

Legend of the Timekeepers (prequel)

For my brother, Ian.

I am truly grateful to have gotten to know you better during the last two years of your life. Until we meet again, please reserve a glass of scotch for me.

1.        A Call to Action

Jordan Jensen stared at the hurdles lined-up before him. He checked his wristwatch. 8:15. Good. Got time to do another lap, then head for the showers and get to class. He inhaled, shook out his legs and arms, and proceeded to stretch. He allowed the late September air to cool him down, before he took his mark on White Pines High School’s track. There he spied an enormous acorn, the size of a ping pong ball, in front of him. Strangely, Jordan felt drawn to it as if the acorn allowed him a glimpse of the blueprint of an oak tree, with its deep roots, strong branches, and large leaves.

He frowned, thinking back to the day that changed everything. The day when Jordan and his classmates, Amanda, Treena, Ravi, and Drake, were chosen to become Timekeepers—legendary time travelers sworn to keep Earth’s history safe. Drafted along with them were Melody—a recent transplant from England and now their motherly influence—and his Uncle John.

Jordan sighed. Now it seemed like a blurry dream to him, remembering how Ravi had plowed into the time portal in Melody’s backyard. All they were supposed to be doing was serving out their detention doing yard work for her. Instead, the seven of them had been suddenly sucked through that arch and into another dimension where Lilith had acknowledged them as the ‘Last Timekeepers’. Jordan bit his bottom lip. It was tough enough keeping all his sports’ schedules straight and getting his homework assignments done, let alone being a Timekeeper. His shoulders sagged, feeling the added pressure of being responsible for the world’s future.

Laughter from across the field infiltrated his thoughts. Jordan glanced up to see a group of boys tossing a football back and forth. On the scoreboard above a new set of bleachers sat a turkey vulture, perusing the green. It spread its wings, stretching them to welcome the sun, and then took off into the sky toward the line of tall trees.Jordan turned his attention back to the acorn. It’s still hard to believe time travel is even possible. He plucked up the acorn and stood. He let it roll around on his palm. Guess you can’t imagine being a mighty oak a hundred years from now, can you?

Jordan grunted. He was wasting too much time with trivial thoughts. He tossed the acorn aside, set his jaw, and then squatted between the white lines on the green track. A large, light blue stone on the end of a copper-colored necklace around Jordan's neck rolled out from under his T-shirt and clipped him under his chin, reminding him once again of his responsibilities as a Timekeeper.  His necklace was the same as those worn by the rest of the Timekeepers. Lilith called them Babel necklaces. They allowed the wearer to communicate in any language and also conveniently let Lilith summon the Timekeepers to the Arch of Atlantis when she needed them for a mission.

Jordan stuffed his Babel back underneath his shirt. He looked forward and cleared his mind. Immediately, Coach clicked on in his head. You have what it takes inside of you to remove any barriers that will confront you.

Jordan nodded. The voice he had dubbed Coach had always been a part of him, and there for him, ever since he could remember. In a way, Coach was his form of discipline, personal trainer and mentor wrapped into one. It was probably also the reason he was so awesome at sports. Jordan  listened and focused before making his play.

Got it, Coach, Jordan said aloud. Then he did a mental count. Ready, set—

Who ya talking to, Jockstrap?

Jordan stumbled. He shook his head and looked up. Amanda Sault was standing on the sideline, close to the bleachers, her brown eyes staring at him. He’d been tagged ‘Jockstrap’ by Amanda ever since their first Timekeeper mission.

He sighed heavily and waved her off. No one. I was just giving myself a pep talk.

If you say so— Amanda stifled a giggle —Coach.

Jordan’s ears burned. He stood, brushed his blue track pants off, and pulled down his white T-shirt printed with White Pines’ wolf logo. What are you doing here?

I was taking a shortcut through the field, she replied, shrugging. Is that a crime?

Jordan opened his mouth, but was abruptly cut off by Amanda squealing, OMG! What a beautiful acorn! She picked it up. I’ve never seen one this big before.

Jordan rolled his eyes. It’s an acorn. Get over yourself.

Amanda scowled. Don’t you ever notice the beauty nature has to offer?

He shrugged. Only when I’m running, sliding, or tackling across it.

My grandmother taught me a lot about the signs and symbols of nature over the summer when I was staying with her at the reservation and this—she held up the acorn— is a sign of great self-potential.

Then you keep it. Jordan smirked. You’re gonna need all the help you can get with your grades this year.

Amanda’s eyes widened. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled back into a single braid as usual, but there was something different about her. Jordan couldn’t immediately figure it out. She wore faded jeans and a pink T-shirt underneath a jean jacket with deep pockets and her blue nylon knapsack was slung over one shoulder. Her Babel necklace was partially visible around her neck, but like his, the rest of it remained hidden. A pair of brand-name running shoes—white with pink laces—caught his eye. That’s it! Jordan nodded. It’s gotta be the new shoes.

Amanda stuffed the acorn in her pocket, then advanced on Jordan. She poked him in the stomach. What’s your problem, Jockstrap? Three weeks into school and barely a ‘hi’ comes out of your mouth when we see each other in the hallways or in class. Have you forgotten that we’re Timekeepers together?

How could I forget? Jordan snorted. My world doesn’t revolve around you or the others, he replied, rubbing his belly. Besides, I’ve been too busy playing— He stopped. Now Jordan knew what was different about Amanda. Are…are you wearing make-up?

Amanda’s bronze skin deepened to a reddish hue. Um, yeah. So?

Jordan laughed. Who is he?

Amanda frowned. Who is who?

The guy you’re wearing make-up for, Jordan replied. Oh wait, is it that geek in English class? Or, I know, the dork in math class, the one who keeps helping you out.

Amanda shoved him. I’m wearing it for me! It was a gift from Treena for my birthday. You know, the other day, when Melody invited you over for cake?

Jordan’s jaw dropped. That was for your birthday? Oh, um, sorry Amanda, but I…I had football practice. I couldn’t ditch that.

And I thought you were a team player, she said, stepping back. It’s all about you, Jordan. That’s your life motto. That’s who your world revolves around. You could have shown your face after football practice.

Whoa, that’s not fair, he replied, raking his fingers through his tawny hair. I have obligations. I have responsibilities. You don’t get it.

Jordan’s cell phone sounded the National Hockey Leagues’ anthem from his pocket. He reached in, pulled it out, and checked his text message. Hmm. Ashley wants to know where I am. His eyes widened, remembering, Oh crap, I was supposed to meet her in the library this morning to pick out books for our English assignment.

Oh, I get it all right, Jockstrap. Amanda snatched the red phone out his hand. FYI—you’re not the only one who has obligations and responsibilities. You need to learn how to juggle.

Give that back! Jordan reached for his phone, but Amanda side-stepped him.

Looks like you’ve even forgotten your meeting with Miss Thing, Amanda said, glancing at the screen. Prigham will be pissed.

I’m warning you, Amanda, give me my cell back, Jordan said, through clenched teeth. I gotta text Ashley.

Amanda slipped her knapsack strap over her other arm and waved the phone in his face. You want it? Come and get it. Then she dashed down the track, toward the hurdles.

Amanda! Jordan yelled. Gimme my phone! He shot after her.

To Jordan’s surprise, Amanda leaped over the first hurdle with ease. Then she jumped the next one and the one after that. There was a graceful gait to her vaults, like she knew instinctively when to jump. Jordan took the first hurdle, the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh, without breaking a sweat. His shoe caught the back of the eighth hurdle, making him stumble and smack into the ninth one. Shaken, he looked up to find Amanda running ahead as if she had a pair of wings on those new shoes.

Jordan growled, pushed the hurdle out of the way, and started after her again. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the track and field coach, Mr. Fisher, surveying the course. His half-bald head reflected the morning sun like a polished helmet. Jordan smirked. It was time to show Mr. Fisher how he could pull out all the stops and own this track. Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, Jordan recycled this process again and again, making headway in his attempt to catch up to Amanda. She was fast, he’d give her that. Jordan snatched a peek at Mr. Fisher, who was staring at his timer and taking notes. He smirked. Mission accomplished, I’ve impressed the coach.

Rounding the track, Amanda shot off to the right, ran past the last set of bleachers and headed for the school’s front double doors, taking the steps three at a time. She stopped, looked behind her and wiggled his shiny red phone in the air, before darting into the school. Fueled by her flippant gesture, Jordan clenched his teeth and poured on the Jensen-juice, pushing students out of the way to get through the doors. Angered shouts and a couple of cuss words from other students assaulted his ears as he bowled through the busy hallway. He skidded to a stop when he realized that Amanda had crashed into his Uncle John standing by a line of freshly painted blue lockers. With a heaving chest, Jordan rested his forearms on his knees, still trying to comprehend Amanda’s speed and agility.

Then his mouth fell open. What’s my uncle doing here?

There you are!

Jordan straightened. He looked around. Ashley Prigham leaned against Paul Putnam’s locker with her arms crossed over her tight red sweater and an expression on her pretty pert face that told him he was in for a lengthy penalty. Her dark, boot cut jeans hugged her legs in a way that drew Jordan in closer, but the incessant tapping of one of her high-heel red shoes made him want to back up a few feet.

Oh, er, hi Ash, Jordan said, grinning while still catching his breath.

She swept a blond tendril tipped with red dye out of her caramel-colored eyes and glared at him. I texted you. Twice. You didn’t text me back. Are your fingers broken?

Jordan curled his fingers into his palms as if testing them. He shook his head. No. I was at the track practicing hurdles.

A guffaw broke out behind Jordan. Is that what you call that stumble-fest, Jensen? From what I saw, it looked like Amanda Sault left you in the dust!

Jordan stiffened. He looked over his shoulder. Get lost, Putnam.

I would, Jensen, but this is my locker, he said, leaning closer to Ashley.

"Amanda Sault? You ditched me to hang out with…her?"

Sweat rolled down Jordan’s face. His throat tightened. He looked over at Amanda. Coach Fisher had cornered her. The coach was tapping his clipboard over and over with a thin finger, making the baggy blue track suit he wore jiggle like loose skin. Jordan smirked. Good. She’s probably getting an earful for using the track equipment without permission. Then he noticed his uncle talking to their high school principal, Mr. Todd. They shook hands over and over, and then Mr. Todd pointed down the hallway, nodded, and shook Uncle John’s hand again before leaving him to go yell at a kid riding on a skateboard.

Jordan felt a tap on his shoulder. Treena Mui stood behind him, her mouth twisted to one side.

FYI—your sister is looking for you. Her nostrils flared, and she took a step away from him. Something about not letting the puppy out and you owe her a new pair of shoes. Treena fanned the air. Whew, Jordan, you’re ripe!

Jordan slapped his forehead. Crap!

Um, she mentioned the dog did that too, Treena said, patting his shoulder. She looked at her slick hand, cringed, and then wiped it across her khaki pants.

Jordan’s mouth puckered and his shoulders sagged. Putnam laughed and put his arm around Ashley’s slim waist. She nuzzled into his blue and gold White Pines Wolves football jersey and casually slid a hand into his back jean pocket. Putnam thrust out his chest. Better hit the showers, Jensen, he said, sneering. Class starts in twenty minutes. Wouldn’t want you to offend the entire student body.

And, Jordan, when you have time to hang out with someone more your speed, text me, Ashley added, flicking her hair. Sounds like you’re having trouble keeping up with Sault.

BTW—Prigham, love what you did with your hair, Treena cut in, waving her hand. Did you use the blood of your last boyfriend to get that effect?

Ashley rolled her eyes. At least I can get boyfriends, Mui.

Laughing, Putnam pulled Ashley into the crowded hallway as Ravi Sharma slammed into them on his skateboard. Putnam toppled over Ashley, pushing her into a group of grade elevens. Drake Bailey, trailing behind Ravi on his own board, had the time to skid to a stop.

Treena pulled out her sparkly pink cell phone and snapped a photo of Putnam and Ashley splayed across the floor. Looks like I’ve got the perfect image for today’s tweet.

Drake laughed. Putnam glared at him long enough to make Drake swiftly pick up his skateboard and skirt behind Jordan.

S-S-Sorry, Paul, Ravi stammered. He kicked up his skateboard and stuffed it into his black backpack. You just darted out into—

Putnam jumped up and grabbed Ravi by his black hoodie. A skeleton print was embossed across the front, but it did nothing to scare off the enemy. Ravi dropped his backpack. Putnam growled. He raised Ravi high enough to cause his black and white sneakers to dangle a few inches above the floor. Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, Sharma.

Put Ravi down! Jordan yelled, balling his fists. Or else.

Or else…what, Jordan? Uncle John asked behind him.

Startled, Putnam dropped Ravi. Jordan eased up and opened his hands.

I suggest you get to class, young man, Uncle John told Putnam in a warning tone.

Putnam half-smiled, and then saluted him. He reached for Ashley’s hand, threw Jordan a dirty smirk, and pulled her down the hallway full of gawking and chattering students.

Hey, Prof, Drake said. He sounded relieved and surprised at the same time. What’cha doing here?

Jordan turned around. Like Amanda, there was something different about his uncle. He wore a dark blue dress shirt, striped tie, and grey pants. Polished black shoes and a matching belt told Jordan his uncle was all business today. Draped over his left forearm was a blue golfing jacket embroidered with the University of Notre Dame logo. The jacket had been a gift from Jordan’s mom who had bought it online for her older brother’s recent forty-fifth birthday. Uncle John’s thick, sandy hair had been recently cut so that it no longer grazed his broad shoulders, but instead made the white flecks in his hair stand out. Fresh razor nicks on his clean-shaven face gave Jordan the impression that Uncle John had just come from having confronted his own worst enemy.

It’s Mr. Lucas when addressing me here, Drake. I’m your new history teacher.

Jordan’s mouth suddenly tasted like it was stuffed with a pair of dirty sport socks. Had he heard his uncle correctly? New history teacher? As in, White Pines High School’s new history teacher?

Jordan’s throat constricted at the same time as an odd vibration flashed across his chest. Then his neck and his face heated up as if his head had been shoved inside a sweltering sauna. He reached under his sweaty T-shirt and found his Babel pulsating at a high speed. Jordan looked at Treena, Ravi, and Drake. Their Babels appeared to be doing the same thing. He checked on Amanda, still by the lockers with Coach Fisher. She was nodding vehemently to him while her arms were tightly crossed over her chest. Then he glanced over to find his uncle clutching at his own shirt. Jordan’s body instinctively tightened as if preparing to put on an imaginary suit of armor.

It was confirmed. The Timekeepers were being summoned.

2.        A Great and Abiding Sorrow

The thick rubber tires of Uncle John’s white jeep screeched across Melody Spencer’s crumbling driveway. Quick, all of you, out! he commanded. I’ll meet you in the backyard. Melody texted me to say she’s waiting there.

But…but what about school, Professor? Treena asked. Class starts in less than twenty minutes.

We’ll have plenty of time to get back to school once our Timekeeper mission is over, Treena, Uncle John replied. Remember what Lilith told us?

Treena furrowed her brow, and then snapped her fingers. Oh, yeah. Time is an illusion and it exists simultaneously. Ergo—we’ll never be missed.

And never age, Drake added. Right, Prof?

Uncle John nodded. That’s right. Then he sighed. And please, kids, remember that it’s Mr. Lucas from now on.

Drake snorted. Not on Timekeeper missions, Prof!

Question, Ravi blurted. Can we hose Jordan down before we’re sucked into the arch?

I vote yes, Treena said, pinning her nose.

Me too, Drake added, covering his face with his navy T-shirt, making the imprinted Superman logo crinkle and warp. Dude, even a skunk would steer clear of you!

Jordan sniffed his armpit, then scowled. Blame Amanda. She made me waste valuable practice time running after her.

Really? Treena’s brown, almond-shaped eyes widened. What’s up with that, Amanda?

Kids! Uncle John thundered. Get moving!

Amanda—who had been silent throughout the five minute ride over—got out first and headed for the backyard, bounding over a coiled garden hose resembling a sleeping serpent. Jordan frowned. What is up with her?

Grumbling, Jordan undid the back seatbelt and jumped out of the jeep. He’d managed to grab his blue and gold tracksuit jacket before his uncle had escorted them to the parking lot. At least it would cover some of the stench. Besides Amanda, Drake and Ravi were the only ones smart enough to have thought to keep their backpacks with them. Both of their skateboards peeked out from the flaps of their packs, wheels going full speed, as they rounded the corner of Melody’s old Victorian home. Jordan frowned, wishing he had brought his backpack too, since he had no clue how long this Timekeeper mission would last and what challenges they would face.

A slight cool breeze rippled across the side garden, making a variety of bushes and flowers quiver. Jordan’s slick skin prickled as he sprinted around the house. The changing leaves rustled, some letting go of the branches that had sustained them over the course of spring and summer. Surprisingly, many flowers were still in bloom and some were just beginning to open. A cluster of fiery dark red flowers Melody called Mums closely guarded the corners of the house, some strategically planted to cover cracks in the foundation.

Entering the backyard, Jordan noticed an array of garden tools carefully lined up against the freshly painted back porch. A row of cement blocks had been placed under the porch to fix its sag and add support. Even the house’s brown and yellow bricks appeared cleaner, like Melody had had them sandblasted recently. The grass had been freshly cut, the wet shavings sticking to his white Nike cross-trainers. Jordan huffed, bending to wipe the shavings away.

Over here, children! Melody shouted in her lyrical voice. Hurry.

Jordan looked up. Melody stood by the Arch of Atlantis, waving. Like his uncle, and Amanda, there was something different about her too. Instead of wearing her usual plain-colored light blouse and dark skirt, she had on a leopard-print blouse over a white T-shirt and brown cargo pants with a tan fanny pack around her slim waist. With the exception of a pair of black canvas shoes covered in grass cuttings, Melody seemed ready to take on the world.

Drake hiked up his indigo jeans, and then rushed over to Melody to give her a hug. Jordan smiled. In a way, Melody had become a mother figure for Drake since losing his own mom a year ago in April. Every so often, Jordan would meet up with Drake at the cemetery so he wouldn’t have to be there alone. Treena tugged on Melody’s blouse, interrupting their hug, and did a three-sixty to show off her new outfit—black polo shirt, leather jacket, khaki pants, and wedge-heel black sandals. Her belly jiggled as she turned. Jordan rolled his eyes. Try as she might, Treena would never look as slim and shapely as Ashley, even in those expensive brand-names.

Ravi kneeled next to the rickety garden shed, shrugged off his black knapsack, and rearranged it so that his skateboard didn’t stick out as much. He pulled out a binder, a plastic bag full of his make-up artist crap, and…Jordan blinked…a tuxedo jacket?

Drake laughed. Junior prom’s not till spring, Ravi.

My mom told me to drop this off at the cleaners before school, Ravi replied, stuffing the jacket back into the bottom of his bag. But some douche pressured me into skateboarding to school.

My bad. Drake grinned. Tell your mom it’s my fault.

Melody’s witchy green eyes darted back and forth, like she was ready to cast a spell. Jordan, where’s your uncle?

Here! Uncle John huffed, shrugging on his Notre Dame jacket.

Melody smiled and said, I’ve got wonderful news, John. Last night, I took your advice and combed through all my Aunt Florence’s desk drawers in the library. Guess what I found?

Mold, Drake blurted.

Mouse poop? Ravi asked.

Uncle John rolled his eyes. Really?

Melody giggled. No, no nothing like that, boys. I found a bundle of these —she dipped into her fanny pack and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper— letters, like this one, written by my father. He must have been around ten at the time.

Wicked-awesome, Melody! Drake shouted. That’s kind of like finding buried treasure.

Treasure? Not from where I stand, Treena said. Now, if you found some gold or jewelry, then we’d be talking.

Drake snorted. Lose a parent and you’ll see what’s more important.

Oh, I see your point,