Into the Dim

by Janet B. Taylor

Sixteen year-old Hope Walton travels back in time to rescue her mother who is trapped in twelfth century England in the age of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Along the way, she becomes entangled with a secret society of time travelers and a mysterious boy who could be vital to setting her mother free... or the key to Hope's undoing.

  • Format: Hardcover
  • ISBN-13/ EAN: 9780544602007
  • ISBN-10: 0544602005
  • Pages: 432
  • Publication Date: 03/01/2016
  • Carton Quantity: 24

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About the Book
About the Author
Excerpts
Reviews
  • About the Book

    "Instantly engaging, constantly suspenseful, ultimately poignant and satisfying. Loved it!"--Diana Gabaldon, author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Outlander series 

     

    When fragile, sixteen-year-old Hope Walton loses her mom to an earthquake overseas, her secluded world crumbles. Agreeing to spend the summer in Scotland, Hope discovers that her mother was more than a brilliant academic, but also a member of a secret society of time travelers. And she's alive, though currently trapped in the twelfth century, during the age of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Hope has seventy-two hours to rescue her mother and get back to their own time. Passing through the Dim, Hope enters a brutal medieval world of political intrigue, danger, and violence. A place where any serious interference could alter the very course of history. And when she meets a boy whose face is impossibly familiar, she must decide between her mission and her heart—both of which could leave Hope trapped in the past forever. 

        

  • About the Author
  • Excerpts

    CHAPTER 1

    EVERYONE IN TOWN KNEW THE COFFIN WAS EMPTY. 

         I think that’s what packed the pews—the pure curiosity of the thing. They didn’t come for love or admiration. Nope. They came for the show. They came because it was big news. A juicy scandal that jolted our small southern town like spikes of summer lightning. 

         Hometown boy Matthew Walton was finally laying his wife to rest. By the time my mother’s funeral began, it was standing-room only. 

         Though it was only midafternoon, I was already drained. Sweat bled through the back of my shirt, gluing me to the wooden bench. As the inept fan buzzed overhead, a quick, darting movement caught my eye. A small bird flitted among the rafters. Trapped. I knew exactly how it felt. 

         As the priest droned a pallid eulogy, venomous whispers began to surge from the hushed crowd behind me. The hateful words oozed up to corrode my skin, exposing muscle and tendon and jittery nerve endings. 

         “. . . hate to speak ill of the dead, but we’re all thinking it.” “Personally, I couldn’t stand the woman.” “That Sarah Walton. Always thought she was so much better than the rest of us.” “Yeah. Snooty bit . . .” 

         The voices trailed off as the priest wound down. But the quiet round of chuckles that followed made my teeth shriek, like biting down on tinfoil. My throat ached with the urge to scream. To tell them how they were all vapid, backward simpletons, just like my mom always claimed. 

         Of course, I’d yell into their outraged faces. Of course she thought she was better than you. Because she was. She was better than all of you put together. 

         My mother was far from “snooty.” She simply couldn’t tolerate these small-town divas with their sly prejudice and malicious gossip. She’d rejected them long ago, and they’d never forgiven her for it. But she was brilliant and brave and . . . 

         Gone. 

         The word slammed around in my brain, keeping time with the bird’s desperate circling. I could almost hear its fragile heart, beating so fast it was bound to rupture. 

         My hands clenched in my lap. My legs strained with the effort of staying in my seat. God, I wanted to see their shocked expressions when I shot to my feet, spun around, and— 

         I flinched at a sudden thump. The bird, in a bid for freedom, had crashed into the false security of the stained-glass window. It tumbled to the floor in a heap of floating feathers. My heart stuttered, and the rage dissipated on a wave of exhaustion. My fists relaxed. The urge to scream subsided as I stared at the crumpled creature lying so still on the ground. A life snuffed out in an instant, just like that. 

         The eulogy ended. Jaw set, I followed my dad’s stooped form to our place near the altar. As his narrow shoulders hitched, I finally let my gaze drift to my mother’s beautiful, empty coffin. I sidled away, gulping. Pain pinged my temples. An iron band tightened around my scalp. Squinting against the pain, I focused on the details. Burled walnut, mahogany inlay, brass handles, and the casket’s manufacturer discreetly embossed in the lower left corner: johnson & sons. 

         The words roared out of nowhere, a newspaper article I’d seen years before began to scroll through my mind in neat, orderly rows. 

         Johnson & Sons have manufactured fine quality caskets locally since 1921, when Johannes Johnson immigrated from— 

         My hands twitched. Not. Now. 

         I struggled to concentrate on something else before the words overwhelmed me. Before they became too big for my skull. I tried to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but my gaze kept drifting back to the flower-draped coffin. 

         Roses, lilies, and a huge spray of reeking blue carnations that Mom had always called by their Old English term, “gillyflowers.” The Gillyflower. Queen Elizabeth Tudor’s favorite blossom. She surrounded herself with them at court . . . 

         The information swelled, marching across my vision in glowing green columns. The genus and origin of each type of blossom, followed by dates and significant events of Elizabeth’s reign. The words expanded until details of every European monarch since Charlemagne flowed before my eyes in a translucent overlay of glowing green columns. 

         August 12, 30 B.C., Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, committed suicide. 

         1775, Russian czarina Catherine the Great defeated the Pugachev Rebellion. 

         On and on it went, until the chapel and the mourners—the real world—filtered away. I felt myself swaying, listening only to the symphony of knowledge in my head. Then, cutting through the din, the sound of my mother’s voice, low and incessant. 

         A true photographic memory is extremely rare, Hope. It is imperative that we devise a way to keep your mind organized. People with your kind of eidetic abilities must learn to contain all that information, to tamp it down, or it will overwhelm you. Concentrate. Stay firmly grounded. Focus only on what is right before you. 

         My training kicked in. I shoved back the mass of useless information, spooling it down into the mental image we’d come up with. A battered gray filing cabinet, like the one in Mom’s office. In my head, I slammed the door for good measure and glanced over at my dad. 

         He hadn’t noticed. That was no surprise. Pasting on a smile, Dad heaved a quiet sigh as curious mourners began to thread their way toward us for handshakes and awkward hugs. 

         Firmly grounded. Focus on what’s right before me. 

         Yeah. ’Cause that’s so much better. 

         The endless line passed, leaving behind a sickly odor. Too many flowers mixed with a crap-ton of cheap cologne. My gut began to rebel as Dad turned to me, brown eyes owlish and distracted behind thick frames. When he couldn’t quite meet my eyes, a last phrase—a straggler—loosed from the billions I’d tucked neatly away. It curled and flapped like a ribbon set loose on the wind. 

         A miasma arose. The decaying bouquet of a doomed queen’s garden. 

         Who wrote that? The answer came to hand like a well-trained dog. Oh, right. It was— 

         “Well, thank God that’s done and we can all get back to our lives,” my grandmother said as she marched toward us. “Though I still say it was a ridiculous waste of money to buy a casket, Matt. You could’ve had a nice little memorial service, but—” 

         “Hope and I needed closure, Mother,” Dad s...

  • Reviews

    "Instantly engaging, constantly suspenseful, ultimately poignant and satisfying. Loved it!"--Diana Gabaldon, author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Outlander series 

     

    "Debut author Taylor adeptly blends the fantastical and the historical as she sends her reluctant heroine back to the age of Eleanor of Aquitaine in order to save her mother. Taylor’s writing is bright with detail and her plot dense with action as Hope learns to be brave and resourceful when circumstances turn dire." 

    Publishers Weekly 

     

    "Janet B. Taylor’s absorbing novel keeps the action moving with well-timed revelations, deftly drawn historical events and personages, and a sparks-flying romance."--School Library Journal 

     

    "Readers will connect with Hope and her anxiety and quest to fit into the world. This book immerses readers into a fast-moving, action-packed story with great characters and an excellent historical setting. Supporting characters are fun and bring much to the plot and development of Hope’s character... This is recommended as a wonderful addition to existing science fiction and historical fiction collections." 

    —VOYA 

     

    "Historical-fiction and romance fans will be thrilled with this strong addition to the genres." 

    Booklist Online 

     

    Into the Dim is a time-travel adventure that will leave readers breathless. Janet Taylor has woven a story that will capture action seekers and romance lovers and pull them along for the ride.”—Joelle Charbonneau - New York Times bestselling author of THE TESTING trilogy 

     

    "Janet B. Taylor's Into the Dim shines bright.  This debut time travel novel captures the imagination and takes the reader on a fascinating journey to 12th century England, deftly weaving historical characters like Eleanor of Aquitaine and Thomas Becket into the drama.  Rich with period detail, and an intriguing lead character, this is YA science fiction at its best." --Rysa Walker, author of The Chronos Files Series 

     

    “Janet B. Taylor’s Into the Dim is one truly enjoyable read. A fast-paced, time-travel adventure with rogue Tesla science and Middle Ages history, it will make you want to jump back into the English court, after a proper round of smallpox and typhoid vaccines, of course.” —Kendare Blake, author of Anna Dressed in Blood 

     

    "The perfect blend of mystery, sci-fi, action, cute guys, romance, history and gorgeous Scotland!" Justine magazine 

     

    “A total page-turner full of action, interesting history and a timeless romance (literally!). Be sure you have time to read this book in one sitting—I promise you won’t be able to put it down.” —Marin L., 16  (Girls Life reader) 

     

    “Why You’ll Love It: Three words: Young Adult Outlander. …It’s the first book in a series, promising forbidden love, high stakes and epic thrills in the Scottish highlands.” —Paste Magazine online 

     

    "“Fantasy, historical events, and time-travel all combine for a suspenseful and fun trip to the medieval period.” —Bustle 

     

    "“You don’t want to miss this time-traveling adventure, thrilling romance, and rich, historical tale.” —The Columbus Dispatch

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