A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(128)

She grabbed the arm of the couch and put her weight on it as she stood, then took a step.

“Looks like it,” she said.

“How about run?” I asked.

She wobbled a little, then sat heavily on the cushions. “Still getting my strength back,” she said. “And where are we running to, exactly?”

“To find someone named V. She used to work with H and my grandfather. That’s all I know.”

She laughed and shook her head. “This is crazy.”

“It always is. You’ll get used to it.”

There was a noise from behind us, and we both turned to see the rounded, white back of the thing that had formerly been a hollowgast but was not yet quite a wight. It was crouched in the window like a gargoyle, gripping the frame with its hands. Its body was aimed toward the street, as if it were about to jump.

Noor recoiled into the cushions.

“His name is Horatio,” I said. “You couldn’t see him before, but he was always by the old man’s side.”

“Eeeeeee,” the half hollow said, turning to look at us over its shoulder. It seemed to be trying to speak. “Sssssssss . . . iiiiiiicks.”

“Six! Is that what you said?” I took an excited step toward it, and it gave a squeal of warning and started to let go.

I froze and raised both hands. “Don’t!”

It looked both newborn and unfathomably old. And so, so tired.

It opened its mouth again.

“Deeeeeeee,” said the half hollow.

Noor sat forward on the couch. “Was that a D?”

“Fie . . . vuh.”

“Five,” I said.

I looked at Noor, excited. “It’s talking to us!”

“They sound like grid coordinates,” said Noor. “E-six. D-five. Like on a map.”

Like on a Map of Days.

“In the storm,” said the half hollow in a high, tremulous voice.

It could talk!

“In the heart . . . of the storm.”

“What is?” I said. “What’s in the heart of the storm?”

“The one you seek.”

It lifted one hand from the window and pointed at the wall. The wall with the safe in it, which was now hanging open.

I got up and ran to it. The wind from Noor’s blast had blown off the door, and the floor was strewn with papers: a money clip stuffed with bills; a single photograph; a book; and an old, worn-looking map. I bent down and picked up the photograph. It was a black-and-white snapshot of a little town with a threatening sky and the black funnel of a tornado bearing down in the distance.

The heart of the storm. In the big wind.

I held the photo up. “Is this where we’re supposed to find V?”

I looked back to find the window empty, and where the half hollow had been a moment earlier there was just a curtain blowing in the breeze.

I turned to Noor. “What happened?”

She was on her feet, halfway to the window, eyes wide. “He just . . . let go.”

Voices were shouting from the street below. Noor rushed over to look.

“Don’t!” I hissed. “They could see you!”

She caught herself too late and ducked down below the window. “I think they just did.”

“It’s fine. We’ll find a back way out.”

I gathered the map, the money, and the photo, and met Noor under the window. We were both in a crouch, our knees touching, a breeze tousling our hair.

“Are you ready?” I said.

“No.” But she looked unafraid, challenging me with her eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

“Hell, no.”

I laughed. “We can work on that.”

I offered her my hand.

She took it.