A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(39)

It almost sounded like she was poking fun at me.

“I’m ready,” I insisted. “So are the others. I want us to work for you in America, like my grandfather used to.”

“Abe’s group didn’t take orders from us,” said Miss Peregrine. “They were entirely self-directed.”

“They were?”

“Abe did things his own way,” Miss Peregrine said. “Our world has changed a lot since then, and we can no longer function in such a manner. In any case, the way Abe conducted business does not affect this conversation. All that matters is that the situation in America is still developing. Right now that’s all we can tell you. When we need your help there—and when the council thinks you and your friends are ready—we will ask for it.”

“Yes,” said Miss Cuckoo. “But until then—”

“You want me to be a motivational speaker.”

Miss Peregrine sighed. She was starting to get exasperated with me, and I was starting to get angry. “You’ve had a hard day, Mr. Portman.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said. “Look, I just want to do something that matters.”

“He wants maybe to be an ymbryne?” Miss Cuckoo said, smirking.

I pushed my chair back and stood up.

“Where are you going?” asked Miss Peregrine.

“To find my friends,” I said, and started toward the door.

“One step at a time, Jacob!” Miss Peregrine called after me. “You have the rest of your life to be a hero.”



* * *



? ? ?

My friends were still elsewhere in the building, discussing the details of their work assignments, so I sat on a bench in the busy lobby and waited, and while I was waiting, I decided something. My grandfather had never asked the ymbrynes’ permission to do his work, and I didn’t need their permission to continue it. That Abe had left his logbook for me to find was permission enough. I needed a mission. And to get one of those—

“Omigod.”

“Uhhhhhh. Are you Jacob Portman?”

Two girls had sat down next to me. I tore myself away from my train of thought to look over at them, and was surprised to see only one girl. She was Asian, a bit younger than me, dressed in seventies-era flannel and bell-bottoms—and most definitely by herself.

“I’m him,” I said.

“Would you sign my arm?” she said, holding out one arm. Then she held out the other and said, in a deeper voice, “And mine, too?”

She saw my confusion. “We’re a binary,” she explained. “Sometimes we’re confused for a dual-personality person, but we actually have two hearts, souls, brains—”

“And voice boxes!” said her other voice.

“Wow, that’s cool,” I said, genuinely impressed. “It’s great to meet you. But . . . I don’t think I should be signing body parts.”

“Oh,” they said together.

“Are you excited about Miss Grackle’s production?” said the deeper voice. “I can’t wait. She did one about Miss Wren and her animals last season. The Grass Menagerie.”

“It was far out. Very groovy.”

“Who do you think they’ll get to play you?”

“Uh, wow, I really don’t know. Hey, would you guys excuse me?”

I stood up, apologized again, and started quickly across the room. Not because I wanted to get away from them—well, not entirely—but because I had spotted someone who looked familiar in a way that made my brain itch, and I had to go and find out who he was.

He was a clerk behind one of the lobby windows. A young man with close-cropped hair, deep brown skin, and soft features. I knew his face from somewhere but couldn’t quite place it. I thought if I spoke to him it might jog my memory. He saw me coming, snatched a quill pen from his ink stand, and pretended to be writing as I arrived at his window.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked him.

He didn’t look up. “No,” the man said.

“I’m Jacob Portman.”

He glanced up at me. Unimpressed. “Yes.”

“We haven’t met before?”

“No.”

I was getting nowhere. Engraved on the window was INFORMATION.

“I need some information.”

“About?”

“An associate of my grandfather’s. I’m trying to get in contact with him. If he’s still alive.”

“We’re not a directory service, sir.”

“Then what sort of information do you give out?”

“We don’t give it. We collect it.”

He reached across his desk, then handed me a long form. “Here, fill this out.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, and dropped it back on his desk.

He scowled at me.

“Jacob!”

Miss Peregrine was walking toward me across the lobby, my friends trailing behind. In a moment I would be surrounded.

I leaned through the window and said, “I do know you from somewhere.”

“If you insist,” said the man.

“Ready to go?” said Horace.

“I’m starving,” said Olive. “Can we have American food again?”