A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(75)

Paul pulled himself back inside the car and shouted, “Okay, okay, brake, brake, YOU SHOULD BRAKE,” and I hit the brake as we crested a rise. All four wheels of the car left the ground for a second, and when we landed again I felt the car bottom out before we skidded to a stop.

“Ughhhhh,” Millard groaned from the back seat.

Dust swirled in the air. The engine ticked. We had come to rest by an old red barn at the edge of a little town.

Paul opened his door and stepped out. “Welcome to Portal!”

“Oh, thank Hades,” said Millard. He shoved his way out of the car, and a moment later I heard him throwing up.

Everyone got out, grateful to have solid ground beneath their feet. The car’s windows had been open as we barreled through the field, and now everyone was covered in a film of dust and sweat. I raked a hand down my face and my fingers came away gritty.

“Now you’ve got stripes,” Emma said, using her sleeve to wipe my cheek.

“You can clean up at my house,” said Paul, and he waved us after him.



* * *



? ? ?

We followed him into town. It was all of three blocks from end to end and looked as if had been made entirely, but expertly, by hand, from the houses to the packed-dirt streets to the wooden sidewalks. It was 1935 here, Paul explained, and the loop at Portal had been made in the worst depths of the Great Depression. Despite all that, it was neat as a pin, and everywhere someone could’ve planted flowers or painted a happy color it had been done, and the dozen or so people I saw walking were all dressed to the nines. It was a cheerful, homey place, and I already wished we didn’t have to leave in such a hurry.

“Paul Hemsley!” someone shouted.

“Uh-oh,” I heard Paul mutter.

A teenage girl came running toward him. She wore a crisp white dress and a fashionable floppy hat, and there was fire in her eyes. “You don’t call, you don’t write—”

“Sorry I’m late, Alene.”

“Late!” She took off the hat and swatted him with it. “You’ve been gone two years!”

“I got hung up.”

“I’m ’bout to hang you up,” she said, and he leapt off the sidewalk as she swatted at him again. She huffed, then turned to us and nodded. “Alene Norcross. Pleased to meet you.”

Before any of us could reply, two other girls who looked about Alene’s age ran up. Paul introduced them as June and Fern, his sisters. They wrapped Paul in fierce embraces, berated him for being gone so long, then turned to us.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” said Fern. “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” I said. “He did us a huge favor.”

“Yeah!” said Bronwyn. “We needed to find this place, but we thought we were looking for an actual portal, not a town called Portal, because we have this—oww!”





Emma had pinched her on the arm, and now she walked on tiptoes to whisper something in Bronwyn’s ear. Even Paul didn’t know about H, or about the package we were here to deliver. We had agreed to follow H’s advice and keep that information to ourselves until we knew where to deliver it. Bronwyn scowled at Emma, and Emma scowled back at her.

“We have an important meeting here,” I said.

Fern perked up. “Oh yes? With who?”

“With whom,” said June.

“With whoooooom,” said Fern, sounding like an owl.

“With whomever is in charge,” said Emma. “I guess you don’t have an ymbryne, but is there someone close to that?”

“Miss Annie,” said June.

Fern and Alene nodded in agreement. “Miss Annie’s been here longer than anyone. You got a question, you need advice, you go to her.”

“Can we meet her now?” said Emma.

The girls looked at one another, and something passed silently between them. “I think she’s sleeping,” Alene said.

“But stay for supper,” said Fern. “Elmer’s serving up his famous seventy-two-hour lamb, and Miss Annie hates to miss it.”

“Spit-roasted,” said June. “Falls right off the bone.”

I looked at Emma. She shrugged. It looked like we were staying for supper.

We followed Paul through town. He slowed as we approached a young man kneeling by a seriously cute puppy.

“Brother Reggie!” Paul called out. “You teach him to roll over yet?”

“Hey, look who’s back!” the boy said, looking up and giving Paul a salute. “Not yet. He’s a good pup, but I think his brain’s too small.”

“Aww, that’s cruel,” said Bronwyn.

“I don’t mean to be,” said Reggie. “I just have to let him out of this loop for a while so he can get bigger. He won’t grow here.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Bronwyn.





“That’s why you almost never see babies in loops,” Emma explained. “It’s considered immoral to keep them that young for an unnaturally long time.”

A minute later we passed a little white boy standing at an open window in a clapboard house. He wore antiquated headphones and seemed deep in concentration. Paul raised a hand and the boy leaned out the window and waved.