A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(87)

“Listen,” said Horace. “Miss P is hopping mad. We tried to cover for you as long as we could, but Claire slipped up and told her the truth, and now she’s gunning for you. Absolutely livid.”

“Is that why you’re calling?” I said. “We knew she’d be mad.”

“Do me a favor,” said Horace. “If she asks, tell her we all told you not to do it, and you didn’t listen.”

“You better come home right away,” said Olive.

“We can’t,” said Bronwyn. “We’re on a mission.”

“When she finds out what we’ve been up to, I’m certain she’ll understand,” said Millard.

“I’m not so sure,” said Olive. “She turns a funny color whenever your names come up.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“Out looking for you,” said another voice. “This is Hugh, incidentally.”

Now I was imagining them all crowded around the receiver in my parents’ room, listening with their heads together.

“Hi, Hugh,” said Emma. “Where’s Miss P looking for us?”

“She didn’t say. She just told us not to leave the house or we’d be grounded forever, then flew off.”

“Grounded, my buttock!” said Enoch. “You can’t let her treat you like babies.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Hugh. “You’re out there having adventures while we’re here with a steaming-mad headmistress. We got a four-hour lecture last night—which was meant for you—about responsibility and honor and trust and on and on until I thought my head would fall off.”

“It’s not all fun and games, you know,” said Bronwyn. “Adventuring is a real pain. We haven’t slept or showered or eaten properly since we left, and we nearly got shot in Florida and Enoch is starting to smell like a wet dog.”

Enoch sneered. “At least I don’t look like one.”

“That still sounds better than being stuck here,” said Horace. “Anyway, please be safe and come back alive. And I realize this will sound strange, but in the process of your adventuring, please remember—Chinese restaurants good, Continental cuisine bad.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Emma.

“What is ‘Continental cuisine,’ even?” I said.

“It was part of a dream I had,” said Horace. “All I know is, it’s important.”

We said we would remember, and then Horace and Olive said goodbye. Before he hung up, Hugh asked us if we had heard anything about Fiona during our travels.

I looked at Emma, who looked as ashamed as I suddenly felt.

“Not yet,” Emma said. “But we’ll keep asking, Hugh. Everywhere we go.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Thanks.” And he hung up.

I put the phone down. Emma turned and grimaced at the back seat.

“Don’t look at me that way,” said Enoch. “Fiona was a wonderful, sweet girl. But she is dead, and if Hugh can’t accept that, it isn’t our fault.”

“We should still have asked,” said Bronwyn. “We could have asked at the Flamingo hotel, and in Portal . . .”

“We’ll ask from now on,” I said. “And if it turns out she really is dead, at least we can say we did right by Hugh.”

“Agreed,” said Emma.

“Agreed,” said Bronwyn.

“Eh,” said Enoch.

“Shall we discuss our plan?” said Millard, who excelled at changing the subject when things got too emotional.

“Jolly good idea,” said Enoch. “I didn’t realize we had one.”

“We’re going to the school,” Bronwyn said. “To find a peculiar person who’s in danger, and help them.”

“That’s right. I forgot, we already have an excellent, detailed plan. What was I thinking?”

“I can tell now when you’re using sarcasm,” said Bronwyn. “And you are. Right?”

“Not at all!” Enoch said sarcastically. “It’ll be dead simple. We walk into this school we’ve never been to and ask everyone we meet, ‘Say, do you children know any peculiar people? Anyone around here manifest any peculiar abilities lately?’ And, sooner or later, we’ll find them.”

Bronwyn was shaking her head. “Enoch, that sounds like a bad plan.”

“He’s being sarcastic,” said Millard.

“You said you weren’t!” said Bronwyn, looking hurt.

Morning rush hour was beginning to congest the highway. A semi truck merged in front of me and I had to slow down suddenly, and then it belched a cloud of black fumes all over us. Millard and I started coughing. I rolled up my window.

“And where are we supposed to take this peculiar, exactly?” asked Enoch.

Emma unfolded the mission report. “Loop ten thousand forty-four,” she read.

“And where is that?” said Bronwyn.

“We don’t know yet,” Emma replied.

Bronwyn buried her face in her hands. “Oh, this isn’t going to work, is it? And Miss Peregrine’s never going to forgive us, and it will have all been for nothing!”

A moment ago she had been convinced it would be easy, and now she had lost all hope.