A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(89)

“And we’ll come back tomorrow, when we’ve had some rest,” I said. Forget the needle—at that moment I wouldn’t have been able to find the haystack.

“Excellent plan,” said Emma. “If I don’t get some sleep soon, I may start hallucinating.”

“Someone’s coming!” hissed Bronwyn.

I looked out my window to see a trim white man walking toward the car. He wore a black polo shirt tucked into khaki pants, plastic mirrored sunglasses, and held a walkie-talkie in one hand. He was a classic vice-principal type.

“Names!” he barked.

“Hi there,” I said, calm and friendly.

“What are your names?” he repeated, humorless. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

“We don’t go to school here, so we don’t have to tell you,” said Bronwyn.

Enoch’s face fell into his hands. “You idiot.”

The man bent to peer inside the car and raised his walkie-talkie. “Base, this is perimeter, I’ve got some unknown youths here,” and then he walked around the back of the car and started reading off the license plate number.

I started the car and gave it a little gas at the same time, which made the engine bark loudly enough that the man jumped and stumbled backward. (It was a trick I was coming to depend on.) Before he could regain his footing, I pulled away from the curb.

“He gave me a bad feeling,” said Emma.

“Most vice principals do,” I said.

But then I got a sudden, sharp pain in my stomach. As I turned the corner and drove down the long side of the school, I clenched my jaw and hunched forward, trying to hide it from the others.

I wondered, could it have been a hollowgast? Was that the danger this uncontacted peculiar was in?

Then the pain subsided, vanishing just as quickly as it had come, and I decided, for the time being, to keep those thoughts to myself.



* * *



? ? ?

We found a place to rest our heads by looking through the stack of postcards I’d brought from home—the ones Abe had sent me during his later-life travels. I remembered having seen one from the New York area, and when we’d put a few miles between us and the school, I parked the car and looked through the stack to find it. On the picture side was a very dated, exceedingly bland photo of a hotel room, and on the back was the hotel’s name, address, and a short note from Abe to me, postmarked nine years ago.

Looks like I’ll be staying here a few days, just

Outside of NYC. Nice, quiet place, great amenities. I’m seeing

Old friends. If you ever come to New York, I recommend this

Particular hotel. Ask for room 203. Much love, Grandpa





“Notice anything about his note?” Millard said.

“It’s a bit random,” said Emma. “Why did he bother saying what room he stayed in?”

“It’s the simplest code there is. An acrostic.”

“A what?” I said.

“Read the first letter of each line. What does it spell?”

I squinted at it. “L-O-O-P.”

“Oh my wow goodness,” Bronwyn said, leaning forward to look.

“He was leaving you coded messages,” said Millard. “Good old Abe, looking out for you even beyond the grave.”

I shook my head, amazed, turning the postcard over in my hands. “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said quietly.

“But we don’t need to stay in loops,” said Emma. “We’re not running from hollows, we’re not in danger of aging forward, and it could be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Yes, you do meet some strange people in loops,” said Bronwyn, “and I don’t mean to be antisocial, but I just want to sleep.”

“I think we should give it a try,” said Millard. “We need to find out where loop ten thousand forty-four is, and perhaps someone there will know.”

Enoch sighed. “As long as it’s got a bed. My neck is half broken from trying to sleep in this car.”

I wanted to go, and so I cast the deciding vote. It was mostly out of curiosity, and I liked the feeling that I was following in Abe’s footsteps. So we drove through Brooklyn and crossed a giant, double-decked suspension bridge to Staten Island. Within twenty minutes we had arrived at the place, a motel called The Falls. It was a shabby two-level building with rooms that opened onto a busy street and a sign that boasted TV IN EVERY ROOM.

We went into the office and asked for room 203. The clerk was tall and gangly and had his legs propped up on his desk. He wore a heavy wool sweater even though it was hot outside. He put down the magazine he’d been reading and studied us.

“Why do you want that room?”

“It was highly recommended,” I said.

He took his feet off the desk. “What clan you with?”

“Miss Peregrine’s,” said Bronwyn.

“Never heard of it.”

“Then, none.”

“You must not be from around here.”

“Isn’t that the point of a hotel?” said Emma. “To accommodate people who don’t live nearby?”

“Look, usually we only rent to people who are clan-affiliated, but we’re almost empty, so I’ll make an exception. I’ll just have to see some proof of identification first.”