A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,103

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.”

“Sure,” I said, starting to get out my wallet.

“Not like that,” he said. “I mean, proof.”

“I think he means proof that we’re peculiar,” said Millard. He lifted a business card holder on the front desk, twirled it in the air, and set it down again. “Invisible here, hello!”

“That’ll do,” the clerk said. “What type of room you want?”

“We don’t care,” Enoch said, “we just want to sleep.” But the clerk was already pulling a laminated binder out from under the desk. He set it down, opened it, and began to list the options.

“Now, of course there’s your standard room—nice, but nothing fancy—but what we’re famous for are the special accommodations we offer our peculiar guests. We have a room for the gravitationally challenged.” He flipped to a picture of a smiling family posing in a room that had all its furniture bolted to the ceiling. “The floaters love it. They can relax, dine, even sleep in total comfort without need of weighted garments or belts.”

He turned to a picture of a girl in bed with a wolf, both of them in nightclothes. “There’s pet-friendly rooms where peculiar animals of most persuasions are welcome, so long as they’re house-trained, under a hundred pounds, and are certified nonlethal.”

He flipped another page to a photo of what looked like a nicely furnished underground bunker. “And we have a special room for our, eh, combustible guests.” He flicked his eyes to Emma. “So they don’t burn down the rest of the property in their sleep.”

Emma looked offended. “I never combust spontaneously. And we don’t have pets, and we don’t float.”

The clerk wasn’t done. “We also have a room filled with nice, loamy soil for guests with roots, or the partially dead—”

“We don’t need any weird rooms!” Enoch snapped. “A regular one is fine!”

“Suit yourself.” The clerk slapped the book shut. “Regular room. Just a few more questions.”

Enoch groaned as the clerk began filling out a form.

“Smoking or nonsmoking?”

“None of us smoke cigarettes,” Bronwyn said.

“I didn’t ask about cigarettes. Do you emit smoke from any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Nonsmoking.” He checked a box on the form. “Singles or doubles?”

“We’d all like to be together in the same room,” said Millard.

“I didn’t ask that,” the clerk said. “Do any of you have doubles? Doppelgängers, replicants, mirror brothers. We’ll need an extra deposit and photo ID for each one.”

“None,” I said.

He marked the form. “How many years will you be staying?”

“How many years?”

“. . . will you be staying?”

“Just one night,” said Emma.

“Extra charge for that,” he muttered, marking the form, then looked up. “Right this way.”

He slouched out of the office. We followed him down a dingy exterior hall