A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,130
letter opener at her. “You better not rain in here, angel face. I just had this carpet steamed.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“So.” Leo aimed the opener at us. “This them?”
“That’s them,” said Wreck.
“Where’s the dog boy?”
“He got away,” said the tall man, his voice a snaky slither.
Leo gripped the letter opener a little tighter. “That ain’t good, Bill. People are gonna get the idea that we’re soft on crime.”
“We’ll get him, Leo.”
“You better.” He looked to Wreck and Angelica. “Now, as for you. I heard you were attending an illegal auction.”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” said Wreck. “These peculiars here?” He gestured to my friends and me. “We were trying to hire them. It was a . . . job fair.”
“Job fair!” Leo chuckled. “That’s a new one. You sure you weren’t trading them under the table? Inducing them via threats or intimidation to render services to you free of charge?”
“No, no, no,” Wreck was saying.
“We’d never do that,” said Angelica.
“And what are you supposed to do with outsiders?” said Leo.
“Bring them to you,” said Wreck.
“That’s right.”
“Frankie thought they were nobody special, that’s why—”
“Frankie’s a mental midget!” Leo shouted. “Sorting out who’s nobody and who’s an infiltrator ain’t her department. You bring outsiders to me and I sort ’em out! Got it?”
“Yes, Leo,” they said in unison.
“Now, where’s the light-eater?”
“Cooling her heels in the lounge,” said Leo’s man, Bill. “I got Jimmy and Walker with her.”
“Good. Don’t be rough on her. We want to try and make friends first, remember.”
“Got it, Leo.”
Leo turned to us. Took his feet off the desk and sat forward. “Where you from?” he said. “You’re Californios, ain’t ya? Meese’s people?”
“I’m from Florida,” I said.
“We’re from the UK,” said Bronwyn. Her voice sounded raw.
“We don’t know who Meese is or understand any of what you’re talking about,” said Emma.
Leo nodded. Looked down at his desk. Was quiet for a strangely long moment. When he looked up again, his face had gone ruddy with anger.
“My name’s Leo Burnham, and I run this town.”
“Whole East Coast,” said Bill.
“Here’s how this is gonna work. I ask you questions and you answer straight. I’m not a guy you lie to. I’m not a guy whose time you waste.” Leo raised his hand above his head and brought it down hard, stabbing the letter opener deep into the top of his desk. Everyone in the room jumped.
“Read the charges, Bill,” said Leo.
Bill flipped open a pad of paper. “Trespassing. Resisting arrest. Kidnapping an uncontacted peculiar.”
“Add lying about their identity,” said Leo.
“Got it, Leo,” said Bill, scribbling.
Leo stood up from his tall chair, walked around behind it, and rested his forearms on its golden trim. “After the wights and shadow beasts skipped town and things started to open up,” he said, “I knew it was only a matter of time before somebody tried to make a move on our territory. I figured they’d start by trying to pick off one of the podunk loops on the outskirts. Missy Fineman’s outfit out in the Pine Barrens. Juice Barrow’s joint in the Poconos. But to come after one of the most powerful ferals we’ve seen in I don’t know how long, and to do it right in our backyard in broad daylight—” He straightened as he said it, spittle flying in a flash of anger. “That’s not only brazen, it’s an insult. That’s the Californios saying, ‘Leo’s weak. Leo’s sleeping. Let’s just waltz into his house and steal his piggy bank, because we can get away with it.’”
“You’re clearly quite upset,” said Millard, “and while I certainly don’t want to upset you further by disagreeing with you, we simply aren’t who you seem to think we are.”
Leo came out from behind his chair and stood in front of Millard, who had been forced to wear a striped gown that made it harder for him to slip away unnoticed.
“Are you from here?” Leo asked, his tone even.
“No,” replied Millard.
“Were you trying to remove that feral?”
“What’s a feral, exactly?”
Leo punched Millard in the stomach. Millard doubled over and groaned.
“Stop it!” Emma shouted.
“Bill, tell ’em what a feral is.”
“A peculiar who don’t know they’re peculiar and ain’t yet allied with any particular clan or crew,” Bill said, as if reciting from memory.
“Feral” seemed to be another word for uncontacted—but more derogatory.
“She was in danger,” I said. “We were trying to help her.”
“By taking her out of the five boroughs.” Leo sounded incredulous.
“To our loop in London,” said Bronwyn. “Where she’d be safe from people like you.”