A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,147
going to tie the cloth around its waist—as if the creature had suddenly realized it was naked, and felt shame—but instead it hobbled to H, knelt beside him, and settled the cloth over his face.
That meant it remembered something: H had been its master.
“Can you speak?” I said. “I want to hear your voice.”
It turned to look at me, its face slack, swaying slightly on its feet. Its mouth fell open. A sound came out.
“Ehhhhhhhhh.”
A moan, not a word. But it was better than nothing.
“Yes,” I said. “What’s your name?”
It rocked its head from side to side. It was trying mightily to form words, but there seemed to be a great fog clouding its brain.
It opened its mouth again. Sucked in a breath.
A scream shattered the silence. Noor was sitting up now and terrified, her eyes going from the wight to me to H, dead under his shroud.
“It’s all right!” I shouted. “Everything’s fine!”
But my strained tone and everything before her contradicted that. Now that the hollow was transforming, it could be seen by anyone. She had woken suddenly into a terrifying scene and the light inside her, which had been pulsing gently while she was asleep, was now a sharp and brightening star rising up the column of her throat. I moved toward her, repeating that she wasn’t in danger, but she was shaking her head and couldn’t seem to speak. She looked afraid. Not of me or the wight or the dead man—but of the thing inside her she didn’t know how to stop. She was a brand-new peculiar and couldn’t fully control her ability yet.
I flung myself to the floor and covered my head with my arms. Through split fingers I saw Noor grip the sofa and turn away from me. Like a sneeze made of light, an explosion came out of her nose and mouth: a cone-shaped jet-engine exhalation that roared through the air and blasted into the kitchen. The walls, the floor, the whole apartment shook. A hot pressure wave blew over me, singeing the fine hairs on the back of my neck. There was an all-encompassing din of tile cracking and dishes breaking and metal warping, and the sudden, dazzling glare of the blast forced my eyes shut.
When it had dimmed again, I raised my head. There was a new light in the room—not the reddish-orange glow that had emanated from Noor, but daylight streaming through an open window. Smoke was pouring out of the kitchen. The half hollow was nowhere to be seen. The blast’s recoil had sent Noor flying over the couch and onto the floor, where I could hear her groaning.
“Noor?” I sat up slowly. “Are you hurt?”
“My head’s killing me,” I heard her say, and then her face appeared from behind the couch. “Otherwise . . .” She glanced down at herself. “No holes.” Smoke wafted from her lips as she spoke. “You?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but—”
“Jacob.” She stayed behind the couch, watching me. “What are you doing here?”
I sat up a little straighter. “I came to help you.”
“That hasn’t been working out so well.” She looked at H and winced. “For anyone.” She let her face fall onto the couch. “I keep telling myself none of this is happening,” she said into the cushions. “But I can’t seem to wake up from the nightmare.” She looked up at me. “Damn. You’re still here.”
“It’s not a dream,” I said. “I went through the same thing just a few months ago. I know exactly what you’re feeling.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” she said. “Just tell me what the hell is happening.”
“That would take hours, but the CliffsNotes version is: Bad people want to get their hands you; I’m one of the good guys; and we need to get you out of New York as quickly as possible.”
“You don’t even know me. Why are you helping me?”
“It’s a little hard to explain, but it’s kind of the family business.” I glanced behind me at H. “Also, I made a promise.”
“Does anything you say ever make sense?”
“It’ll start to.” I stood up and went to her. “Can you walk?”
She grabbed the arm of the couch and put her weight on it as she stood, then took a step.
“Looks like it,” she said.
“How about run?” I asked.
She wobbled a little, then sat heavily on the cushions. “Still getting my strength back,” she said. “And where are we running to, exactly?”
“To find someone named V. She used to work with H and my grandfather. That’s all I know.”
She laughed and shook her head. “This is crazy.”
“It always is. You’ll get used to it.”
There was a noise from behind us, and we both turned to see the rounded, white back of the thing that had formerly been a hollowgast but was not yet quite a wight. It was crouched in the window like a gargoyle, gripping the frame with its hands. Its body was aimed toward the street, as if it were about to jump.
Noor recoiled into the cushions.
“His name is Horatio,” I said. “You couldn’t see him before, but he was always by the old man’s side.”
“Eeeeeee,” the half hollow said, turning to look at us over its shoulder. It seemed to be trying to speak. “Sssssssss . . . iiiiiiicks.”
“Six! Is that what you said?” I took an excited step toward it, and it gave a squeal of warning and started to let go.
I froze and raised both hands. “Don’t!”
It looked both newborn and unfathomably old. And so, so tired.
It opened its mouth again.
“Deeeeeeee,” said the half hollow.
Noor sat forward on the couch. “Was that a D?”
“Fie . . . vuh.”
“Five,” I said.
I looked at Noor, excited. “It’s talking to us!”
“They sound like grid coordinates,” said Noor. “E-six. D-five. Like on a map.”
Like on a Map of Days.
“In the storm,” said the half hollow in a high, tremulous voice.
It could talk!
“In the heart . . . of the storm.”
“What is?” I said. “What’s in the heart of the storm?”
“The one you seek.”
It lifted one hand from the window and pointed at the wall. The wall with the safe in it, which was now hanging open.
I got up and ran to it. The wind from Noor’s blast had blown off the door, and the floor was strewn with papers: a money clip stuffed with bills; a single photograph; a book; and an old, worn-looking map. I bent down and picked up the photograph. It was a black-and-white snapshot of a little town with a threatening sky and the black funnel of a tornado bearing down in the distance.
The heart of the storm. In the big wind.
I held the photo up. “Is this where we’re supposed to find V?”
I looked back to find the window empty, and where the half hollow had been a moment earlier there was just a curtain blowing in the breeze.
I turned to Noor. “What happened?”
She was on her feet, halfway to the window, eyes wide. “He just . . . let go.”
Voices were shouting from the street below. Noor rushed over to look.
“Don’t!” I hissed. “They could see you!”
She caught herself too late and ducked down below the window. “I think they just did.”
“It’s fine. We’ll find a back way out.”
I gathered the map, the money, and the photo, and met Noor under the window. We were both in a crouch, our knees touching, a breeze tousling our hair.
“Are you ready?” I said.
“No.” But she looked unafraid, challenging me with her eyes.