was still in business. I looked up its modern phone number, and called it.
I heard a series of clicks, like the call was being routed through some foreign exchange. Then it began to ring, maybe ten, twelve times, until a gruff male voice finally answered.
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling for H. This is—”
The line went dead. He’d hung up on me!
I called back. This time he picked up after two rings.
“You got the wrong number.”
“This is Jacob Portman.”
There was a pause. He didn’t hang up.
“I’m Abe Portman’s grandson.”
“So you say.”
My heart sped up. The number was still good. I was talking to someone who knew my grandfather. Maybe H himself.
“I can prove it.”
“Let’s say I believe you,” the man said. “Which maybe I do, maybe I don’t. What does Jacob Portman want?”
“A job.”
“Try the want ads.”
“A job doing what you do.”
“Crossword puzzles?”
“What?”
“I’m retired, son.”
“What you used to do, then. You and Abe and the others.”
“And what do you know about that?” His tone was suddenly defensive.
“I know a lot. I read Abe’s mission logs.”
There was a metallic squeak and then a grunt, like H had just risen from a chair.
“And?”
“And I want to help. I know there are still hollowgast out there. Maybe not a lot of them, but even one could cause serious trouble. And there’s plenty to do besides that.”
“That’s charitable of you, son. But we’re not in business anymore.”
“Why not? Because Abe died?”
“Because we got old.”
“Well, then,” I said, feeling a surge of confidence, “I’ll start it up again. I have friends who can help, too. A new generation.”
I heard a cupboard slap shut, a spoon tinkle in a cup. “You ever see a hollow in person?” he asked.
“I have. And I’ve killed them.”
“Is that right?”
“You didn’t hear about the Library of Souls? The Battle for Devil’s Acre?”
“I’m not exactly up on the latest current events.”
“I can do what Abe did. I can see them. Control them, too.”
“You know . . .” He sipped a drink loudly. “Maybe I did hear something about you.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. You’re raw, untested. Impulsive. And in our line of work, that gets you killed real fast.”
I gritted my teeth, but managed to keep my voice even and calm. “I know I have a lot to learn. But I think I have a lot to offer, too.”
“You’re serious, huh.” He sounded both amused and impressed.
“I am.”
“All right. You talked yourself into a job interview.”
“This wasn’t it?”
He laughed. “Not even close.”
“Okay, well, what do I—”
“Don’t call again. I’ll call you.”
The line went dead.
* * *
• • •
I dashed into the house, waved to my friends as I darted past them in the living room—they were watching some zombie movie—and Emma jumped up and followed me into an empty bedroom.
She hugged me hard, then poked me in the chest. “Start talking, Portman.”
“I made contact with one of Abe’s old partners. I just talked to him on the phone.”
She let me go and took a step back, eyes wide.
“Pull the other one.”
“I’m serious. This guy, H, worked with my grandfather for decades. They ran tons of missions together. But now he’s old, and he needs our help.”
I was reaching a little there, maybe. But only a little. H did need our help, he just needed to be convinced of it first.
“With what?”
“A mission. Here in America.”
“He should call the ymbrynes if he needs help.”
“Our ymbrynes don’t have authority in America. And apparently America doesn’t have ymbrynes of its own.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, Em. There are a hundred thousand things I don’t know. But I do know that Abe locked that door in his floor with a passcode only I would know. And he left that mission log for me to find. And if he’d had any idea there was a chance you would be here, he would’ve meant for you to find it, too.”
She looked away, wrestling with something.
“We can’t just run off on some mission. Miss Peregrine would never allow it.”
“I know that.”
She fixed me with a stare. “A mission doing what?”
“I don’t know yet. H said he’ll be in touch.”
“You really hate the assignment the ymbrynes gave you, huh?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
“I think you’d be good at it. That was a pretty motivational speech.”
“So you’re in?”
A grin spread across her face.
“Hell, yes.”
That night I had a terrible dream. I was in a wasteland of burning fields, the horizon all soot and flame, black ooze puddled across the earth. I was frozen in the air, suspended above a deep pit. From its depths glowed two blue lights. They belonged