Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

When the last cottages had disappeared behind us,
we slipped quietly from the wagon and then crossed
the ridge on foot in the direction of the forest. Emma
walked on one side of me, silent and brooding, never
letting go of my arm, while on the other Millard
hummed to himself and kicked at stones. I was
nervous and baffled and queasily excited all at the
same time. Part of me felt like something momentous
was about to happen. The other part of me expected
to wake up at any moment, to come out of this fever
dream or stress episode or whatever it was and wake
up with may face in a puddle of drool on the Smart
Aid break room table and think, Well, that was
strange, and then return to the boring old business of
being me.
But I didn’t wake up. We just kept walking, the girl
who could make fire with her hands and the invisible
boy and me. We walked through the woods, where
the path was as wide and clear as any trail in a
national park, then emerged onto a broad expanse of
lawn blooming with flowers and striped with neat
gardens. We’d reached the house.
I gazed at it in wonder—not because it was awful,
but because it was beautiful. There wasn’t a shingle
out of place or a broken window. Turrets and
chimneys that had slumped lazily on the house I
remembered now pointed confidently toward the sky.
The forest that had seemed to devour its walls stood
at a respectful distance.