Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

ehind him.
“I would ask you to sit,” said Miss Peregrine,
gesturing at a cushy chair behind me, “but you appear
to be encrusted with filth.” Instead I knelt on the floor,
feeling like a pilgrim begging advice from an allknowing
oracle.
“You’ve been on the island for several days now,”
Miss Peregrine said. “Why have you dawdled so long
before paying us a visit?”
“I didn’t know you were here,” I said. “How’d you
know I was?”
“I’ve been watching you. You’ve seen me as well,
though perhaps you didn’t realize it. I had assumed
my alternate form.” She reached up and pulled a long
gray feather from her hair. “It’s vastly preferable to
assume the shape of a bird when observing humans,”
she explained.
My jaw dropped. “That was you in my room this
morning?” I said. “The hawk?”
“The falcon,” she corrected. “A peregrine, naturally.”
“Then it’s true!” I said. “You are the Bird!”
“It’s a moniker I tolerate but do not encourage,” she
replied. “Now, to my question,” continued Miss
Peregrine. “What on earth were you searching for in
that depressing old wreck of a house?”
“You,” I replied, and her eyes widened a bit. “I didn’t
know how to find you. I only figured out yesterday that
you were all—”
And then I paused, realizing how strange my next
words would sound. “I didn’t realize you were dead.”
She flashed me a tight smile. “My goodness. Hasn’t
your grandfather told you anything about his old
friends?”
“Some things. But for a long time I thought they
were fairy tales.”
“I see,” she replied.