Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

could kill them.
I tested out the words. “It’s dead. I killed it.”
I laughed. Emma hugged me, pressing her cheek
against mine. “I know he would’ve been proud of you,”
she said.
We kissed, and it was gentle and nice, rain
dripping from our noses and running warm into our
just-open mouths. Too soon she broke away and
whispered, “What you said before—did you mean it?”
“I’ll stay,” I said. “If Miss Peregrine will let me.”
“She will. I’ll make certain of it.”
“Before we worry about that, we’d better find my
psychiatrist and take away his gun.”
“Right,” she said, her expression hardening. “No
time to waste, then.”
* * *
We left the rain behind and emerged into a landscape
of smoke and noise. The loop hadn’t yet reset, and
the bog was pocked with bomb holes, the sky buzzing
with planes, walls of orange flame marching against
the distant tree line. I was about to suggest we wait
until today became yesterday and all this
disappeared before trying to cross to the house when
a set of brawny arms clapped around me.
“You’re alive!” Bronwyn cried. Enoch and Hugh
were with her, and when she pulled away they moved
in to shake my hand and look me over.
“I’m sorry I called you a traitor,” Enoch said. “I’m
glad you’re not dead.”
“Me, too,” I replied.
“All in one piece?” Hugh asked, looking me over.
“Two arms and two legs,” I said, kicking out my
limbs to demonstrate their wholeness. “And you won’t
have to worry about that hollow anymore. We killed it.”
“Oh, stuff the modesty!” Emma said proudly. “You