Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

as her hair. Immediately she began to pull at us, to
drag and push us down the path toward town, yelling
so frantically in her thick Irish accent that none of us
could understand. Hugh caught her by the shoulders
and told her to slow down.
She took a deep breath, shaking like a leaf, then
pointed behind her. “Millard followed him!” she said.
“He was hiding when the man shut us all in the
basement, and when he lit out Millard followed!”
“Where to?” I said.
“He had a boat.”
“See!” cried Emma. “The docks!”
“No,” said Fiona, “it was your boat, Emma. The one
you think nobody knows about, that you keep stowed
on that wee strand of yours. He launched off with the
cage and was just goin’ in circles, but then the tide got
too rough, so he pulled onto the lighthouse rock, and
that’s where he still is.”
We made for the lighthouse in a dead run. When
we reached the cliffs overlooking it, we found the rest
of the children in a thick patch of sawgrass near the
edge.
“Get down!” Millard hissed.
We dropped to our knees and crawled over to
them. They were crouched in a loose huddle behind
the grass, taking turns peeking at the lighthouse. They
looked shell-shocked—the younger ones especially—
as if they hadn’t fully grasped the unfolding nightmare.
That we’d just survived a nightmare of our own barely
registered.
I crawled through the grass to the edge of the cliff
and peered out. Past where the shipwreck lay
submerged I could see Emma’s canoe tied to the
rocks. Golan and the ymbrynes were out of sight.
“What’s he doing out there?” I said.
“It’s anyone’s guess,” Millard answered. “Waiting