Library of Souls (Page 109)

“Wait,” I said. “I don’t think I want you to do it, after all.”

“Are you sure?” She looked a bit disappointed. “It could get very complicated for you.”

“It feels like cheating,” I said.

“Then what will you tell them?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know yet. But it doesn’t seem right to just … wipe their brains.”

If telling them the truth was selfish, it seemed doubly so to simply erase the need for an explanation. And what about the police? My extended family? My parents’ friends? Surely they all knew I’d been missing, and for my parents to forget what had happened … it would’ve been a mess.

“That’s up to you,” said Miss Peregrine. “But I think it would be wise to at least let me wipe the past two or three minutes, so they’ll forget Miss Bloom and me.”

“Well … okay,” I said. “So long as they don’t lose the English language along with it.”

“I’m very precise,” said Miss Peregrine.

“What’s all this about wiping brains?” said the police officer. “Who are you?”

“Alma Peregrine,” said Miss Peregrine, rushing over to shake his hand. “Alma Peregrine, Alma LeFay Peregrine.”

The officer’s head dropped, and he was suddenly fascinated by a spot on the floor.

“I can think of a few wights you might’ve done that to,” said Emma.

“Unfortunately, it only works on the pliable minds of normals,” Miss Peregrine said. “Speaking of which.” She held up the feather.

“Wait,” I said. “Before you do.” I put out my hand for her to shake. “Thank you for everything. I’m really going to miss you, Miss Peregrine.”

Miss Peregrine ignored my hand and hugged me. “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Portman. And I’m the one who should be thanking you. If it hadn’t been for your and Miss Bloom’s heroism …”

“Well,” I said, “if it hadn’t been for you saving my grandfather all those years ago …”

She smiled. “Let’s call it even.”

There was one goodbye left. The hardest one. I put my arms around Emma, and she squeezed back ferociously.

“Can we write to each other?” she said.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“Of course. Friends keep in touch.”

“Okay,” I said, relieved. At least we could—

And then she kissed me. A big, full-on-the-lips kiss that left my head spinning.

“I thought we were just friends!” I said, pulling back in surprise.

“Um, yes,” she said sheepishly. “Now we are. I just needed one to remember us by.”

We were both laughing, our hearts soaring and breaking at once.

“Children, stop that!” Miss Peregrine hissed.

“Frank,” my mother said faintly, “who is that girl Jake’s kissing?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” my father mumbled. “Jacob, who is that girl, and why are you kissing her?”

My cheeks flushed. “Um, this is my … friend. Emma. We’re just saying goodbye.”

Emma waved bashfully. “You won’t remember me, but … hello!”

“Well, stop kissing strange girls and come along,” said my mother.

“Okay,” I said to Miss Peregrine. “I’d guess we’d better get on with it.”

“Don’t think this is goodbye,” Miss Peregrine said. “You’re one of us now. You won’t get rid of us that easily.”

“I sure hope not,” I said, grinning despite a heavy heart.

“I’ll write you,” Emma said, trying to smile, her voice cracking. “Good luck with … whatever it is normal people do.”

“Goodbye, Emma. I’ll miss you.” It seemed so inadequate a thing to say, but at times like this, words themselves were inadequate.

Miss Peregrine turned to finish her work. She raised the falcon feather and tickled my parents under their noses.

“Excuse me!” my mother said, “what do you think you’re doooo-AAAAAA-CHOO!”

And then both she and my father had a sneezing fit, and while they were sneezing, Miss Peregrine tickled the police officer, and he had a sneezing fit, too. By the time they were all finished, noses running and red in the face, Miss Peregrine and Emma had whisked out the door and were gone.

“As I was saying,” my dad said, picking up as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Wait … what was I saying?”

“That we could just go home and talk about all this later?” I said hopefully.

“Not before you answer some questions,” the officer said.

We spent a few minutes talking to the police. I kept my answers vague, laced every sentence with an apology, and swore up and down that I hadn’t been abducted, abused, or drugged. (Thanks to Miss Peregrine’s memory wipe, the officer had forgotten about making me take that drug test.) When my parents explained about my grandfather’s death and the “troubles” I’d suffered following it, the police seemed satisfied that I was just a garden-variety runaway who’d forgotten to take his meds. They made us sign a few forms and sent us on our way.

“Yes, yes, let’s please go home,” my mother said. “But we will talk about this, young man. In depth.”

Home. The word had become foreign to me. Some distant land I could hardly imagine.

“If we hurry,” said my dad, “we might be able to catch an evening flight …”