“But they have cameras in stores now,” I said. “If they get you on video, it could be a big problem.”
“Oh,” said Millard. He seemed suddenly fascinated by the caramelized peach slice at the end of his fork.
“Very impressive thieving,” said Enoch. “What was your first-most impressive skill again?”
Miss Peregrine put down her silverware and snapped her fingers. “All right, children. We’re adding stealing from normals to the mustn’t-ever list.”
Everyone groaned.
“I’m quite serious!” Miss Peregrine said. “If the police were to pay us a visit, it would be no small inconvenience.”
Enoch slumped dramatically in his chair. “The present is so tiresome. Remember how easy these things were to sort out in the loop?” He drew a line across his throat: “Ckkkkk! Goodbye, troublesome normal!”
“We’re not on Cairnholm anymore,” Miss Peregrine said, “and this isn’t a game of Raid the Village. The actions you take here have real and permanent consequences.”
“I was only kidding,” Enoch grumbled.
“No, you weren’t,” Bronwyn hissed.
Miss Peregrine held up her hand for silence. “What’s the new rule?”
“Mustn’t steal,” the kids chorused unenthusiastically.
“And?”
A few seconds passed. The headmistress frowned.
“Mustn’t kill normals?” Olive ventured.
“That’s right. There will be no killing of anyone in the present.”
“What if they’re really annoying?” asked Hugh.
“No matter. You may not kill them.”
“Without permission from you,” said Claire.
“No, Claire,” said Miss Peregrine sharply. “No killing at all.”
“Oh, all right,” said Claire.
It might have been chilling talk had I not known them so well. Still, it was a stark reminder of how much they had to learn about life in the present. Which reminded me—
“When should we start these normalling lessons?” I asked.
“How about today?” Emma said eagerly.
“Right now!” said Bronwyn.
“What should I start with? What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you fill in our knowledge of the past seventy-five years or so,” said Millard. “History, politics, music, popular culture, recent breakthroughs in science and technology . . .”
“I was thinking more along the lines of learning to talk like you’re not from 1940 and crossing the street without being killed.”
“I suppose that’s important, too,” said Millard.
“I just want to go outside,” said Bronwyn. “We’ve been here since yesterday and all we’ve done so far is muck through a stinky swamp and ride a bus at night.”
“Yeah!” said Olive. “I want to see an American city. And a municipal airport. And a pencil factory! I read a fascinating book about pencil factories—”
“Now, now,” said Miss Peregrine. “We’re not going on any grand expeditions today, so just get that out of your minds. We’ve got to walk before we can run, and given our limited transportation options, a walk sounds just about right. Mr. Portman, is there an underpopulated place we can perambulate that’s proximate to here? I don’t want the children interacting with normals unnecessarily before they’ve had more practice.”
“There’s the beach,” I said. “It’s pretty dead in the summertime.”
“Perfect,” said Miss Peregrine. She sent the kids off to change— “I want to see sun protection!” she called after them. “Hats! Parasols!”—and I was about to go and change, too, when I felt the dread return.
“What do we do about my family?” I asked her.
“They were dosed with enough dust to keep them sleeping into the afternoon,” she said. “But just in case, we’ll post someone here to keep watch over them.”
“Okay, but then what?”
“You mean, after they wake?”
“Yeah. How am I supposed to explain . . . you?”
She smiled. “That, Mr. Portman, is entirely your decision. But if you like, we can talk strategy as we walk.”
* * *
• • •
I gave my friends permission to raid the closets for beach-appropriate clothing, since they had none, and it was truly strange to see them return a few minutes later dressed in something like modern outfits. Nothing fit Olive or Claire, so they added floppy sun hats and dark glasses to what they were already wearing, which made them look like celebrities trying to dodge paparazzi. Millard wore nothing at all save a slather of sunscreen across his face and shoulders, which turned him into a sort of walking blur. Bronwyn had on a floral top and slouchy linen pants, Enoch had snagged some swim shorts and an old T-shirt, and Horace looked downright preppy in a blue polo and a pair of khaki chinos, cuffs neatly rolled. The only one who hadn’t changed was Hugh; still moody and moping, he had volunteered to stay behind and watch over my parents. I gave him my uncle’s phone, pulled up my own cell number on the screen, and showed him how to call me in case they started waking up.
Then Miss Peregrine came into the room, and everyone oohed and ahhed. She wore a fringed top with scooped-out shoulders, tropical-print capri pants, aviator sunglasses, and her perpetually upswept hair towered through the middle of a pink plastic sun visor. It was slightly disconcerting to see her dressed in my mom’s clothes, but she looked absolutely normal, which was, I suppose, the point.
“You look so modern!” Olive cooed.
“And strange,” said Enoch, wrinkling his nose.
“We must be masters of disguise, if we’re to pass in different worlds,” Miss Peregrine said.
“Careful, Miss P, all the bachelors will be after you!” Emma said as she walked in.
“You’re one to talk,” Bronwyn said. “Woo-woo, look out, boys!”
I turned to her, and the breath caught in my throat. She wore a one-piece swim dress with a skirt bottom that stopped mid-thigh. It was far from scandalous, but easily the most revealing thing I’d ever seen her wear. (She had legs!) I’d known it since the moment I met her, but Emma Bloom was achingly pretty, and I had to make a conscious effort not to stare.
“Oh, hush,” Emma said, and then she caught me looking and smiled. That smile—my God—it lit me up from the inside.