A/N: This story starts at the very beginning of the Desolations of Devil's Acre, (spoilers ahead) then proceeds to look back at Emma's past right up to the point of meeting Jacob. After that, it will circle back to the beginning of DODA and continue from there.

I've always wondered what life was like for Emma before she arrived at the children's home, especially after the dialogue between Emma and Jacob in the second book where they're sharing their life stories. I've tried to incorporate some of that information into my story.

The title is inspired by Bon Iver's incredible album: For Emma, Forever Ago.

Disclaimer: I do not own Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children.

Enjoy.

Chapter One

Snow Globe

...

.


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The padlock jumped as Emma slammed her hands against the wooden panels enclosing her in the crate. The water was spilling in through the slits, weighing down her dress and snatching the breath from her lungs.

She paused now and then to frantically snap her fingers — feeble sparks cast brief shadows upon her face, but did not catch. Her panic rose with the rapid water level, all to the amusement of her captors, guffawing somewhere upon the bank. She tried to cry out for help but couldn't lend herself the breath required.

When the glacial water lapped at her chin, she craned her neck until her face became pressed against the roof of the crate. When it rushed into her ears, she took one last gulp of air before the lake enveloped her, dragging her down to its murky depths.

An explosion of bubbles spilt from her lips.

Was she screaming? She didn't think she was. So what was that sound cutting through the rush of water?

Perhaps it was a crow or a cat?

There it was again.

With a hulking gasp, Emma bolted upright to be met with the drab Victorian interior of Fiona's room. And for the very first time, she felt relieved to be in Devil's Acre.

She made an effort to breathe, though she barely had enough time to orient herself before the shriek came again. Emma clocked Fiona's empty four-poster and scrambled off the mattress on the floor — which was really just straw stuffed inside a linen sheet. She crossed the room and hurriedly knelt on the pine floor, lifting the ruffled bed skirt.

Fiona was curled up in a ball, trembling.

"Oh, Fi." Emma's face fell pitiful. "It can't at all be comfortable under here. Why don't you come out, and we'll get some breakfast on the table?"

There was enough light seeping through the drapes to call it morning, and she was quite certain that neither of them would be going back to sleep anyway. Fiona peeled an eye open to look at her for a fleeting moment before squeezing it shut and curling up tighter.

Ever since they'd gotten her back from the wights three days ago, Fiona had been suffering. It was heartbreaking to see her like this. After everything she'd suffered before she arrived at the Cairnholme loop, they'd gone and sliced out her tongue. Emma dreaded to think what else they had done to her. The poor girl was frightened out of her wits, and Hugh, Bronwyn, and herself had all been taking shifts during the night to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

"We heard screaming!"

Emma startled and yelped as she bashed her head against the bed frame. She heard Enoch's distinct nasally laugh followed by a whack that bounced off the walls as someone struck him.

Olive gasped. "We didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Emma told her, straining as she slid out on her elbows, rubbing yet another lump on the back of her head. The first one, she'd received when a shower of bones had begun pelting from the sky yesterday; both Emma and Enoch were littered with unsightly bruises, and Millard had been complaining enough to make it clear that he was in the same condition.

The day before was even stranger — drizzles of blood had escalated quickly into thick sheets of livid red. Squeamish Olive had fainted, and Bronwyn had to carry her home. The poor girl had been sick to her stomach for most of the day, and they'd all had to sit in the darkness with the curtains drawn so she didn't have to see it spilling down the windows like something out of a horror film.

Miss Avocet said these changes were the beginnings of desolations, which occur when the foundations of a loop have a defect, but nobody was sure what the cause was.

Something else was occurring in the Acre as well. Refugees from the raided loops were arriving in droves, and the birds had implemented a frustrating lockdown, preventing anybody from leaving upon arrival. It meant they couldn't search for Jacob and Noor, who'd disappeared after going to collect Noor's belongings. Not only were they going stir crazy being forbidden to venture out of the Acre, but not knowing what'd happened to their friends was ten times worse. Emma had a feeling all the fretting and negative thinking had brought that old nightmare back to the surface.

"It's Fiona," Emma explained. "I was trying to coax her out from under there, but she won't budge."

A bleary-eyed Enoch blew a frantic bee out of his face as Hugh made a sudden appearance, barging his way through the others and dropping to his knees. He shoved his buzzing head under the bed skirt.

"Fiona, my love," he regarded her, his voice feather-light. "What are you doing under there?"

Enoch sighed grumpily. "As long as nobody's kicked the bucket, I'm going back to bed. The birds ain't even chirpin' yet."

Emma got up, glaring at him as she brushed the dust from her nightdress.

"That's because there ain't any birds in the Acre, except for Ymbrynes. Think they've all flown into buildings." Said Bronwyn. "Poor creatures can't see for all the smog."

"If I had to fly about in that gunk, I'd probably dash myself against a building, too," Millard empathised.

"Less of the gloom and doom, please," said Emma. "And don't stand there gawping. Let's give them some privacy." She ushered everybody out of the room, confident that if anyone was going to persuade Fiona to come out, it was Hugh.

As they filed out of the room, Bronwyn looked to her in concern. "Why don't you get an hour's more sleep, love? You look knackered."

"I'm right as rain. Just a bit sore, that's all," Emma told her. "Miss P put me in charge while she's at the Panloopticon. I can hardly sleep all morning and leave you lot unattended."

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. "What am I, chopped liver? You're not the only one who can boss people around, you know." She leaned against the banister railing. "Be honest. How are you?"

"I'm fine," Emma assured her, and before she could press any further, a gasp of delight sounded from their shared bedroom.

"It's snowing! It's snowing!"

The girls exchanged bemused glances and entered the bedroom to find Olive and Claire by the grimy window, jumping with glee.

"I've never seen snow before!" Claire squealed ecstatically. "Oh, isn't it marvellous?"

Emma placed her hands on Claire's petite shoulders and peered out of the window. For a fleeting moment, she too mistook the flurries for snowfall, but on closer inspection, she noticed that the rooftops were sheeted with grey, as well as the cobblestones below — the sight of it stirred a memory, and she rubbed her eye to ease the phantom itch.

"That's not snow, I'm afraid."

"Isn't it?" Claire craned her neck to look up at Emma. Emma shook her head and smoothed down the little girl's sleep-tousled ringlets.

"It's ash," Bronwyn told her, bemused.

Emma felt Claire's shoulders sag in disappointment.

"Don't get too down about it, Claire. We should be grateful it's not bones again." Said Emma.

"Or blood," Olive chimed in, feigning a retch.

Claire nodded glumly. "In that case, I'll just have to imagine that it's snow."

"You'll get to see it one day, I'm sure," Emma assured her. "Great big snowflakes that melt on your tongue and fall on your eyelashes."

Claire's lips twitched into a whimsical smile. "And I'll make the biggest snowman in the world!"

"I'd love to see that," Emma grinned. "Now, you girls go and get dressed, and I'll get started on the eggs and bacon."

The girls lit up at the prospect of a real breakfast as opposed to the boring old bread and jam. There was not much variety when it came to breakfast in the 1800s, and quality meat was not something they could afford to indulge in very often.

But Miss P was flat to the mat at the Panloopticon, so there was nobody to stop Millard from taking advantage of his invisibility. Any other time, Emma would be against stealing, especially from the working class, but she thought they'd earned themselves a decent breakfast after all they'd endured. That, and she thought she might go mad from the lack of variety.

When the little ones had skipped away, Bronwyn looked back to the window, staring out pensively. She was thinking the same as Emma, that this mad weather was an omen for something unprecedented—something terrible.

With a shiver, Emma left her friend's side.

Bronwyn followed down her down the creaking staircase. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Quite."

"Then you should tell it to your face. Honestly, I hate it when you get like this."

"What exactly do I 'get' like?" Emma reached into the pantry and retrieved the cut of bacon from the cold slab. She slapped the meat down onto a chopping board and got started, snipping the rind halfway down the rasher. That way, it prevented the bacon from curling.

"I don't know...you go all dreary," she told her. "You lose your fire."

Emma placed her hand to the stove, and the coals glowed red. "My fire seems to be in working order to me."

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. "I meant emotionally."

"Isn't that the case for everyone at the moment?" she told her irritably. "We all nearly died at Grave Hill. Fiona has regressed. We're living in a deteriorating loop with no inkling of what's causing it. And Jacob—"

Emma cut herself off abruptly. A hiss filled the room as she dropped the bacon into the pan.

"I had a feeling it was about Jacob," said Bronwyn after a while.

"They've been missing for days," said Emma in a hushed fluster.

In truth, it was never about Jacob, and that was the reason their relationship was in tatters. He was the echo of Abe, and Emma had been drawn to him like a grieving widow clutching her dead lover's photograph — she only wished it hadn't taken so long to realise.

Anyone with eyes could see that he was falling for Noor, and Emma was pleased that he was finding happiness again after the heartbreak she had caused him, really she was. But Jacob had been Emma's dear friend before anything else; he had been a breath of fresh air in her otherwise repetitive life. They'd been thick as thieves once, and to say they'd been through a lot together would be an understatement. But it was Noor that he was spending most of his time with these days. Noor he was discussing his future plans with.

Envy was a wicked emotion, one of the seven deadly sins. Her mother had drilled that into her enough times, but it sat like a dead weight inside her chest.

All Emma wanted was her friend back.

There was nothing Bronwyn could say that would serve as a consolation. Nobody could know for certain that Jacob and Noor were safe. Feeling a dismal atmosphere begin to creep up on them, Bronwyn smiled it away and offered Emma a hand with the scrambled eggs.

In the gloomy dining room, Olive and Claire set the table while Millard managed to get a fire going without Emma's assistance. Soon, most of their lot were around the table, tucking into the first proper breakfast they'd eaten in so long. The scent even enticed Enoch out of his pit. He ambled in like a beagle following a scent trail, the sheet from his bed wrapped around him like a cloak.

"I thought this might get you moving," said Emma amusedly. The boy plonked himself opposite her, grimacing at the protest of his bruises.

"This is so scrummy, Emma!" Claire beamed as she crammed her bite-sized pieces of scrambled egg on toast into her back-mouth.

"Thank you, Claire," said Emma with a lightsome smile. "Bronwyn was a big contributor as well."

"Well, it's delicious, Bronwyn!" said Olive.

Bronwyn laughed. "I'm glad you like it. But Emma did most of the work."

"Hell's bells," Enoch groaned, who'd been listening to their humility with a scowl on his face. "Why do women bat compliments back and forth like they're playing a game of flattery tennis?"

"It's called having modesty," Millard answered.

Enoch gave a drawn-out burp, causing everyone to recoil in disgust.

"A courtesy you clearly lack in," Emma remarked.

"What? Everyone knows that a hearty belch means the grub is tasty," he claimed, looking between his scowling friends. "That's thanks enough."

Bronwyn made a face. "No, it ain't."

Enoch gulped down his cup of milk and sighed contently. He wiped the residual moustache off his lip and grinned widely. "Like it or lump it."

At that moment, a pale-faced Horace appeared, tugging absently at his cravat.

"Did you fall into a bucket of chalk?" Asked Enoch.

Horace shook his head. "I had a dream. It was about Jacob and Noor."

The atmosphere went cold.

Emma's cutlery froze over her plate. "What was it about? Was it true? Oh, I can't bear it. What happened to them, Horace?!"

He sighed irritably, turning his gaze on her with displeasure. "If you'd kindly allow me to get a word in edgeways, I might just be able to tell you!"

Emma faltered, nodding her apology.

Horace finally took a seat, his eyes tired. "In short, I think I know where they are."

"So they're safe?" Asked Bronwyn.

"I don't know. But I believe they're in modern America. I saw them being chased by a hollow," he explained. "They got away by the skin of their teeth."

"Then we must go to Miss Peregrine!" Olive exclaimed. "There's no time to waste."

As the children made to leave the table, Horace held up his hand. "There's something else, too. Or rather someone else."

Emma looked at him questioningly. "Who?"

Horace looked at them as a group, eyes laced with foreboding.

"Caul."

The name struck the room like a boulder through glass. Forks crashed against plates and Enoch choked on his eggs. Before they could ply Horace with their frantic questions however, footsteps came thundering down the staircase. Hugh skidded into the room, out of puff.

"The bird is back!"

Chaos ensued. Everyone jumped from their seats in a staccato of scraping chair legs, stuffing their mouths with the remainders of their breakfasts. Horace shovelled in as much as he could, eating like a ravenous dog.

"Quickly! Open all the windows!" Ordered Emma. She shoved two plates toward Hugh. "Go and eat with Fi, and mind you don't drop them!"

Enoch grunted as he struggled to open the clunky windows. "Bleedin' windows, I'd forgotten how much of a faff these things were!"

Bronwyn shoved open the back door to the overgrown garden, and it hit the ivy-covered wall with a crack. Horace picked up his book — an old edition of Frankenstein, and began wafting the incriminating smell of cooked bacon out the door.

Emma snatched up the empty plates with hurried clatters and rushed to the sink, pumping the water at an arm-aching speed. Olive and Claire picked up the placemates and fanned vigorously at the air.

"She's two houses away!" Exclaimed Enoch, peering through a crack in the netted curtains. The dust tickled the inside of his nose and made him sneeze. "Hell's teeth, this house needs a good scrubbing."

The floating placemat picked up speed. "Put your backs into it!"

As Miss Peregrine ambled toward Ditch House, her ash covered parasol resting against her shoulder, Enoch began to count down. "Here she comes. Landing in five...four..."

Emma groaned. "That's not helping, Enoch!"

"Three..."

Miss Peregrine's eyes locked on Enoch in an unnerving eagle-like manner — freezing him in his place. She narrowed them suspiciously, and with a curse, he pulled his head briskly from between the curtains. "She's clocked me!"

The front door opened, everyone's heads whipped toward the sound. Miss Peregrine swept into the kitchen and planted her hands on her hips.

"What on earth are you children getting up to this time?" She questioned, then paused to sniff the air. "Do I smell bacon?"

"We're sorry, Headmistress. But we were sick to the back teeth of jam and bread for breakfast!" Emma spoke up boldly. "But that hardly matters anymore. Horace had a dream about Jacob and Noor. He says they were chased by a Hollowghast and that they're in modern America. He says he saw Caul just a few nights ago too. We need to find them at once—!"

"Miss Bloom!" Miss Peregrine cut her off, alarmed at the flames licking at her fingers. "Please take a breath before you combust!"

Emma did, inhaling deeply through her nose and releasing it slowly, snuffing herself out like a candle.

"Now, let's continue this discussion more calmly, shall we?" she told her. "I am aware of Mr Portman and Miss Pradesh's whereabouts. We have managed to locate them in Mr Portman's hometown."

Emma's head snapped to Horace, who looked devastated. "Then my dream was correct."

"We will discuss that later. But at present, our main concern is getting them here safely."

Horace nodded.

"I am up to my eyeballs between the Panloopticon and the Ministry, which is why I can't fetch them myself. I know I told you to remain in the Acre, but I will make an exception. Miss Bruntley and Miss Bloom, please get yourselves dressed. I am trusting you to go straight there and straight back! Stay together and do not take any detours. Do I make myself clear?"

The two girls nodded firmly. Emma felt her heart rate quicken and her legs grow restless as she fought the urge to go bolting out the door right away.

"You have all been so understanding these past few days, all things considered, so I will let the stealing," she glared at them collectively, "slide. However, you know full well that this loop is not the safest, and when I am not present to keep tabs on you, it only adds to the stress that I am already under. I need the rest of you with me. There are plenty of little jobs for you to do." Said Miss Peregrine. She turned her tired eyes back to Emma and Bronwyn.

"Addison will be waiting for you."

.


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Even for a building as vast as the barmily built Panloopticon, the place was fit to burst. The children shouldered their way into the entrance hall, through the crowds of disarrayed Peculiars queuing up to get their documents stamped.

"Make way, please. Ymbryne coming through!" Cried Miss Peregrine as they entered the foyer.

There was an atmosphere of uncertainty all around. The staff were being bombarded with questions as people vied for the loudest voice, desperate to find out whether their friends and family had made it here following the recent loop raids.

The upset was palpable, and Emma refused to acknowledge the wave of deja-vu that came over her as she listened to the jumble of conversations.

"Can you find out if my friend is here?" Enquired a man in black harlequin glasses. "She looks like—well, she's invisible actually. But she wears a large hat with a stuffed dove—"

A woman in a migraine-inducing sundress shoved him out the way. "Have you seen my little brother? He's twelve feet tall, you really can't miss 'im—"

"Scuse me!" Another interrupted with his nose turned up. "What's goin' on with the weather?!"

A woebegone functionary, who was clearly tired of repeating himself, stood up from the long table of passport stampers and tried to raise his voice over the masses, but he sounded like a mouse trying to get the attention of elephants.

"For heaven's sake," Miss Peregrine sighed, planting her hands firmly on her hips. She cleared her throat and projected her voice across the busy hall. The children watched on curiously.

"SILENCE, PLEASE!" She boomed, with all the authority of a school teacher. The noise levels very gradually went down as the crowds turned in the direction of the shout. "All your questions shall be answered in due course. Until then, please form a sensible queue. The quicker we get everybody verified, the quicker you'll receive answers!"

At that, the disgruntled peculiars calmed down. The chatter resumed but didn't reach its previous cattle-market volume. The passport functionary gave Miss Peregrine a timid but thankful look before getting back to work.

Emma and Bronwyn were pushed on. She steered them on by their shoulders, like a mother herding her nosy children. They passed the loop terminals labelled with signs that read "this way" "that way" and "the other way" and a wall of more than a hundred analogue clocks, all of which displayed the time zones, dates, and weather conditions of each of the building's loops; many of them were resetting, their hands winding backwards to their original start times.

The girls marched hurriedly up the grand staircase.

"Straight there, straight back!" Miss Peregrine reminded them from below, her voice shrinking the further they climbed.

"Yes, Miss."

"And do not split up!"

"Yes, Miss!"

They found Addison sitting in front of the broom cupboard, a pocket loop that led directly into Jacob's back garden. He rose onto all fours. "Skip the salutations; there's no time to waste."

Emma opened the door, and Addison was quick to nudge it with his snout. He hopped into the abyss, and she followed with Bronwyn at her heels, stumbling into dizzying darkness. They were met by a ferocious wind, and it took them all a moment to adjust to the sudden changes.

"Jacob?!" Bronwyn shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to project her voice over the fierce wind. "Noor?!"

Emma yanked on Bronwyn's arm. "Shhh, it's two in the morning here. You'll wake the neighbours!"

"I don't think they're here," said Addison, slinking to the patio. "All the lights are off."

"Oh God, what if they're injured somewhere?!" Bronwyn fretted, pressing her palms against her wind-bitten cheeks. "What if the hollow maimed them? Or...or what if—"

"Goodness gracious, girl. Catastrophising isn't going to help us find them." Addison told her.

Emma wracked her brain, trying to think of anywhere they might possibly be. Then, the obvious struck her, and she gently grabbed Bronwyn's arm. "They might be taking shelter at Abe's house, down in that secret bunker!"

"Of course!" Bronwyn remembered. "I'd forgotten all about that bunker!"

Emma turned to their canine chaperone. "Addison, you stay here and guard the house in case they turn up. Wyn and I will go to Abe's—"

"I shall do nothing of the sort!" He spluttered. "Have you forgotten what Miss Peregrine told you not two minutes ago?!"

"Not to split up, yes," said Bronwyn, patting the displeased boxer on the head. "But what the eye don't see, the heart don't grieve over."

Addison was appalled. "What dreadful morals to have."

"Miss P underestimates us because she thinks we're a bunch of vulnerable children," Emma told him. "We'll be perfectly fine. Horace said the Hollow was injured anyway."

"And what of its owner? He could be lurking around anywhere."

"Then I'll fry the nose off his face." A snake of flame meandering around each of her fingers.

"And I'll boot him into the next loop!" Added Bronwyn, kicking her leg with a flourish.

"That's all well and good, on the off chance they're not armed. No, Miss Peregrine will make a coat out of me if I let her young wards swan off into certain de—" Addison cut himself off, twitching an ear. "What ho! I can hear something."

Emma listened and shared a puzzled look with Bronwyn. "I don't hear anything."

Addison raised his head, his clipped ears swivelling forwards. "There's a vehicle approaching."

"What?" Emma moved to peer around the back of the house and grimaced as her face was washed with flashing blue lights. "Oh excellent, it's the police."

Bronwyn joined her. "Now we've got to split up."

"No, we do not!" Addison exclaimed.

"We'll get caught if we all do a runner," Emma told him. "You're going to have to distract them while Bronwyn and I slip around the other side."

Addison grumbled irritably, his eyes shifting reluctantly between the girls and the flashing lights. "I must be stark raving mad," he eventually relented. "Do not breathe a word of this to Miss Peregrine!"

Addison erupted into a barking frenzy, allowing the girls to sneak their way around the house. They slipped unseen past the inquisitive officers, their movements dampened by the wind and their figures concealed by the darkness of the night.

What they found at Abe's house made them freeze in their tracks. The side of the house was all splintered wood and dangling insulation, as if a giant had come along and plunged its fist right through it, and a fresh, scorching hole in the where the secret bunker dwelled, stamped the front lawn.

Emma crossed the road, pace gradually quickening as the shock wore off. Bronwyn followed, pulling her back by the fabric of her dress when she reached the obliterated home.

"Careful! If that collapses, you're spam," she warned. "Let me go instead."

Emma was reluctant to agree but didn't want to want to waste any time arguing. Bronwyn trundled over the timber and disappeared into the wreck.

Emma paced the perimeter. She waited...and waited, her imagination conjuring up all the terrible scenarios Jacob and Noor might have gotten themselves into. Had they been taken by wights? Had they been eaten by hollows? Had they been crushed to death in this very wreckage?

"Em?"

The gentle call of her name seemed to haul her away from the edge of a teetering height.

"What is it?" Emma asked, stiffening at the grave look on her friend's face. "Did you find them?"

"No, but I did find a deceased woman."

"What?"

"In the bunker," she replied, gravely. "What should I do? Should I take her back with us?"

Emma shook her head, ignoring the icy dread trickling down the back of her neck. "Let's leave her for now. We've got to find Jacob and Noor."

Bronwyn nodded and stepped back over the ruins mere seconds before the building caved in even further. The bathroom collapsed down into the living room with an almighty crash, sending dust and debris flying. Emma screamed and reached out to half-drag a sprinting Bronwyn across the lawn. Once out of the line of danger, Bronwyn whipped around, wafting the clouds of dust away from her face.

"Oof, that would've stung."

"Yeah, just a bit," said Emma, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat as she stared at the broken remains of the house.

The rain turned to hail as girls headed back to Jacob's house, and the sharp, icy beads lashed off their cheeks, making it difficult to see.

Emma stopped and squinted, surprised to find that two more vehicles had joined the police car outside: an Animal Control van and a familiar white caprice. Two figures were stood by the vehicle, one dishevelled boy in a familiar raincoat and one girl with thick black hair turned frizzy in the harsh elements.

Jacob and Noor.

Thank the birds.

The girls neared the house just in time to see Addison being dragged across the driveway with a catch pole around his neck.

"Oh, I don't think so," Bronwyn muttered, and she lifted a large potted palm tree from the front garden of a random house, running at the van and lobbing it through the window. There was a smash and Emma hurried over, covering her ears to block out the shrill pulse of the car alarm.

Jacob and Noor whipped around as Bronwyn pressed her thumb to her nose and wriggled her fingers mockingly. She blew a raspberry at them. "Come and get me if you think you're quick enough!"

"Hey!"

She raced off, her impish giggles travelling through the cup-de-sac. The officers took off after her, with the animal control wardens joining the chase.

Jacob laughed, and Emma glimpsed something like relief drift across his face. He smiled warmly when his eyes found Emma's, but it wilted from his lips when she turned away, stone faced.

Addison wriggled out of the catchpole. "To the pocket loop, friends!"

Emma cast a glance at Bronwyn as she zig-zagged away from her pursuers. "Go, I'll meet you there!"

Trusting her friend, Emma slipped ahead of her fellow peculiars and jumped into the mirrored hole in the grass as if it were just a puddle. Her stomach plummeted as she was stolen in by the loop's pull. She couldn't quite tell which way up she was, and her head span like an armillary sphere until finally, Emma shot through the cupboard door, scrambling to her feet before she could get caught in the tangle of flailing limbs as the others made their appearance, rolling gracelessly into the corridor.

A passing peculiar didn't give them a second look as he stepped over their groaning bodies. He was caught up in a heated argument with someone on the other end of his clunky telephone.

Addison rolled onto all fours, grumbling about the violation that had just been committed against him.

Bronwyn blew her tousled fringe out of her eyes and barrelled into Jacob, lifting him partially off the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, his face the picture of relief.

"Oh, Mr Jacob. You don't know how worried we were!"

"We're so sorry. We didn't mean to worry you guys." Noor apologised. "But—"

"I don't believe you," Emma interjected, her eyes filled with scorn as she looked between the two of them. "I don't think you're sorry at all."

Addison backed away awkwardly. "I do believe this is my queue to make tracks."

Jacob let out a heavy sigh. "Emma, don't start—"

"You were 'sorry'," she used air quotes. "The first time you disappeared into the ether, but now you're just taking the mick." She took a step forward while Jacob stepped back. "Two days, the Ymbrynes were searching for you." She jabbed him in the shoulder, walking him gradually backwards until his back met the balustrade. "Two days! And you didn't leave so much as a note!"

"It was my fault," Noor intervened. "Please don't blame Jacob."

Emma whirled toward her. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm blaming you as well."

"That is enough!" Jacob exploded. "I've been trying to give you the benefit of the doubt because you're clearly going through something. But now it's getting really tiring. What the hell is your deal?"

"My deal?" She scowled. "My deal, is that you have absolutely no consideration for the rest of us. We were scared out of our wits!"

"What else do you want me to say?" Jacob snapped. "You have no idea what we've just gone through! That's the issue with you, Emma. You always jump down people's throats before they get a chance to explain!"

"Well, forgive me for caring!" She shot back, wisps of steam curling from her nostrils as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. "Clearly, it's not reciprocated."

"Please don't fight with one another!" Bronwyn cried, stepping between them. "Friends are supposed to support each other, especially at a time like this."

Jacob frowned, finally breaking their hostile stare down. "There hasn't been an attack, has there?"

"An attack?" Asked Bronwyn, puzzled. "Why would you think that?"

"There's been no attack," came a raspy voice, and they all turned to see Enoch walking up the stairs. "But something dodgy is going on, something the Ymbrynes won't tell us." He nodded in Jacob and Noor's direction. "All right, wayfarers?"

"Yeah, hey Enoch," Jacob greeted.

Noor smiled feebly and gave a short wave.

"Where have you two been, then? The birds even searched the bloody Timbuktu loop and no luck!"

"It's a long story. We'll tell you later," Jacob replied. "What's going on with the Acre?"

Enoch explained further. "Desolations have started. Nobody's sure why, but Miss P's been tearing strips off poor ol' Perplexus. She reckons it's his experiments what's been causin' it."

"Desolations?"

"It's what happens when a loop has a defect," Emma told them, her tone still stiff. "Yesterday it was raining bones—"

"Emma and Enoch are black and blue! Just 'av a look at these." Bronwyn lifted Emma's wrist and pulled up the sleeve cardigan wrist, displaying the bruises peppering the length of her arm — Jacob winced.

"Yes, thank you, Wyn," Emma sighed, pulling her arm away before continuing. "The day before, it was raining blood."

"And now it's raining ash!" Bronwyn told them.

Jacob turned toward a nearby window, eyebrows bumping together when he saw the ash falling weightlessly behind the glass. "Huh."

Suddenly, the floor began to vibrate, and they all turned to see a pair of bulky lead boots — and in contrast, dainty Mary Janes stomping down the adjoining staircase. They turned the sharp corner with a faint voice at their backs.

"...And don't run down the stairs!"

"Mr Jacob! Miss Noor!" Olive and Claire exclaimed, making to attack them with their affection but stopping when they saw their drenched states. Emma's high body temperature was already drying her off, but Bronwyn, Jacob, and Noor were still dripping wet.

Claire released Noor. "You're soaked through!"

"Yeah, there was a pretty big storm in Florida."

"Is that where you've been all this time?" Asked Olive, puzzled. "How could that be? The Ymbrynes searched there but couldn't find a trace."

"It's a long story," Jacob explained. "But we promise we'll tell you all about it once we've spoken to Miss P."

"She sent us down to fetch you," said Olive. "She's in Bentham's office. Good luck though, she's a bit mardy."

Jacob sent Emma a disappointed look that dropped unwanted guilt on her shoulders, then took Noor's hand as they went to face Miss P.

Jacob sent Emma a disappointed look, then took Noor's hand as they went to face Miss P.

Enoch twisted around to watch Emma flounce away. He frowned, looking to Bronwyn. "Who pissed in her hat this time?"

.


.

The dead woman Bronwyn had discovered turned out to have been V, Noor's adoptive mother.

Jacob explained how they'd found her taking refuge in an Oklahoma loop she'd built herself, on a day that happened to be plagued by double tornadoes. They explained how Murnau had disguised himself, how he'd tricked them into leading him straight to V — and the reason she was hiding there in the first place was because a section of the prophecy had been misinterpreted.

Caul hadn't been after the heart of the mother of birds. He'd been after the mother of storms.

Noor was quiet as Jacob retold V's killing, how Murnau had sliced out her heart. Emma looked at the downcast girl in immense remorse as Jacob's scolding ringing uncomfortably true.

"After that, he disappeared into the eye of the storm; that's when we saw Caul..."

The tension in the living room was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"I dreamt of it," Horace spoke up. "And I saw both of you falling through well...oblivion was what it seemed like. How did you get away?"

Jacob got up, retrieving something from his trouser pocket. "With this."

Horace took the device from him, scratching his head as he examined it. "What on earth is this?"

"It's an expulsion device," said Miss Peregrine, seriously. "A very dangerous piece of equipment. Miss Avocet informed us that they were discontinued in 1901 after an Ymbryne was turned inside out."

A sense of disgust befell them and Emma's stomach roiled at the ghastly mental image.

"That's why the birds couldn't track us down," he explained, glancing at Emma — abashed on the inside. "I was going in and out of consciousness, but every time I came to, I was still falling. I think we were falling the whole time you were searching for us. I'm not sure if it had anything to do with the tornadoes or the complexity of this thing, but we were lucky to get out alive."

"Fascinating," said Horace, looking back down at the odd-looking pocket watch in his hand.

"Yeah, the watch is splendid. But can we please veer back to the part where you said you saw Caul?"Asked Hugh. "Is he back?"

Jacob nodded gravely.

Enoch broke the ensuing silence. "Well! it's been nice knowing you all. Almost a century of decent memories—"

Claire whimpered and crawled onto Emma's lap with her bony knees, burying her face in the crook of her neck.

"Is there anything you can't make a joke of?" Bronwyn snapped.

"I ain't joking," he defended. "Have you forgotten what happened in the Library of Souls? He's probably gobbled the whole collection now, so we might as well hurry along to the stonemason. Maybe we can all get plots beside one another."

"But I don't want to die!" Claire cried into the fabric of Emma's cardigan; she held her tighter.

"Me neither, we've got to evacuate," said Horace, jumping up from the rocking chair. "He knows this loop like the back of his hand. We're sitting ducks!"

"It'll be our blood raining from the sky next time!" Enoch added.

"We can hardly leave the Panloopticon unprotected!" Bronwyn exclaimed.

Horace gave an outraged laugh. "Never mind the Pan-bloody-Loopticon. He wants us all dead!"

"All right, all right! Let's not lose our rags," Miss Peregrine finally intervened. "I don't believe he wants us all dead. Perhaps he does me, and undoubtedly the seven emancipators. But my brother wants what he has always wanted, and that is to fashion himself into a divine dictator. He wants to wipe out normal civilisation and create a world in which Peculiars no longer have to live within loops. He wants a hierarchy, with himself at the very top and Normals at the very bottom."

"But Normals are always going to be born. Peculiarities skip generations," came Millard's voice.

"That can easily be controlled with a bit of infanticide," said Enoch, almost casually. "I wouldn't put that beneath him at all."

Emma grimaced. "Can we stop throwing around our gruesome ideas, please? We're not completely helpless. We have an Acre full of allies, all of them powerful in their own right, and the reassurance that we've thrown multiple spanners in Caul's works before."

"And we're going to find the rest of emancipators," exclaimed Olive, boldly. "Without hope, all is lost. Right, Miss P?"

Miss Peregrine's smile showed confidence, though her eyes held uncertainty. She looked bone-tired, not nearly her usual attentive self.

"And we're going to find the rest of the emancipators," exclaimed Olive, boldly. "Without hope, all is lost! Right, Miss P?"

Miss Peregrine's smile showed confidence, though her eyes held uncertainty. She looked bone-tired, not nearly her usual attentive self.

"You're quite right, Olive," she praised, with a mask of enthusiasm that most of them could see right through. She got up from the armchair and checked her pocket watch. "I'm afraid I'm needed at the Ministry. There's going to be a public gathering at twelve o'clock this afternoon, and everything will be explained to the public from there. Make your way to the operating theatre on Old Pye Street, and," she looked specifically at Jacob at Noor. "Do not put a toe over the threshold of this house unless it's to sort out the mess in the back garden. The state of it is getting on my wick."

Olive flopped down onto the sofa with a whine. "But Headmistress, it's like the garden of horrors out there. We might get lost in the overgrowth."

"All the more reason to get cracking."

"Are you having a laugh?!" Enoch complained. "We're on the verge of what could be the worst war in peculiar history, and you want us to do some gardening?"

"No arguments, Mr O'Connor," she snapped at him. "See you all at lunchtime."

.


.

From her seat on a rusted bucket, Emma observed her friends as they worked on the overgrown garden.

Bronwyn was effortlessly tearing out the wild foliage—which had more or less consumed the place, tossing it into a pile without breaking a sweat. With Fiona still recuperating, Enoch and Millard had the task of planting flowers in the moss-eaten flowerbeds.

At one point, Claire and Olive had been helping, but had evidently grown bored because now they were sitting on the lawn playing marbles.

Hugh and Fiona — who was looking a lot perkier than she had this morning, were throwing seeds at her clucking chickens.

Noor and Jacob had been pulling up weeds, but were now lost in conversation, and Emma had dozed off for a short while but had since come out to see how they were getting on, and she had to hand it to them — the garden was certainly looked a lot less chaotic than when they'd started.

"Oi, you git! Put some bleedin' clothes on!" She heard Enoch exclaim, and her lips twitched as she watched the floating watering can rain down on his head. Enoch shoved his hand toward the invisible boy, and a dent appeared in the soil as Millard fell onto his backside, laughing all the way. Enoch grabbed a fistful of soil and chucked it at him.

Emma watched on until a voice called her name. She turned to see Horace poking his head around the back door.

"Emma, a letter arrived just now," he informed her, holding up an envelope. "It's addressed to you."

"Me?" Emma took the letter from him. "Who on earth would be writing to me?"

Bronwyn crossed the lawn while shaking the dirt from her hands. "What's all this, then?"

"Emma's received a letter," Horace called out.

"A letter?!" Came Millard's voice from somewhere unseen, and soon the entire household was gathered around her.

"Perhaps it's from Miss P?" Suggested Horace.

"Ain't frilly enough to be the Bird's writing," Bronwyn noted. "And if she wanted to speak to us, she would use that shoddy old telephone or come over herself."

Enoch looked at Emma expectantly. "Well...are you going to open it or not?"

"Enoch, don't be so pushy," warned Jacob from where he was sitting on one of the brick flowerbeds.

While the others were theorising the identity of the sender, Emma's fingers had brushed the shape of something hard and oval-shaped. In stunned silence, she tore open the envelope with a sudden sense of haste, her fingers slipping past the letter and going straight for the object.

It couldn't possibly be—

Emma pulled out a silver locket, and the citrine stone twinkled as if to greet her.

It was.

"Oh, that's a beautiful locket," Olive marvelled. "But who could it be from?"

Emma took off so briskly that everyone had to stumble out of her path. She rushed through the rickety house, straight through the kitchen and down the narrow hallway before vaulting around the bannister. When she reached the back bedroom, she shut herself inside and fell against the door.

It took all the strength she could muster to bring her thumbnail to the locket's clasp and pry the halves carefully open. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the untarnished faces smiling back at her.

When Emma arrived at the children's home with nothing but the horrors in her head and the clothes on her back, she had made it a nightly ritual to picture this photograph before she went to sleep; to burn it into her memory so she wouldn't forget what they looked like. But even when time stood still, her memories aged on.

There had been a snow globe that sat on the mantelpiece at the children's home. Emma had been drawn to it when she walked into the parlour for the first time.

Encased inside the glass sphere was a scene of Cairnholme itself. With detailed figures of boats, fishermen, and frolicking children. Claire, who'd excitedly toured, or rather dragged, Emma around the place, had smiled sweetly.

"Oh, you like our snow globe, do you?"

Emma hadn't responded. Not that Claire gave her much time to answer. "Sometimes, I imagine that we all live inside that snow-globe," she'd told her, jovially. "Well, we don't really. But it seems that way sometimes. Nothing ever changes here. The fishermen are always fishing. The children are always frolicking..."

That observation, which had been spoken so spiritedly by Claire, had stayed with Emma for the near on eighty years she would spend inside the loop. It was exactly like being trapped inside that snow globe on Miss Peregrine's mantelpiece. Where the fishermen fished, and the children frolicked in blissful ignorance, forevermore.

Dates were a fickle concept to peculiars. They liked to warp and bend. It felt like both yesterday and a lifetime ago since Emma was living at number 3 Leys Lane, being no older than sixteen—attending school and getting into inane arguments with her sister.

Julia had taken this photograph with a self timer, and after multiple attempts, this had been the final image — it was of the three Bloom children: Emma, Julia, and William. They were sprawled on a gingham picnic blanket; Billy between the girls, squashing their grinning faces against his own.

Photography had been Julia's latest fixation when Emma saw her last. She would photograph everything and develop them herself in their grandfather's dark room.

Emma once had a wedge of them stored beneath a loose floorboard in the children's home, though she never had the guts to go through them. The collection had since perished with Abe's letters in the loop collapse — but she could just about remember a few.

There'd been one of Billy, fast asleep with his lunatic tabby cat curled upon his head. Several images of the neighbour's son Freddie, a past classmate of Emma's whom Julia happened to be obsessed with. Then there was that beastly photograph of the time Emma caught the mumps virus — that one lived a short life, for Emma had wrestled her sister to the ground and torn the monstrosity into indecipherable pieces, all while raving about how much she hated her.

Looking back, there was nothing she wouldn't do to bicker with her annoying little sister again or to play a game of chess with Billy; to let them know how desperately sorry she was that she failed in her duties as their older sister.

Emma closed them inside her long-lost time capsule and pressed her lips to the cold metal, a silent tear dripping off the end of her nose.

Beneath her arm, the letter sat unopened, waiting to be read.

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A/N: please don't forget to leave a review :)