"Sometimes, Jacob, I get this awful feeling that you think of us as a couple of dusty antiques who suddenly came alive when you walked through the cairn," said Emma, in a pained whisper. "But we had lives once, too."
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculi...
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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 casted 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.
