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The fireplace in their house had been burning for many hours. There was still time before the reset, and that was their plan: to finish Halloween with something frightening. And in their world, there was one frightening but familiar thing. The night bombs that were supposed to have killed them nearly a hundred years ago.
This was the first time they were celebrating Halloween. The first time even Alma allowed herself to smile and, most importantly…to stop mourning. And of course, Isabel was behind all of this—behind every change in their home. And the grown-up (if only a little) children loved her for it.
Isabel had entered their hearts as quickly as an arrow might enter a person's body. She won over all the children in different ways, and Alma's heart swelled with happiness every time she witnessed it.
And now, their house was filled with noise uncharacteristic of it. The costumes weren't made from scraps but were either crafted with good help or bought. Isabel sat on the sofa in her costume, which she had bought in advance during a trip to the future with the children.
Alma was almost glad she hadn't gone with them. Because Isabel knew how to create a ruckus with almost every child, perfectly adapting to their personality traits. Or did they adapt to her? Either way, it would have been a disaster if Alma had been there.
A small shriek, followed by laughter, sounds nearby. It's Olive, having untangled herself from her rope, nearly floating to the ceiling, and Isabel, who at the last moment managed to grab her by the ankle and then secured her by holding her more firmly around the waist.
The girl was wrapped in a sheet, clearly doing her best to look like a scary ghost. But the only thing that could frighten Alma about the girl's costume was perhaps the ruined sheet. Not because Olive wasn't trying hard enough—quite the opposite. She, like every child in the house, approached this with absolute seriousness. And yet, Alma couldn't be frightened of a little child who laughed brighter than little bells.
Isabel hugs the girl slightly closer to herself, and the body tangled in the sheets laughs and squirms as the Frenchwoman starts tickling her. The younger children barely understood who Isabel was to Alma. In their world, the word 'wife' was something distant and not fully understood. And yet…
— Stop! Ah! Stop! Stop! Stop! — Olive pleads, filling the living room with laughter. Alma even puts down the penknife she was using to carve a pumpkin face to watch. She can't suppress a smile, which, fortunately, neither Olive nor Isabel notices.
— She'll suffocate in that sheet if she keeps laughing like that, dearest. — Alma says with a smirk, placing a hand on her wife's shoulder. The latter stops, breathing heavily herself, and looks at her. Isabel is also impossible to take seriously—the makeup on her face resembles a cat's face.
She smiles widely, discreetly leaving a kiss on her wife's temple. Alma also has makeup on, but unlike Isabel's, which was beautiful and bordered on funny, Alma's was beautiful and bordered on sexy. The large dress still accompanied Alma's style even now.
Black and red, with interwoven scarlet beads on the multi-layered, equally scarlet skirts, accompanied by matching wings and gloves, gave Alma the appearance more of a Goddess of Death than a fallen Angel. But Isabel wouldn't say that out loud.
She just stops tickling the almost-suffocated child, who is now giggling and still on Isabel's lap, pressed tightly against her body.
— Where is your rope, mademoiselle? Where is it? Confess. — Isabel laughs, trying to find which way the child's head might be facing under the sheet. Olive calms down and stops giggling.
— On the stairs!
— On what stairs, eh, mademoiselle? And most importantly, how did it get there? Confess, or else…— Isabel's fingers hover over her sides, ready for new tickle torture. Olive squeals with laughter.
— I dropped it! It came untied by accident! — the girl gives in, shouting her words, accompanied by fierce attempts to break free from the second headmistress's firm grip. Isabel laughs and looks at her wife again.
— What do you think, Mrs. Peregrine-Cuckoo…Is that a good enough reason to spare the ghost from a ticklish death? — Isabel smiles, showing her white teeth, and Alma smiles back. And now Olive pleads for mercy from Alma.
— Well, I suppose…— she pauses, allowing herself to play along with these games. — the ghost can be saved from a ticklish death, but cannot be saved from having its waist re-tied. We don't want our ghost to fly away somewhere far, do we?
— Oh, well, if this Halloween night we're worried about ghosts not flying away…— Isabel stops, hearing footsteps. Judging by the fact the floorboards barely creaked and the slowness of the steps, it was one of the middle children. Horace?
— Horace, is that you? — Alma asks first, receiving an affirming "Yes, Miss…Mrs. Peregrine!"
— Could you fetch Olive's rope? She left it on the stairs.
— On the fifth step, Horace! — shouts Olive. A rustling is heard in the corridor, a few steps, and then the young man enters the living room. He is the only one who didn't make a full costume. At that moment, instead of his usual tailcoats, he was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and his usual monocle was completely absent.
— And who have you dressed as, young man? — Isabel asks with a smirk, settling the ghost on her lap and starting to wrap the rope around the child's waist. Horace smiles upon hearing the question.
— I decided to base my Halloween costume on the fashion of future people! The lack of style and the multitude of options can scare anyone. — Isabel laughs heartily and reaches out to the young man, patting him on the shoulder.
— Wonderful! Oh, that's just wonderful. Well, you're playing your role excellently. Just ask your future friends if you should add slang to your speech. I'd give a lot to see that.
Isabel giggles, and Alma can't suppress a smile either. Mostly because her wife's laughter was contagious, and after a couple of seconds, everyone around started smiling. Horace also allows himself a chuckle, feeling awkward in these future clothes.
— I'll get back to the others. — says the young man, and Olive asks to be taken to Claire. The women are left alone, and Alma places the next pumpkin on her lap, from which all the pulp had been scooped out a couple of hours ago. Isabel does the same, occasionally licking a few drops of juice from her fingers.
— Your island is perfect for hosting Halloween. — she remarks casually. Alma stops and then nods. It's true. The only downside was that the children couldn't go trick-or-treating in their costumes. For the Loop's residents, Halloween hadn't come and never would.
— I suppose so. — says Alma, examining Isabel's costume. It was tight and quite form-fitting, and yet it looked wonderful on her fabulous legs and slim waist. If Alma could, she would spend hours just looking at her wife's outfit. Footsteps, chatter, rustling, and laughter can be heard from the second floor.
The quiet house becomes loud. Trouble becomes happiness. And then, Alma looks at the oven where cookies are baking. If they couldn't provide the children with the candy tradition, she could make an exception and provide them with the happiness of sweets at night.
The woman sets aside the pumpkin to stand up and turn off the stove. She doesn't yet know what costumes her wards have prepared. Isabel was the one who went to the store with them. Her wife is carving the pumpkin's eyes, slightly uneven and asymmetrical, but it's subtle enough to place on the table.
Outside the window, the wind was slowly raging, something Isabel had grown accustomed to. But being alone in this house, a feeling of discomfort washed over her like restless waves crashing against the stone shores of this place. How strange it was to realize that if Alma hadn't been a fast and talented enough Ymbryne, she and her children could have simply…—
The Frenchwoman stops herself from these thoughts. Pampered by her Touristic Loop, where there was no bad weather, no Nazi bombs (not even a hint of anything from the Reich), she was learning with surprise the reality of those Ymbrynes who had tied their lives to children.
"Were you scared, Alma?" she wants to ask, staring intently at her wife's back. "Did you think you wouldn't make it? Did you cry after that night?" But Isabel won't find the cruelty in herself to ask this tonight. After all, it was Halloween in the future now. After all, there were no Nazi bombs or death threats in the future.
And here in the past, there was a living, healthy, and happy Alma, and her wards, whom Isabel had learned to love. And perhaps she still didn't see herself as a caretaker or a mother. But at least she was trying to be one for them. And that was enough.
— Dearest, could you call the children to the table? — Alma asks, taking the cookies out of the oven. The idea belonged to Isabel, and it involved some of the cookies being heavily spiced with pepper. "It will be funny," Isabel had justified her idea just yesterday. And it probably would be funny.
The Frenchwoman nods and stands up, heading to the second floor. Some of the children are still getting ready, while others are just sitting together chatting. She finds the first door open; the room belongs to Claire. The girl was standing in front of the mirror, examining herself.
— What a toothy creature. — Isabel says with a smile, leaning against the doorframe. The girl turns sharply and breaks into an embarrassed smile. She accepted Isabel into the family easily, yet cautiously. The girl waved at the Ymbryne, coming closer.
She was dressed as the tooth fairy, and her second mouth growled approvingly. The Frenchwoman raised her eyebrows, pretending to be surprised. She picked the child up, holding the girl easily. Although the costume slightly restricted her movements, it didn't hinder her now.
— Well, well, look at this beauty. And how many teeth do you have altogether, little one? — Isabel smiles as the girl giggles and settles more comfortably in her arms. Which isn't so easy to do in her dress, whose number of skirts could only be rivaled by her wife's dress.
— Sixty-six, if you count the teeth on my costume, Mi…Mrs. Cuckoo. — Claire replies, and then her tone shifts from embarrassment to excitement. — Are we going to the table now? I'm very hungry! And I want to see the pumpkins. — the girl says, to which the Ymbryne just rolls her eyes affectionately.
The children had grown over this time, and oh Birds, these changes weren't in height or weight, but in appetite. They would eat several servings, while their souls always desired something completely different, to which Isabel's generous response was always to offer to let them cook for themselves. With which, she had to admit, the older children managed excellently.
— Yes. Meat, vegetables, fish, salads, potatoes—everything is ready. And desserts too. And the pumpkins too. We need to call the others, but you can go downstairs and help your mom. Just, don't tell her I called her that. Okay? I hope the fairy grants my wish.
The girl nodded, and Isabel could only note with pleasure again how reliable some of them were. With these kids on your team, you could easily commit a murder and not fear being turned in. Ah, wonderful Halloween thoughts.
She knocks on the next door, where Fiona, Noor, and Emma open it for her. The three girls were finishing their outfits, and for a few seconds they stared at Isabel's costume. She, filling the awkward pause, bent her arm into a fist and lazily extended it forward in a cat-like manner.
— Meow.
They smile, and Noor bursts into a few nervous giggles. Her body is wrapped in bandages and, apparently, painted with red. She's wearing that very headband they bought on the trip to the mall. It depicted a bloodied bandage and a metallic stick that seemed to have pierced straight through her head.
Emma didn't have a specific costume, but her entire face and hands were painted with waves. And judging by Noor's bluish fingers, it was she who had painted it all. Emma wore a blue short-sleeved dress, and the ends of her hair were curled.
— A HoleHead and Wave Girl? That's unusual. And I like that you didn't tie your costume to fire, Emma. That would have been cliché. — the woman comments, and the girl smiles widely.
— Finally, someone gets it! Enoch said it was stupid. But for Enoch, anything we do is stupid.
— Taking advice from twelve-year-olds was never my style. — Noor adds, poking Emma in the side with her bandaged elbow. Isabel's joking manner fades slightly, replaced by softness as she looks at the silent Fiona. Her body is entwined with vines, and her costume was probably Mother Nature.
Buds were blooming in her hair, and around them, like a halo, a few bees circled. She stood barefoot, staring intently at Isabel. Fiona, fortunately, wasn't as frightened of the Frenchwoman as before. And yet, Isabel was careful. The woman gives an approving smile.
— It suits you very well, Fiona. You all look excellent, future models for an agency. But I came to call you to the table. Everything is ready.
— Finally. I'm hungry as hell! — says Noor, and Emma nods, heading for the door with Fiona. They thank Isabel, follow her words, and go towards the stairs.
— Not true, you're as hungry as someone who got a hole in their head. By the way, did I tell you about…—
— Yes, you've mentioned Sam for the third time today. And I'm the one with a hole in my head, hmm? — the girls' voices ring out, and Isabel can't suppress a few chuckles that escape her throat.
In the next room, she finds Bronwyn, Hugh, and Jacob. And as she realizes a second later, Millard too. Bronwyn stood in a Wonder Woman costume, which she had learned about just in time for Halloween. It seemed she was still a bit unaccustomed to such revealing clothing.
Hugh, like Fiona, was wrapped from head to toe in flowers and vines. Their costumes were clearly a pair, which was, in fact, very sweet. But not wanting to embarrass them this time, the woman remains silent. The younger Portman is standing in a…tailcoat. Isabel raises her eyebrows, surprised. And Millard is wrapped up like a mummy. And apparently, that's his costume.
— I've come to call you to the table. Bronwyn, what a nice costume. You truly are Wonder Woman. And let me say, red suits you. — Bronwyn only manages to insert a "thank you very much, Mrs. Peregrine-Cuckoo". — Hugh, I think you need to hurry to Fiona to make a joint splash. And Jacob, why are you…
— It's like a costume swap with Horace. He thinks future clothing is complete crap. — Isabel doesn't flinch at the swear word, because the older children swore freely around her. (And Alma didn't necessarily need to know that.) — and I think past clothing is complete crap. "Let's suffocate together, let's wear corsets together," — the young man mimics, having clearly been in an argument on this topic earlier. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't be so emotional.
— Wonderful camaraderie, Jake. Or should I say, Sir Portman? In any case, men in tailcoats, mummies, and…forest creatures, and Wonder Women are invited to the table. The potatoes won't eat themselves.
The children leave, and Isabel, heading to the last room, notes that so far Bronwyn was the only being in this house who called her "Mrs.", not "Miss" or "Isabel", and not "Cuckoo", but "Peregrine-Cuckoo". And it was simply impossible not to be touched by such tender affection.
In the last room are Horace in jeans and a t-shirt, and Enoch, whose face is painted like a skeleton's face with human skin tissue. His fingers are also painted red with white lines, and his costume is a torn something. In the makeup, Isabel recognizes Noor's handiwork.
— Horace, Enoch. Dinner awaits. I've already commented on your costume, and as for you, Enoch. I sincerely expected to see you in a zombie costume, not a skinless man. But you, like Emma, made an excellent choice. Now go downstairs, everyone is waiting for you.
The woman doesn't give them time to answer, and Enoch seems almost too embarrassed to reply. He mumbles a thanks, and he and Horace leave. The woman descends after them, and at the table, everyone is indeed waiting for them. Isabel catches snippets of compliments her wife is receiving from the children and smiles.
Alma, sitting at the head of the table, truly looks wonderful. Isabel sits down next to her. Her plate is already full of her favorite food, and under the table, she gratefully squeezes her wife's knee, as much as their dresses allow.
— Regarding the desserts, children. — Isabel addresses them, tapping her fingers on the table. — some of the cookies are peppered. Since we can't ask the adults of the island to judge whether you are a sweet or a spite, we decided to do it ourselves by luck.
— I don't think Enoch even needs a cookie to find out who he is. — Emma mutters, but there's not a drop of malice in her tone. Isabel is the first, contrary to everything, to burst into laughter, which is quickly drowned out by a series of giggles from the others. Millard pats Enoch on the shoulder. And Enoch, contrary to everything, also tries to suppress an uncharacteristic smile.
This Halloween is going to drive them crazy.