Enoch O'Connor

Alma sigh. She had no idea what she was doing, to be quite honest. And she always strived to be honest, as honest as a twenty-something year old former orphan with two psychotic brothers who had been declared insane could be. Which was surprisingly honest, actually. Obviously she knew how having a loop and taking care of peculiares was suppose to work, she had learned that when she was trained to become an Ymbryne, but only in theory.

This, that she was about to do, on the other hand, was something completely different. Today she was actually going to have a child's life put into her hands, and she was expected to look after it and help it fulfill all its unfulfilled potential. How you did that, she didn't know.

For the tenth time this half-hour alone, Alma looked down at the photo and the carefully written letter in her hands. It was an informatory letter from her Ymbryne sister, Miss Glassbillow, telling her of her new ward, Enoch O'connor. Enoch had been living in Miss Woodpeckers loop in Glasgow for roughly seventy years, but was said to have been born in Eastern London.

On the picture sent with the letter, there was a slightly pudgy eleven year old boy with messy blond hair and blue eyes that stood out from his pale face. He was sitting in the grass on someone's lawn and playing with two porcelain dolls, which had apparently been gifts from his biological mother long ago. While Alma found it curious for a mother to give dolls as gifts for her son, she would be more than happy to let the boy play with whatever toys he wanted while under her care.

"I really hope I can do this" She mumbled, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the train's glass window. Alma wasn't normally the one to doubt herself, but it was always a huge step for an Ymbryne to receive her first peculiare, and hers was an adapted one at that.

Normally, the peculiares given to newly trained Ymbrynes would be raw, newly introduced to peculiare society and with little control over their powers. Alma's first charge, on the other hand, would be more than well trained with his powers and quite educated in the workings of peculiare society already. If it was a pro or a con, she couldn't tell.

Miss Woodpecker had not been very specific as to why she was no longer able to take care of her charge, but nor did Alma expect her to be. The reasons behind an Ymbryne abandoning or reassign any of her charges were often extremely delicate and personal, and when Alma got the offer to care for the boy, she accepted without further questions. If there was anything to be told, she thought, the boy would surely come to tell her of it.

'Now arriving at Glasgow Railroad station. All passengers leave the train.'

Exactly an hour after the promised time, the train from London finally arrived at it's promised destination at the train station in Glasgow. The delays concerned Alma, for as far as she knew her sister was not to wait with Enoch on the station, and a child left alone at a train station for as long as an hour was at risk of being picked up by station employees, assumingly lost or abandoned.

"Don't worry, I'm sure the boy will be alright. He's old enough to tell the personal he's waiting for someone and ask them to let him be." She told herself quietly as stepped out onto the train station platform, immediately being pushed aside as she was almost run over by a man who seemed to be in an awful hurry somewhere.

The train station was lot bigger and more populated than Alma had expected it to, much more crowded and noisy than she was used to. Suddenly, she felt despair welling up inside her like a thick, black goo that threatened to close off her airways and suffocate her. How, how was she expected to find an eleven year old boy in this unorganised mess that was the Glasgow train station? It was impossible, even with the picture as reference, for he was so small that he would simply disappear in the sea of grown-ups.

Taking a few tentative steps in a random direction, she quickly stopped as she heard someone talking among the crowd.

"Where is your guardian? Children aren't allowed to be on the platform alone!" She heard a man bark angrily, apparently not too far away from where Alma was standing.

Turning around on her feet to try and locate the man, she felt a glimmer of hope lighting up her inside. While chances were it wasn't Enoch the angry man had been addressing, she decided that she had nothing to lose by checking it out.

"I-I'm waiting for my guardian, Mister. The headmistress of the orphanage I'm moving to was going to pick me up here." A young boy sputtered, clearly replying to the angered man. His voice was definitely male, but high pitched enough that some might confuse it for a female. Furthermore, Alma's sharp hearing picked up a slight but distinct cockney accent, which got her heart beat even faster. Enoch was supposedly from East London originally, and could likely have a cockney accent.

It was still a far fetched chances, but it was something to hold on to.

Alma felt her heart pounding in her chest, anxiety ravaging her stomach and pulse beating like drums in her ears as she scanned the train station for the man and the boy. She was just about convinced that she had imagined it all, so desperate to find the boy, when she finally noticed a man in train station uniform standing bent over someone, who was sitting on a bench a bit off to the side.

Running as fast as her limping right leg would allow her, Alma rushed over to the two. As she came closer, she could see more of the boy the employee was blocking from view, and one look at the poor things pale face told her it was him.

"Enoch!" She called out, and the boy looked up, big blue eyes staring at her, the employee moving out of the way slightly as he saw her approaching.

"I this your new guardian?" The man grabbed Enoch by the arm, forcing him off the bench, and she could see the boy flinch. Abandoned on his seat on the bench was two pale porcelain dolls.

"Let my ward be!" Alma complained, before the boy himself could say anything. She walked up to the man and removed his hand from Enoch arm, grabbing on herself instead, though admittedly a lot gentler. She didn't do child abuse, after all. Enoch smiled. "You should feel ashamed of yourself. Attack such an innocent young boy!"

"Sorry" The man looked down into the ground, embarrassed. First now did she realise the "man" was probably a lot younger than her, not much more than a boy really. "Just trying to do my job, Miss. I am sorry if I caused you any inconvenience."

She resisted rolling her eyes in the most undignified manner at the weak excuse. Just doing my duty, as if that was an excuse! He could have 'done his duty' a lot more gentle than he did.

"Oh please, just go bother someone else! Me and charge have a train to catch!" With a last irritated swat of her hand in the air, she stomped away, playing angry and deeply insulted so the man wouldn't follow, pulling at Enoch's arm so he would come along.

Enoch, though, refused. "My dolls!" He protested, suddenly and violently making himself free of her grip, so he could run back and pick up the porcelain dolls resting on bench, wedging them under one of his arms as he used the other one to carry a small suitcase that Alma admittedly hadn't really taken notice of.

"Enoch O'Connor! Come back now!" Alma screeched, seeing the man glancing at them from a distance, and not wanting him to think she couldn't control her child. Enoch glaced at him, too, and slowly walked over to her, clutching everything he owned close.

"I wouldn't leave my dolls, Miss. You can't tell me to leave my dolls." Enoch is frowning, and Alma realised that she could have been more tactical. She was used to being strict and cold, her heart too damaged from the past to allow her to let people in. Miss Woodpecker, on the other hand, was open and kind and extremely well-liked among peculiares everywhere. Alma had never even thought to fear how Enoch would react to the vast differences by his new and old Ymbryne, but now she did.

"I know honey, but we need to go. " She forced the affectionate nickname over her lips despite its bitter taste, smiling softly at him and started walking. This time, Alma didn't hold onto him, just started walking and hoped he would be able to follow.

To her relief, Enoch managed to follow without problem. Because of his packing he wasn't very smooth in his movement, but he appeared to be stronger than the appearance told, for he didn't ask to Alma for help carrying his items, but rather just moved on in quiet.

He was still frowning, and Alma realised she may have chased away something that had been rare to begin with. The letter had described him as bitter and deeply unhappy, but first now could she see what they were meaning.

When they came to their platform, it was thirty minutes until the train would leave, and the platform was empty. Feeling her right leg aching from running around on the station, Alma sat down on the closest bench and sigh in relief. She normally tries not to let her harmed bother her, trying to hide her limp if she could, but it was hard to deny that her injury could be problematic at times.

"What happened to your leg?" Enoch asked, his brow furrowed in slight concern as he watched her massage her shin to relieve a little of the pain that was currently radiating throughout the offending limb. "Did you hurt it?"

She closed her eyes briefly, sighing."You could say that. Broke it, when I was younger. It never healed properly, and as such, I'm still forced to deal with it."

"You were limping. Do you always limp?" The boys voice was monotone, frown still on his face as she opened her eyes, but she could see a curious glimmer in his eyes as he sat down on the floor next to her.

"Yes. But it's not very bad, I'm still pretty quick." Alma tried a smile, even though it felt wobbly and half-hearted. She masssaged her calf a little more intensely. "What about you then? How do you like switching loops and everything?" As soon as she let the question leave her lips she regretted it, once more thinking of the sharp difference between her and Delores Woodpecker . Why would this peculiare possibly enjoy having to switch his kind hearted and warm Ymbryne for a cold and emotionally distant woman like Alma?

"Eh, it's okay I s'pose. Gonna miss Miss G a lot. But you seem nice." He says it with such ease, and Alma knew she should take the last part as a compliment, but the frown on his face keep coming in the way somehow.

"I understand. She's a nice woman." Alma answered distractedly, still massaging her poor leg. It felt better now, but it would never be really good. "She came to Miss Avocet's school, once, and taught us about how environment can affect an unborn foster and subsequently its peculiar talent."

"Like if I my parents hadn't been undertakers, I wouldn't be able to rise the dead?" The boy asked absentmindedly, grabbing his suitcase and opening it, apparently searching for something inside.

"Not exactly. What you looking for?" The boy had lifted clothes and toys out of the suitcase, and was entirely focused on the squared leather item, trying hard to find whatever item he was looking for.

"I want my book" He said, simply and stubbornly, his frown deepening as he didn't seem to find it. "It have to be here!" More clothes and objects were taken out with less care as the boy seemed to go into something similar to e temper tantrum.

"Give me the bag, dear, I'll find it for you." Alma sigh, taking the suitcase from the boy and looking inside. There wasn't much left inside it now, just some clothe strewn out on the bottom, half of them probably belonging to Enoch dolls rather than the boy himself. Still, the boy was obviously not going to agree to listen unless they found 'his book', so she started absentmindedly picking up the clothes in order to expose the bottom the case, and, to her surprise noticed that one of the nightshirts was big and square-shaped in a way it shouldn't be. Unfolding it, she could definitely feel that there was something inside. "I think I found the book, dear."

"Really? Give me it!" The boy's face light up, and a small smile grazed his lips as he grabbed the item, removing the night shirt and revealing a green, leather bound book with golden details covering both the front and the back. "Yay! My book!"

Alma smiled at the boy's sudden excitement, watching him hug the book close and pack everything back. Then, all of sudden, she got a good idea. One that might make her charge like her a little more.

"Do you want me to read from it?" She asked, despite not knowing what kind of books it was, and extended her hand expectantly.

The effect was immediate. The little boy's hole face lit up and Alma could feel the excitement radiating from him like a heatwave. It made her smile, again, to see him smiling so much, suddenly much more appreciative of his new headmistress. "YES!" He screeched, his voice so loud that a few people threw looks their way, wondering what was happening, and causing Alma to have to hush him.

"Yes please" She reminded him teasingly, but he kept smiling.Turning the book which he had trusted her with over on it's back, she was for the first time faced with the front cover of it. Tales of the peculiare it said in fancy golden script, and she laughed a little. She should have understood.

"Can you read 'the pigeons of '?" He looked at her, hopeful, interested, polite. The perfectly behaved little boy hoping to hear his favourite story. Blissfully happy in a way she never thought she'd see him, ever. Not after she chased it away with her coldness.

She immediately nodded, starting out by opening the book on the very first page and seeing a personal note from Enoch's former Ymbryne.

"Because the tales is a happiness for you wherever you go." - Dolores Woodpecker

It was signed with Miss Woodpeckers full name, and Alma smile. Warm and kind indeed, that's the way her sister was.

"It's on page 156. Just follow the red rope." The boy look impatient, now, and Alma quickly open the book on the page marked by the thin piece of red satin. It was page 156, as promised.

A small editorial note was wedged in at the top of the page, informing the readers that they were not responsible for how the story might differ from other versions of the tale.

"What version is this story? Are the pigeons builders or destroyers?" Alma peered over the edge of the book at the boy, curious. There was alternate versions of many of the stories, but few were so vastly different from one another as 'The Pigeons of ',and most peculiares had their preferred versions that was the only ones they wanted to hear.

"Destroyers! The story with them as builders suck!" Enoch protested. "Now start reading! Please." The last word was added with a slightly disgruntled voice as Alma gave him a stern look, telling him it wouldn't do to be so demanding.

"Alright, I'll read for you." And read, Alma did. In fact, she never stopped reading. Because over the years she acquired more and more peculiare children to her home, and for all of them, both new and old, she read the stories from Tales of the peculiar, over and over again.

All of them had their favourites, that they didn't want to let go of, and were always begging her to read for them.

Enoch loved 'The pigeons of ', constantly claiming it to be the only story in the book that made sense, even though few of the tales had much logic to them at all. But for whatever reason, it made him happy, and that was all that mattered.

Bronwyn and Victor always asked for the story of Cuthbert, the friendly giant. Bronwyn would cry when the witch cursed him, and both of them would smile at the improvised positive endings that Alma added every time to make sure the stories end put a smile on her children's faces.

Claire and Olive, in their childish joy, enjoyed to hear of the girl that could talk to ghosts. The would be pouting over the sadness throughout most of the story, but smile gleefully at the happy ending.

Fiona and Hugh shared a common passion for the story of the boy who could raise the sea, and Alma suspected they liked comparing the boy and his love, the girl who controlled the wind, to themselves.

Horace and Millard both found an almost morbid curiosity in the story of the civilised cannibals, a story there was a strict age limit of thirteen years to hear, and which the boys normally took to reading themselves instead of asking her. It was easier for all intents and purposes.

Emma, always the odd one out but never minding it, had read the story of the first Ymbryne enough times to learn it by heart less than a year after she arrived at Miss Peregrine's home. The girl, who struggled with the concept of peculiars as opposed to the religious ideas of devils and curses, found it amazing with a story that explained how it had all come to be. It made it a little easier for her to adjust and accept herself for what she was.

Jacob, last but not least, seemed to latch onto a story no one else approved of. Miss Peregrine had seen Emma's vain attempt to skip it, and Jacob's immense protests that he wanted to read it. It was the story of the girl who rid people of their nightmares, and as dark and twisted as it was, Alma understood how it appealed to Jacob. He, too, had a peculiarity that made it immensely hard to discern good from evil.

The books and the tales within becomes a way for Alma to know the children. To see who they really are on a deeper level. To take information they would not give willing but wore openly when they listened to the mesmerizing stories so close yet so far away.

And for this purpose, Alma continued reading.