The Author, the Wight, and the Fangirls

Chapter One

Wight Headquarters, Undisclosed Location
3:55 PM
William Reynolds smirked as he scanned the faces around the table - six men, including himself - their eyes all blank white. Most of the world's wights had been destroyed during the Battle of Devil's acre, but these last few were lucky enough to have been away from Caul's fortress at the time the battle took place, and Jacob Portman led the peculiars to victory.

Being as resourceful as most wights were, these six men were soon able to locate each other and discuss what they would do next. It seemed the only appropriate thing to do was to carry on Caul's legacy - to finally kidnap enough ymbrynes to collapse a loop the right way, and free themselves from the confines of time loops so that they could finally rule the world. They deserved to be kings - after all, they had outlasted all the other wights.

"But," Reynold's had said one day, "we need more information first. We've been given a second chance, and we've got to make it count. Going in blind would be suicide!"
And so, the last of the wights did exactly what wights were meant to do - they dispersed, and observed. All of them returned to their undercover occupations, blending in with normals, just waiting for an opportunity to spring up.

About a month later, a wight named Peterson (who worked undercover at a publishing house) had called an emergency meeting, claiming to have found critical information.

"This had better be important, Peterson," Reynolds growled. I came all the way from Rangoon for this."

"It is, sir, I promise," said Peterson. He withdrew three books from a leather satchel, and laid them out on the round, metal table. Each book had a black-and-white photograph on the cover, the third one standing out particularly to the wights.

"That boy," one of the wights said, gesturing to the third book, "I remember seeing him somewhere."

"He was on the old recruiting posters," Reynolds agreed. "Before the 1908 project. But how-"

Peterson held up his hand, and began to explain. "There is a man, in America, by the name of Ransom Riggs," he said. "He has written a series of books about Jacob Portman - how he discovered Alma Peregrine's loop, how he discovered his peculiarity... It's actually quite an interesting read, if you-"
"Peterson!" Reynolds barked. "Stay on topic!"

"Oh, right. Sorry, sir. Anyway, the normals seem to think it's fiction, but the series contains a great deal of information about the strengths and weaknesses of Alma Peregrine's wards. It also tells where the group is located - in Portman's home in Florida."
"But we don't need the peculiar children right now," a wight in blue coveralls complained, "We need ymbrynes."

"I'm getting to that," Peterson continued calmly. "The books also contain an abundance of information about Caul Bentham, and the motives that he may have been... hiding from us."

All of the wights leaned in towards the table. "What do you mean?" Reynolds prompted.

"Caul Bentham wasn't after the ymbrynes," Peterson explained. "He had no intention of recreating the project in Siberia." He held up the third book and pointed to the title. "What he was really after was the Library of Souls."

"In Abaton?" the wight in the coveralls inquired. "I thought it was just a legend."

"Apparently not," said Peterson, holding up the book. "It's been destroyed now," he added offhandedly, "by Peregrine and the other ymbrynes. That's how they managed to take down Caul, apparently."

"But what does this mean for us?" asked a wight wearing a business suit and glasses.

"It means we aren't just looking for ymbryne's anymore," Peterson clarified. "We need to make it our goal to hunt down ordinary peculiars, as well. Only this time, we'll do it right. We can turn ourselves into gods, carry on Caul Bentham's legacy."

Reynolds chewed his lip. "Who are we supposed to go after?" he wondered. "Almost all of the peculiars in Europe are taking refuge in Devil's Acre right now. We can't attack them; there's only six of us."

"Right," said Peterson. "But there's bound to be a gap somewhere." He started packing the books away. "I'll analyze the novels further, but they mostly just entail Peregrine and her wards; that'll only take us so far. It would be better to talk to the guy who seems to know everything about the peculiars. Get our intel straight from the horse's mouth."

"And how are we supposed to contact him without looking suspicious?" asked a wight wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap.

"20th Century Fox is looking to make a movie adaptation," Peterson said. All eyes turned to Burton, who had been taking a risk as a more prominent figure - a movie director - for decades. "Think you're up for it, Burton?"

Burton smirked and pulled his sunglasses out of his jacket. "I'm on it," he said, standing up, and, without another word, he slipped on his sunglasses and left the wight's new makeshift headquarters.

Tim Burton was on a mission.