Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror (15 page)

T
he young monsters settled into a routine. Each morning they gathered in the cafeteria for scrambled eggs and scrapple, then headed off to their classes—Guidance with Mr. Shale, Human Behaviors with Dr. Ziegfield-Gruff, Language and Fabrications with Willow, Numberology with Mr. Pupae, the moth man. After lunch there was Mad Science, and Monster Ed, followed by Shame and Band. There was a study hall before dinner, followed by another study hall, followed by lights-out.

As the days went by, and March turned into April, Falcon and Jonny kept waiting to be summoned by Mrs. Redflint, to be drawn into a tribunal where their dooms would be pronounced. In the afternoons, as Falcon walked across Grisleigh Quad, his eyes frequently rose to gaze upon the calcified gargoyle that stood upon one of the marble columns beside the gates to the Upper School: the former Scratchy Weezums, his mouth frozen forever in a marble scream. He knew that his own stone form might
well stand atop some other column unless his own monster nature, whatever it was, revealed itself in time.

By mid-April, however, it was no clearer to Falcon, or anyone else, what it was he was becoming than it had been upon the day of his arrival. The skin on his back continued to flake off and wrinkle, and his two eyes continued to glow a deeper black, a deeper blue. In his chest Falcon felt his second heart pulsing more intently each day. He could feel it now, beating beneath what Falcon thought of as his first heart. But the other was growing. Sometimes his twin pulses seemed identical to him, synchronous. At other times the second heart followed its own rhythm, ignoring the beat of the first.

None of this was visible to anyone who might have looked at Falcon Quinn. On the surface, one would not have seen a boy who looked much different from the small blond one who had stood at the top of the hill on the day of the spring equinox, holding a tuba case with one hand.

The same could not have been said of Falcon's friends and classmates. Scout and Ranger grew larger and more doglike, their long canine teeth turning to sharp fangs. Mortia and Crumble and the other zombies began to shrivel; the leprechauns grew smaller and more furtive, and were often seen burying pots of gold or digging them up again. Max and Peeler and Woody continued to grow
larger and hairier, and as they did, they grew happier and more expansive in their joy.

Weems, for his part, lost no time commencing work upon his coffin ship.

He began by drawing out plans on the stone floor with a piece of chalk. Then he began to gather materials, mostly from the old caskets piled up in the mausoleums in the catacombs. The ghoul appeared never to sleep; instead he spent the evening hours ripping apart coffins and making piles of various timbers.

One night Falcon tried to assist him. But Weems just waved him off.

“Why would you want to help me?” said Weems. “You already have all that I desire.”

“I want to come with you,” said Falcon. “I have to get out of here. I'm in
danger
.”

“Danger? What danger is this for Falcon Quinn?”

“They say they're going to turn me to stone,” said Falcon. “They think I'm—a
threat
.”

“Perhaps you
are
a threat,” said Weems. “That would not surprise me at all.”

“How am I a threat?” said Falcon.

“You are a threat, perhaps, in ways you do not know. But I have heard the things they say. That Falcon Quinn does not belong.”

“Who says that?” said Falcon angrily. “Tell me!”

“My, my,” said Weems. “So angry we get, all at once. And that eye of yours—the blue one. Look how it starts to shine!”

“Tell me who's saying these things about me!” shouted Falcon. “I deserve to know!”

“No, no,” said Weems. “I would not want you to shine that eye on me. I think it best if I sail away, on my coffin ship. And get as far away as I can from Falcon Quinn and his eye.”

Falcon put one hand over his blue eye, which had begun to feel cold. He felt his second heart beginning to pound. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I just don't know—what's happening to me. I'm—turning into something. But I don't know what.”

“How can you not know what?” rasped Weems.
“How can you not know?”

“I think—I'm a combination of things,” said Falcon. “The doctors said I might be something they haven't seen before. Something new.”

Weems looked at Falcon curiously. “It might be difficult,” he said thoughtfully. “To be turning into something without a name. A thing without—history.”

“What it is, is lonely,” said Falcon. “To tell you the truth.”

Weems nodded. “I am familiar with that feeling,” he said.

He slowly reached into a pocket of his tattered cloak, removed his paddleball, and began to bounce it softly. “I suppose there is
one
thing you might do to help,” he said. “Not that this is possible. But I only mention it so that Falcon Quinn can understand. That Weems is not a heartless thing, like others.”

“What?” said Falcon. “What can I do?”

Weems hissed through his sharp, pointed teeth. “You must convince her,” whispered Weems. “She must come with us.”

“Who? You mean Destynee? You want Destynee to escape with us?”

“The beloved. She will not come to be with me—oh no, of course not,” said Weems. “If I were to ask, she would only recoil in disdain. But perhaps she would come, if she thought it meant being with Falcon Quinn. Yes, perhaps she would, if asked by you.”

“Weems…,” said Falcon. “I don't think she's going to—”

“You convince her. The beloved.” He began to paddle his ball again. “If she joins us, then perhaps there will be room. But if she remains—then so does Falcon Quinn!
So does Falcon Quinn!
”

 

One afternoon toward the middle of the month, Falcon was walking toward study hall when he heard the sound
of groaning and weeping coming from a bathroom. He paused for a moment, then opened the door to find Sparkbolt standing in one corner, banging his head against the wall. On the counter by the sink was a composition book. In Sparkbolt's large, scrawling hand was written, “Poetry Book of Rhyming Poems. By Timothy Sparkbolt.”

“Sparkbolt?” said Falcon. “Are you all right?”

“Go—away,” said Sparkbolt. “Sparkbolt SAD.”

“What's up?”

“Teacher. Willow. Said poems—BELONG DEAD!”

“What do you mean, belong dead? She didn't like what you wrote, you mean?”

“Said poems—NEED WORK. RRRRRRRRR!”

“Wait,” said Falcon. “There's a difference between her saying your poems need work and her saying—”

“POEMS BELONG DEAD!” said Sparkbolt, weeping. “DEAD!”

From down the hall Falcon thought he heard raised voices. Mrs. Redflint was yelling at someone. He heard Willow's voice too, as well as that of Mr. Hake, and several others. Falcon wanted to go see what this was all about, but he didn't want to leave Sparkbolt in this condition. He felt his blue eye throbbing, and his secondary heart began to pulse.

“What's going on?” said Falcon. “Was there some kind of fight or something?”

“Jonny Frankenstein save Sparkbolt,” said the monster. “Jonny pick up Willow and—RRRRR!”

“Is she all right?” said Falcon.

“Sparkbolt—NOT CARE. Sparkbolt—WORKING ON POEM.”

The sounds from the hallway died out, and now things were quiet again. “What's this poem you're working on?” asked Falcon. “You want to read it to me?”

Sparkbolt looked unsure. His eyes fell upon his composition book by the sink. “If Falcon Quinn laugh,” he said, “Sparkbolt will crush skull, will CRUSH.”

“Fair enough,” said Falcon.

“Will read one poem, then,” Sparkbolt said, picking up his composition book. “Poem about—about—” He sighed. “Rrrrrrr.”

“Just read it,” said Falcon. “I'm all ears.”

“Poem,” said Sparkbolt, taking a deep breath, and then he read the following.

Sparkbolt looked up at Falcon self-consciously. “It just first draft,” he said.

“Hey, Sparkbolt,” said Falcon. “That might just be the greatest poem I have ever heard.”

Sparkbolt's entire face changed as Falcon said this. His features were no longer those of a being without hope or love, but of one who thought that perhaps even he, of all creatures, deserved these things as well. He clapped Falcon on the shoulders and lifted him in the air with his gigantic arms. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” said Sparkbolt in an inarticulate gasp of delight. “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“You're a poet,” said Falcon. “Congratulations!”

He put Falcon down. “FALCON QUINN! FRIEND! FRIEND! FRIEND!”

“Sure, Sparkbolt,” said Falcon. “Falcon Quinn, friend. Will you remember that? If anything happens to me?”

“Happen?” said Sparkbolt uncertainly. “Nothing happen Falcon Quinn.” The Frankenstein's face was consumed with melancholy, and tears rushed into his sallow eyes. “Falcon Quinn—SAFE!”

Falcon patted Sparkbolt's shoulder. “Sparkbolt safe too,” he said.

Sparkbolt looked at Falcon hopefully. “Sparkbolt—read poem AGAIN?”

“Of course,” Falcon told Sparkbolt. He'd be glad to hear the poem again, and he stood there in awe as the happy, deformed monster read his poem once more, from the beginning.

 

After dinner that night, Falcon took Destynee aside. “You think we could take a walk?” he said. “Just the two of us?”

“Oh, Falcon,” said Destynee, blushing. “Of course! Of course!”

“It's just walking,” said Falcon.

“I know what it is,” said Destynee. They strolled outside the castle and walked across Grisleigh Quad.

“So, did you hear about Weems's boat?” said Falcon.

“Yeah,” said Destynee. “Megan told me about it.”

“Megan knows about it?”

“Jonny told her.”

“Ah,” said Falcon.

“Jonny tells her
everything
,” said Destynee. “They're really
close
. Just like you and I are close.”

“Yeah,” said Falcon. “Listen, Destynee. It might be that Jonny and I—and Weems—have to get out of here.”

“But you can't,” said Destynee, looking at Falcon in distress. “You can't.”

“We might have to,” said Falcon. “The teachers say
they're going to
turn us into stone.
”

“They won't do that,” said Destynee. “They just won't.”

“Yeah, but if it looks like they might? Jonny and Weems and I are going to use the boat. And if we do, I wonder if you—I wonder if you'd come with us. Come with me. I mean.”

Destynee's mouth opened, then closed. She shuddered. “Oh, Falcon, I—I never thought you'd—I—
Wuggghh!
”

Suddenly Destynee transformed completely into a giant slug. She sat there glistening in the moonlight. Falcon thought,
Great.

At this moment Falcon heard footsteps. “Eee-eewww,” said a voice. He looked over to see Merideath walking by with her friend Wakeful, another vampire girl from the Tower of Blood. “Hey look, Wakeful! It's Falcon
Quark
, and his
girlfriend
. The
slug
!”

“Eee-ewww,” said Wakeful.

“She's
not
my girlfriend,” said Falcon loudly. “I don't even like her!”

Destynee began to wriggle and writhe, and Falcon blushed. “I mean—”

“A match made in heaven,” said Merideath, and she and Wakeful walked off, laughing. There was a shuddering sound, and then Destynee was herself again, now covered in glistening slime.

“Oh, Falcon,” said Destynee.

“I'm sorry I said that,” said Falcon. “Really I am.”

“I understand, Falcon,” said Destynee. “It's true. No one will ever fall in love with me, I know it. Because of what I am. I'm horrible! Horrible!”

“You're not horrible,” said Falcon. “You're just a giant enchanted slug. There's a big difference.”

Destynee sighed. “I have to stay here, Falcon,” said Destynee. “It's my only hope. To stay here, and to learn how to be human. If I go with you, I'll wind up a slug forever. And you'll never be able to—see me. For what I am.”

“I can see you, Destynee.”

“No, you can't,” said Destynee, her voice catching. “I'm
invisible
to you, because of what I am!” Tears began to pour out of her eyes, but as they ran down her face, they hissed and steamed.

“What's going on?” said Falcon. “What's happening?”

“The tears,” said Destynee. “They're
salty
!” Little rivulets of slime began to drip down her cheeks as Destynee's face dissolved.

“What can we do?” said Falcon, looking on in alarm.

“I have to stop crying,” said Destynee. “Forever.”

“Destynee—”

“I have to stop thinking about you, Falcon. That's the only way to stop the tears. Good-bye, Falcon,” she said, running back toward the castle. “Good-bye!”

Falcon stood there and watched her run away from
him. As he did, a light went on in one of the gingerbread houses, and one of the green men looked out the window at him.

Falcon looked at the green man and sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I think
that
went well.”

 

That night Falcon lay on his bunk, waiting. Once he heard Lincoln begin to snore, Falcon said, “Jonny? You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess you heard about me and Destynee?”

“Jeez, Falcon. You almost melted her.”

“I asked her to come on Weems's boat with us, but she said she has to stay here. She really wants to learn how to stop being a slug.”