Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror (4 page)

She turned again and waddled down the stairs. Megan and Falcon watched her go. Then Megan spoke softly, almost as if Falcon wasn't there.

“What am I going to do?” she said. “What am I going to do?”

Falcon looked at Megan, then at the jar on the table.
“You want to wake up this Quimby?” he said.

“Why didn't she want me?” said Megan. “What did I do?”

Falcon thought for a moment. “Who?” he said.

“My mom,” said Megan.

Falcon looked at her curiously. He wasn't sure he understood.

“It wasn't my fault I lived,” added Megan softly. “Instead of them.”

“Megan,” said Falcon. “Are you saying your mom—blames you?”

“Of course she blames me,” said Megan. “Dahlia and Maeve—they were the ones she wanted. That was the last thing she said to me this morning.”

“What, that she didn't want you?”

“She said today would be a good day for me to
disappear
.”

“It's okay,” said Falcon. He came over to her. He wanted to reach out and touch her on the shoulder, but he didn't dare. “It's going to be all right.”

Megan looked at Falcon as if he was insane.

“You're wrong,” she said, her voice trembling.

With this she stormed across the parlor and slammed the door of her room. Then Falcon heard the sound of her crying, hard, behind her closed door. Strangely, the candles in the parlor flickered with each crescendo of her
tears. He thought about going in and trying to comfort her, but he did not know how.

Falcon felt something itching on his back, and he reached around to scratch. The more he scratched, though, the more the skin on his back ached, so he walked through the parlor and opened the door to the lavatory. He looked at himself in the mirror. For a moment he appeared to himself as a complete stranger.
Who is this person,
he wondered,
with the two intense eyes, each one a different color?

He took his shirt off and turned around in front of the mirror and looked over his shoulder. He was not prepared for what he saw in the reflection.

All the skin on his back was flaking off. The skin from his neck to his waist seemed to be dying, or dead. He scratched it, and big flaking pieces of dead skin fell onto the floor. The problem was that scratching it only made him want to scratch harder. More of the skin flaked off; he felt it against his fingernails. It was hideous to look at. As he watched, the patch of dead skin seemed to be growing larger.

Falcon stood there looking at himself in the mirror, wondering what had happened to him and what on earth he was becoming.

F
rom Megan's room came a sudden scream. Falcon pulled his shirt back on and rushed toward her door. Megan stood by her bed, a strange creature buzzing around her head. It was like a large dragonfly, the size of a squirrel, with blue, translucent wings. The thing orbited Megan as she covered her head with her hands and screamed.

“Help!” cried Megan. “It's trying to sting me!”

Falcon looked around the room and found an old copy of
The Gullet
, which he rolled up. He tried to swat the buzzing creature, but it was very hard to catch. Now it was soaring around Falcon's head, as if it had determined the boy's intentions and had decided to make a preemptive strike against him. As it flew, it made a loud buzzing sound, accompanied by a kind of high-pitched shrieking.

It swooped across the room toward the door, which had closed behind Falcon as he entered. Then it went for Megan again. Falcon aimed carefully, then tried to whack the thing with the rolled-up newspaper. Unfortunately he missed and smacked Megan in the center of her forehead instead.

“Ow!” she shouted.

“Sorry,” said Falcon.

There was a high-pitched laugh. Falcon looked at Megan, and Megan looked at Falcon. Then they both looked at the flying creature, which had paused to hover between them. Now that the creature was stationary, it was possible to discern its features. Between the four vibrating, transparent wings was the body of a very, very small girl. She was dressed in hip-hugging blue jeans and a red T-shirt.

“En garde!”
cried the tiny creature.

Megan and Falcon stared. The flying thing swept forward suddenly and grabbed the rolled-up newspaper out of Falcon's hand. Then she started whacking
him
with it, all the while making that annoying, high-pitched laughter.

It was amazing, Falcon thought, how hard she could swat a person with the newspaper, even though she was only about fourteen inches tall.

“Hey,” said Falcon. “Quit it.”

The creature swept forward and again whacked both of them on their heads with the newspaper.
“¡Entrega!”
she shouted.
“¡Entrega!”

“What?” said Falcon.

“Surrender,” said the thing.

“We surrender,” said Falcon.

The flying thing dropped the newspaper onto the
floor. She buzzed over and landed on the edge of one of the coffins.

“The duel is over,” the creature cried. “In my mercy, I have chosen—
to spare your lives
! Now you are bound to me! And I to you! We shall be friends!”

“Look,” said Megan. “I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting a—” Megan looked at the creature more carefully. “What are you, anyhow?”

“What am I?” said the creature, astonished. “What am I? I am—
¡la Chupakabra!
”

“La…Coopa…?” said Megan.

“¡La Chupakabra!”
the creature shouted again. She put one hand on her hips proudly. “The famous goatsucker of Peru!” For a moment she let this sink in. She smiled. “My name is
Perla.
”

“The…goatsucker…?” said Falcon.

“You may call me Pearl.” She smiled. “The same as the treasure that is found within the sea.”

“I'm Megan, and that's Falcon,” said Megan. She felt a little embarrassed. “We're from Maine.”

“Maine, where is this Maine?” said Pearl. “Is America?”

“Yeah, it's way up north.”

“I am from Trujillo. Between the mountains and the blue Pacific.”

“And you're—a goatsucker?” said Falcon.

“I am the one,” said Pearl proudly.
“¡La Chupakabra!”

“I'm really sorry we tried to swat you,” said Megan.

“It would take more than this”—Pearl shrugged—“to crush
la Chupakabra
. And you? You are also
un monstruo
?”

“They don't know what I am,” said Megan. “Mrs. Redflint said banshee, maybe.”

“Ah, banshee,” said Pearl. She looked at Falcon. “And this one? You have no interest in goats?”

“No,” said Falcon.

Pearl sighed. “I had hoped to find another such as myself,” she said. “It is hard to be one of a kind. To be alone, always with the poison.”

“Poison?” said Falcon. “You've got poison?”

Pearl hopped up onto the edge of the coffin again and displayed her rear end, which was large, at least in proportion to the rest of her. Jabbing out of the back of her jeans was a long, black stinger. It looked sharp.

“Once I was eaten by the goat whose blood I desired. How did I escape? With the stinger. I stung him from the inside, then ate my way out. Was I afraid? I was not! I laugh at all death! Ha! Ha!”

Falcon and Megan stood staring at the Chupakabra with identical grossed-out expressions.

“I do not think you have goats here?” said Pearl.

“You mean, here in our rooms?” said Megan.

Pearl nodded.

“No,” said Falcon. “No goats. I have my lunch from
school, though. I have a tuna-fish sandwich if you want.”

“Ack!” said Pearl. “The blood of the tuna! It is like drinking the salt ocean! Do not speak of this again!”

“Sorry,” said Falcon.

“It is of no importance,” said Pearl. “The three of us—we shall be friends!”

“What do you eat, besides goat?” said Megan.

“Nectar is what I love the most,” said Pearl happily.
“¡Azúcar!”

“Sugar?” said Megan.

“And you,” said Pearl with a smile, “you also like the sweet things?”

“I don't know,” said Falcon lamely. “I eat mostly hamburgers and stuff. Chips.”

Pearl looked at Falcon curiously. “What are you, eh? You are not—
un vampiro
?”

“I don't know what I am,” said Falcon. “Mrs. Redflint said a zombie, maybe. I have all this dead skin on my back.”

“You do?” said Megan. “Really? Like, a lot?”

“Some,” said Falcon, embarrassed.

“If only we had a
bola de cristal
,” said Pearl. “We could ask the spirit for your fate.”

“A crystal ball?” said Megan. “There's one in the parlor.”

“Actually, it's more like a jar,” said Falcon.

Pearl flew out into the parlor and looked at the dark jar of jelly. “Indeed! We shall ask the
cristal
for your fate! It is what the
cristal
is for, to see the future and tell us of the things to be!”

Pearl flew toward the jar and placed her hands on either side of the glass. Then she shouted, “Awaken,
Señor Fantasma
!”

A few bubbles rose from the depths of the dark jar. Then a man's head appeared. He had a big blubbery face and lots of beard stubble.

Pearl turned to Megan and Falcon. “You see? The
cristal
awakens.”

“I am…,” said the head. He looked startled. “Where am I? Have I reached the party to whom I am speaking?”

“I,” said Pearl, “am
la Chupakabra.
The famous goatsucker of Peru!”

Quimby rolled his eyes. “Yackity yak,” he said. “Don't talk back.”

“Can you tell us what we are?” said Megan.

“Can I what?”

“Can you tell me if I'm a banshee? Or if he's a zombie—or what?”

“BZZZZT,”
said Quimby. “Regulation Ninety-one point two. Diagnosis of the students shall only be done by registered medical personnel.
BZZZZT
.” He looked sad. “I'm sorry. But look. If you let me out of here, I could,
hmm, maybe bend the rules a little. Yes, I think I could. Go on. All you have to do is twist open the lid. It's a screw-top crystal.”

“We're not supposed to let you out,” said Megan. “We were told specifically to keep you in the jar.”

“By who? Therma Redflint? Is that what she said?” He rolled his eyes. “The dragon lady.”

“So what
can
you do?” said Falcon. “If you can't tell us what kind of monsters we are. I mean, what is permitted by the rules?”

“I'm the spirit of the crystal,” said Quimby. “Hel-
lo
, I tell fortunes.”

“Can you tell my fortune?” said Megan.

“What did I just say?” said Quimby. “You want fortunes, I can give you fortunes. I'm just warning you; most people hate their fortunes, start wailing and crying. Then whose fault is it? Mine. I'm just saying.”

“I want to know if I'm a banshee or what.”

“Doesn't work that way. Sorry.”

“He is the
idiota
,” said Pearl. “Come, let us put this Quimby back in his darkness.”

“Wait,” said Megan. “How does it work, this fortune-telling?”

Quimby sighed. “I can gaze into the future, tell you the vision. But there's no way of knowing whether it's
tomorrow, or next year, or never.”

“Never?” said Falcon. “That's not much of a fortune, if you're telling us about things that will never happen.”

“It is as I said,” muttered Pearl. “He is the
idiota.
A
fantasma
of power would not place these rules upon you.”

“Ssh,” said Megan. “Go on, Quimby.”

“Sometimes the things I see are the things that will only happen unless you act to prevent them. Other times, acting to prevent them is the way you bring them about.” He smiled wanly. “It's a slippery thing, the future.”

“Why can't you just tell us?” said Falcon.

“Because I don't control your future,” said Quimby. “You do.”

“Just tell me what you see,” said Megan.

“All right already,” said Quimby. “Place your fingers on the lid of the jar.” Megan did as she was told. “Now relax. Focus.” Quimby closed his eyes. For a moment he was silent. His eyelids fluttered.

Then he said,
“Megan Crofton, crushed by fears, leaves her friends and disappears.”

Megan looked at him with a bewildered expression. “What?” she said.

“I'm sorry,” said Quimby. “That's all I've got for you. You want to hear it in German?
Megan Crofton, zerdrückt von Befürchtungen—
”

“I leave my friends?” said Megan. “I would never leave my friends.”

“Ah, but who
are
your friends, Megan?” said Quimby. “That's the question.”

“We are the friends,” said Pearl. “We who have sworn this oath.”

“My, my,” said Quimby. “That does seem hasty. I mean, you hardly know these children. You are certain you want to be bound to them forever?”

“I have given my word. This is enough!”

“Your word,” said Quimby. “And what will become of your word when everything changes? Will your words change as well?”

“When everything changes?” said Pearl. “How shall everything change?”

“Let me out of the jar and I'll tell you.”

“You shall tell me now, and you shall stay in the jar!” said Pearl.

“Fine,” said Quimby. “Whatever. Place your fingers on the lid. You can do that, can't you, skeeter?”

“I can do as I please,” said Pearl. “And I choose—to place my fingers on the glass, and listen to the fortune.”

Quimby sighed again and closed his eyes.

“Pearl's true love's a big mistake; she goes to sleep, then cannot wake.”

“What is this?” said Pearl. “Cannot wake?”

“You mean she dies?” said Falcon. “Or she just can't wake up?”

“Another satisfied customer,” said Quimby.

“This is stupid,” said Megan.

“I have no true love,” said Pearl.

“Not yet,” said Quimby.

“Then I shall be the guardian of my heart,” said Pearl.

Quimby shook his head. “Yeah, well,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

“This one, then,” said Pearl, buzzing around Falcon's head, “the boy.”

“Falcon,” said Megan. “Don't.”

Falcon wasn't sure he wanted Quimby to do his fortune, especially since the ones he'd given Pearl and Megan were nearly incomprehensible. They were worse, in some ways, than no fortune at all. Then he remembered the thing he had seen in the graveyard that morning, the cloaked figure covered with snow. He stepped forward and placed his hands on the lid of the large jar. “Tell me,” he said.

“I always warn them,” said Quimby, “but they never listen. All right then. Relax, and focus on the beyond.”

Falcon closed his eyes. He felt as if all his thoughts were draining out of him.

“Falcon Quinn,”
said Quimby, and paused.

Falcon opened one eye. Quimby's forehead was creased with lines.
“Falcon Quinn,”
he said again, more thoughtfully.

“What?” said Falcon. “What is it?”

“Falcon Quinn,”
said Quimby,
“gets—ripped—in half—”

Quimby paused again. He looked confused.

“Ripped in half?” said Pearl.

“Falcon Quinn gets ripped in half, makes his choice, and—uh—”
Quimby's eyes suddenly shot open. The man's eyes were as wide as hard-boiled eggs. “No!” he shouted. “No!”

“What?”

All at once Quimby screamed. It was an ear-shattering scream, so loud that it knocked Pearl out of the air. Quimby vanished. His crystal went completely dark, then fell over on one side.

Pearl got herself up off the floor. “Whoa,” she said.

Falcon stood there with his mouth open. Then he shut it. He thought of his grandmother and his home. Was the fate that Quimby foretold the one that would befall him if he remained here at the Academy? Or the one that would only come to pass if he somehow made his way back to Cold River?

“Our futures,” said Pearl, “seem—unfortunate.”