Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  Destynee wriggled in Falcon’s arms again. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I am mental.”

  Pearl flew over to them. “Never have I heard such remarkable music!” she said, enraptured. “Never have I seen such an impressive array of differently formed monsters! But what is this? Señor Quinn, you wear an expression of great gravity.”

  “He’s all wonky,” said Max.

  “I’m not wonky,” said Falcon, smiling again. “I’m all right.”

  “Me too!” shouted Max. “I’m feeling totally full of—stuff!” He raised his hairy arms in the air and roared.

  Pearl began to orbit the boy’s head, buzzing and purring. “And I am la Chupakabra! The consort of the one so large!”

  “Hey, maybe we could, like, help you find a bucket or something?” said Max. “To put Destynee in? You can’t carry her around all night long.”

  The slug in Falcon’s arms started to writhe again. “I don’t think she wants to get stuck in a bucket,” said Falcon. “Anyway, you’d need something bigger than a bucket. You’d need, like, a bathtub.”

  “I’ll be right back,” said Max, and strode toward one of the gymnasium’s far corners.

  Destynee’s former friend Merideath walked over to him a moment later and looked at Falcon with contempt.

  “Well, if it isn’t Falcon Quinn,” she said. “What are you again? Some sort of weredork?”

  “I’m a mystery,” said Falcon.

  “Yeah?” said Merideath skeptically. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the thing in Falcon’s arms. “Ewww,” she said. “What is that?”

  “This is Destynee,” said Falcon. “Your roommate?”

  “That?” said Merideath. “Eeewwww.”

  Destynee the slug started squirming. Some slime dripped off of her.

  “She’s your friend, Merideath,” said Falcon. “Isn’t she?”

  “My friend?” said Merideath. “Please. I wouldn’t bite her to suck your blood.” Merideath walked off in a huff.

  “Dude,” said Max, arriving back suddenly, accompanied by Pearl. He was pushing a wheelbarrow. “I found this. It had flowers in it, but I kind of—threw them in this big can of garbage. So now? We can put Destynee in it. And push her around?”

  Falcon looked at the wheelbarrow. It had a little bit of dirt in it, but Falcon didn’t suppose that Destynee would mind this too much. “This might work,” he said, lowering Destynee into the wheelbarrow. The slug wriggled a little in the container. She doesn’t look too unhappy, thought Falcon, although it’s hard to know what a slug looks like when it’s happy.

  “Dude,” said Max. He was looking at Falcon’s shirt and arms, which were covered with the glistening residue of slug slime. “Nasty.”

  At this moment the band began a new tune. Two green men stepped toward the microphone. One was very short; the other was tall. Their voices sounded very pretty together.

  We’d like to know a little bit about you for our files.

  We’d like to help you learn to help yourself.

  “Come on, Falcon,” said Max. “Let’s hit the dance floor. Grab the wheelbarrow.”

  There was nothing for it except to do as Max suggested. A moment later, Max and Pearl—and Falcon and Destynee in her wheelbarrow—were gyrating, surrounded by Frankensteins and werewolves and zombies, all of them performing the watusi or the twist or the macarena. Jonny Frankenstein stood at some distance, dancing to a private beat.

  Max raised his hands in the air and roared. “Monster up!” he shouted. “Hey, everybody, monster out!”

  Falcon looked at his friend the giant Sasquatch, at the Chupakabra buzzing around his head, at the giant slug in the wheelbarrow. The rhythm from the stage resonated in his bones. For a moment he felt a sense of rising panic, but at the same moment, he suddenly felt a breeze pass through him. It blew his hair around. A smile flickered on his face.

  Megan.

  A man with a goatee and slicked-back hair approached them. He had enormous membranous ears that seemed to vibrate sympathetically in response to the music. He had a quiver strapped to his side that was filled with drumsticks and mallets. “Take your drumsticks,” he said, and handed a pair to each of them. He paused for a moment and looked at Falcon more carefully. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Quinn. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Mr. Largo, the music teacher.”

  “Hello,” said Falcon. “This is Jonny and Pearl and Max. That’s Destynee in the wheelbarrow.” Mr. Largo looked at the others without much interest. “Where is your friend, the flute player? What is her name—Miss Crumpet?”

  “You mean Megan? Megan Crofton? She’s a wind elemental. Ever since she had that Sicko Sauce she’s just been blowing around the room.”

  “A wind elemental!” said Mr. Largo excitedly. His ears began to beat back and forth like wings. “Remarkable! A wind elemental that can play flute. But how perfect. And the mummy. Sonahmen Ankle Hopalong, or something? Is she here?”

  “She’s over there with the werebear, Linky. He’s my roommate.”

  “It is exciting. The three of you are going to be the stars of my orchestra: Ankh-hoptet singing the contralto, Miss Crofton taking first chair among the woodwinds, and yourself on the godzooka.”

  “The what?”

  Mr. Largo looked confused. He raised one hand to his huge ear. “Eh?” he said. “Eh?”

  Falcon yelled into the man’s ear. “The what?”

  “Ah. The godzooka. It’s like a tuba in your brain. And there is nothing in the world so loud as a monster’s brain!” He smiled at Falcon and then bowed gently before walking away.

  Jonny and Max were drumming on the floor in time to the crazy music. Lots of people were doing it now, bending over and drumming on the floor with the drumsticks Mr. Largo was handing out. The loud, joyful noise was infectious, and everyone seemed to be dancing harder and laughing and jumping up and down. Peeler and Woody, the Sasquatches, bounded toward them and roared.

  Peeler looked into the wheelbarrow. “What do you have there, Falcon? Some kind of giant snail thing?”

  Woody began to drum on the edge of the metal wheelbarrow with his drumsticks. “Hey,” he said. “Bang on the edge of the wheelbarrow! It makes a huge racket!”

  The two Sasquatches gathered around Destynee’s wheelbarrow and drummed on its metal rim. It made an obnoxious, cheerful sound. The Sasquatches roared.

  Max and Jonny came back to the place where the others were gathered. “This is my main man!” shouted Max happily, and picked Falcon up in his arms and threw him in the air, then just as easily caught him.

  “Dude!” shouted Max. “Our lives are unbelievably, incredibly great!”

  The other Sasquatches cheered.

  “More rhythm,” said Peeler. “Come on, Falcon. Jonny, more rhythm!”

  Jonny and Falcon drummed on the rim of the wheelbarrow with the bigfoot boys. Pearl flew around all of their heads in giant circles. Falcon noticed that, for the first time, Pearl’s stinger was flashing red, like the abdomen of a gigantic lightning bug.

  “Hey,” said Jonny, “check out la Sluggoo. She’s happy!”

  It was true. Destynee appeared to be tapping her foot in time to the music, if you could consider what she had to be a kind of foot.

  A phalanx of the vampires moved toward them, executing the electric slide. It seemed almost as if these girls had rehearsed their dance moves in advance, for they clapped their hands and pirouetted in unison. Then they all spun toward Falcon and smiled their vampirous smiles once more. Their braces sparkled in the swirling light from the disco ball. It was quite a sight.

  On the other side of the gym was a group of Frankensteins who, in Falcon’s opinion, were the worst dancers he had ever seen. They were staggering around with their arms extended, shouting, “Bad, bad, bad.” Still, for all this, they seemed as happy as Frankensteins could be. Who knows, Falcon thought, maybe staggering around going Bad, bad, bad is what Frankensteins do when they’re happy.

  A strange creature tha
t they had not seen before drew near. He had the head of an insect and large, dusty wings, and he was wearing a long, gray cloak.

  “Check it out,” said Max. “There’s that moth man again.”

  Falcon looked down at the slug in the wheelbarrow, who was now beginning to gyrate back and forth. “What’s up, Destynee?” he said. “You want to see what’s going on? Here.” He lifted her up so she could observe the Frankensteins drumming on the floor. “Can you see?”

  Jonny Frankenstein stared at Falcon curiously.

  “What?” Falcon said.

  “You’re really looking out for the slug, aren’t you?”

  “Somebody has to,” said Falcon.

  “But why you? What do you care?”

  “I don’t know,” said Falcon. “It’s not her fault. She is what she is.”

  “Yes,” said Jonny, thinking this over. He had a weird expression on his face.

  “What, you expected me to be totally evil or something?” said Falcon. “You think I should just salt her with potato chips and ditch her?”

  “Most things turn out to be evil,” said Jonny, “if you give ’em enough time.”

  “Jonny Frankenstein would know all about evil, wouldn’t he?” said a voice, and Falcon turned to see Weems standing by his side. The Sicko Sauce had made the boy’s teeth greener and sharper than before. “Jonny’s better than everyone, isn’t he?”

  “What do you want?” said Jonny.

  “Poor Weems doesn’t want anything from Jonny Frankenstein,” said Weems. “Besides a nice big plate of his flesh, all crispy, mmmm, crispy.”

  Max rushed forward and gave Weems a great big hug. “I love this guy!” he said.

  “I am so sorry that the feeling is not mutual,” said Weems, clearly not sorry at all.

  “Hey, I got a question,” said Max. “What’s the story on ghouls, anyhow? I mean, Frankensteins, I got. Mummies, I got. But what’s, like, your job description? Do you have any special powers, or is it mostly, like, walking around in your black raggedy rags and stuff?”

  “The ghoul’s garment is not rags,” hissed Weems. “It is a garment sewn, patch by patch, of the clothing of his victims!”

  “What victims?” said Max.

  “Those whose flesh has been burned, then devoured, all crispy. Yes. As for powers—there are none, excepting of course the Crystal Scream.”

  “The what?”

  “The Crystal Scream. A terrible, heart-bursting shriek. It is only used as a last measure. When all other hope is gone!”

  There was more shouting from the corner. The Frankensteins were fighting with the weredogs. Scout and Ranger were barking at Sparkbolt’s companions, who were staggering around saying, “Bad dog, bad!” Scout sniffed one of the monsters’ rear ends, then raised his leg and relieved himself on a Frankenstein’s trousers. A leprechaun, meanwhile, was pushing another Frankenstein backward with a clublike shillelagh.

  Sparkbolt stepped forward from the group of Frankensteins and picked up Scout in his large, green hands, then flung him across the room toward the stage. The weredog slammed directly into one of the musicians, a green man who had been blowing into the large brass instrument with the tubes and the bell shaped like a flower. The green man fell over onto his back. The band stopped playing, and for a moment everyone looked at the stage to see what would happen next.

  Merideath climbed onto the stage and kneeled next to the fallen green musician, cradling him in her arms. There was blood on the man’s collar, and Merideath smiled ravenously. She bent her head down toward the man’s neck, then looked up to see if she was really going to get away with this. Mrs. Redflint was standing near the stage, watching.

  “Go on,” she said. “Drink the blood, if you think that will make you happy. Tonight is a night to see the consequences of following your baser instincts.”

  Merideath looked at Mrs. Redflint for a second, as if still suspecting all this to be a trick. Then her eyes twinkled with fire, and she lowered her head to the green man’s neck. Her vampire friends cheered from the dance floor.

  “Well,” said Weems. “I think it’s just a matter of time now.”

  “A matter of time before what?” said Falcon.

  “Before—” Weems suddenly fell silent. He stared into the wheelbarrow. “Oh my,” he said. “Oh my goodness—”

  He kneeled down toward Destynee. His pale dead cheeks flushed pink. “My name is Weems. What’s yours?” He cocked his head slightly, as if listening hard, as if the boy was somehow able to hear the silent language of slugs.

  “That’s Destynee,” said Falcon. “She’s a giant slug.”

  Weems looked at Falcon as if he was an idiot. “She says thank you, Mr. Quinn,” he said. “She says she’s very grateful.”

  Falcon blinked. “You can understand her?” he asked.

  Weems looked annoyed. “Well, of course I can understand her,” he said. “You just have to listen.”

  “Is she okay?” said Falcon. “Can she understand us?”

  Weems seemed to be listening for a moment; then he looked sad.

  “Weems,” said Falcon. “What is it?”

  Weems looked crushed, as if he had just lost something precious. “She says—she loves you.”

  Falcon blinked. “She—loves me?”

  Jonny Frankenstein shook his head, as if this was funny.

  Now more fights were breaking out around the gymnasium. A pair of minotaurs was chasing a large girl who had snakes for hair. Two of the Frankensteins, meanwhile, were choking each other. “Bad, bad, bad,” they said. A banshee stood next to the strangling monsters and wailed.

  “It is the mystery of love,” said Pearl. She landed on Max’s shoulder and flapped her delicate, translucent wings.

  “Listen,” said Falcon. “Tell Destynee…tell her I’m not really—”

  Weems drew very close to Falcon’s face. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” said Weems. “You treat her like she’s precious; do you hear me, you—”

  Falcon looked at the ghoul in astonishment. “Weems,” he said. “Do you like her?”

  “If you hurt her,” said Weems, “I will destroy you. I promise you that, Mr. Quinn. I will destroy the one who causes her pain.”

  “Listen,” said Falcon. “Why don’t you—? I mean, if you like her so much—why don’t you—?”

  “Because,” said Weems bitterly. “I’m not the one she wants. I’m never the one they want.”

  Falcon wasn’t sure what to say next. Part of him wanted to encourage Weems, to tell him not to feel so bad. Another part of him wanted to cheer up Destynee, who had wriggled over to the edge of the wheelbarrow and was now sitting up, as if she was following the conversation.

  Weems said, “She says she wants to dance.”

  The band started a slow song. The couples wrapped their arms and tentacles around each other and began to sway beneath the strange flickering light from the disco ball overhead.

  “Dance?” said Falcon.

  “She wants you to pick her up,” said Weems.

  Falcon looked over at his friends for advice, but they were all on the dance floor already. Max and Pearl were embracing each other—no easy feat, given the disparity in their sizes. On the other side of the gym, Ankh-hoptet leaned forward and rested her face against the rust-colored fur of the grizzly bear.

  “Well?” said Weems. Destynee the slug looked at him mournfully. A fresh coating of slug slime oozed from her and dripped into the well of the wheelbarrow.

  Falcon knew what he was going to have to do. He stepped toward the wheelbarrow and reached toward the glistening slug.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Quinn,” said a voice. Falcon looked up to see Mr. Largo standing there once more.

  “I wonder if you could assist me,” he said.

  “Me?” said Falcon. “I don’t know. I was just about to—”

  “It’s rather important,” said Mr. Largo.

  “Go on, Falcon,” said Weems. “I’ll dance with her. “
>
  “Seriously?” said Falcon. “That’s really nice of you.”

  “I don’t mind being second choice,” said Weems. He lifted the glistening slug into his arms. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been able to dance with a girl like this.” Weems cradled Destynee and squeezed her softly. Beneath the pressure of Weems’s hands, more slug slime oozed from her. Weems smiled with a beatific expression. “I know,” he said to her. “I know.”

  Mr. Largo pulled Falcon toward the stage with one hand. “I’m so sorry to take you away from your friends,” he said. “But I need you to play with the band.”

  “Me?” said Falcon. “Play with the band?”

  “Yes, since those young people sucked the blood out of my godzooka player, the band doesn’t have a bass. Would you mind giving it a try?”

  “I don’t—” Falcon stopped, then he said softly, “I don’t know how to play a—what did you call it?”

  “A godzooka, of course.” Mr. Largo pulled Falcon onto the stage.

  “But I don’t know how to—”

  “Of course you can,” said the music teacher. “Imagine the music in your heart. Then blow.”

  Falcon sighed, and then put his lips on the mouthpiece of the giant brass instrument.

  A blasting, deep note came from the godzooka’s bell, and its petals opened wide as Falcon played. Falcon wasn’t sure how it was that he was even playing, but it didn’t seem to matter. Something within him seemed to know what to do.

  Everyone began to cheer and scream as they all grooved on the godzooka’s blast. It was, indeed, the loudest sound any of them had ever heard.

  Falcon saw Max and the Sasquatches reaching toward heaven and roaring. Jonny Frankenstein smiled and gave Falcon the double thumbs-up.

  Weems swayed back and forth, the slug gathered in his arms. He had an astonished, wistful look in his eyes, as if the boy had spent his entire life consumed by melancholy and avarice but had come to discover this evening, for the first time, what people meant when they said they were happy.

  II

  THE TOWER OF SCIENCE

  11