Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “I got you,” said Falcon, and he put his arms around Megan’s waist. She leaned out toward the rope, and her fingers brushed against it.

  For just a moment they stood there, the two and a half of them: Quimby bumping against the tower’s overhang; Megan, her fingers gently touching Quimby’s dangling rope; and Falcon holding Megan around her waist, trying to keep her from falling.

  Then Falcon heard a voice behind him. The voice spoke his name, said it with an intonation so cold and gravelly that it was like hearing someone read the inscription on his own headstone. Falcon, said the voice. It sounded both affectionate and heartbroken. Ffffalcon.

  He turned toward the ticking chamber full of broken, dusty things, his heart as cold as if he had been stabbed with an icicle. His glance darted from an unstrung harp to an empty birdcage; from a soft, headless mannequin to a tiny dollhouse with its windows all shuttered.

  There was no one there.

  “Falcon!” said a voice, but this time it was Megan. He had loosened his hold of her as he turned back toward the room. She slipped out of his grip and began to fall, down the long, terrible drop toward the quad of Castle Grisleigh far below. At the last moment her fingers clasped around Quimby’s rope, and she swung out over the yawning abyss.

  Quimby was dislodged by the sudden force of Megan’s weight. With two short bumps of the head against the tower’s overhanging roof, Quimby blew out into the air again, and began to rise.

  Falcon watched all of these unfolding events with a mixture of horror and wonder. Behind him the voice whispered again. Fffalcon. Ssssseek.

  But he did not turn back to find the speaker this time. Instead he reached forward, just as Megan was being pulled upward by the rising Quimby, suspended on his dangling rope. Falcon got one hand around her ankle, and for a moment there was an intense tug-of-war between Quimby at one end of Megan and Falcon at the other.

  Megan screamed and let go of the rope, then blew herself back into the tower. Quimby, freed of Megan’s weight, rose toward the clouds. As he drifted away, he shouted, “Bring me back! Bring me back! Bring me baaaack!”

  Megan fell onto the floor of the Tower of Souls and collapsed on top of Falcon. He looked at her face, now so close to his again. She looked at him thoughtfully, and her lips parted.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she then shouted, and stood up. “You let me go!”

  Falcon got to his feet sheepishly. “Someone called my name,” he said. “There was this voice—”

  “I thought I could trust you!” she yelled.

  “Of course you can trust me,” said Falcon. “But I heard my name called by some kind of—”

  “I was depending on you!” she shouted, her voice choking with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” said Falcon.

  “You’re sorry,” she muttered, and pointed to the window. In the distance Quimby could be seen, drifting upward toward the clouds. “We lost Quimby!”

  “Megan—”

  “We lost Quimby!” she said, and stamped her foot. As her foot hit the floor, Megan vanished completely. This time she did not come back.

  It was very quiet in the Tower of Souls.

  “Uh-oh,” said Falcon.

  Ssseeek, said the cold, dead voice. Falcon looked around the room, but saw no one. Ssseek.

  “Seek what?” he said.

  There was no response at first, and Falcon just stood there listening to the ticking of the clock.

  Ssseeek ssoul.

  His eyes fell upon a tall, rectangular painting leaning against the wall next to a broken piano. It was mounted inside an intricately carved golden frame.

  Falcon felt as if he was being slowly drawn toward the painting, like water in a bathtub being sucked down a drain. He walked through the cluttered, dusty room, past the steamer trunks and the dollhouses and the old clothes in their garment bags, until he stood before the painting, and again felt the dark voice urging him, begging him, Ssseeek ssoul.

  A creature looked back at him from the canvas. It was hard to see the thing clearly, since the image appeared to be moving or fluttering, like dark light in a kaleidoscope. But Falcon could see one side of the creature’s face; it had a dark, burning eye that seemed to be staring directly into Falcon’s heart. He took a step backward.

  Then light flickered off something above the thing’s shoulders. It took Falcon a moment to figure out what this was.

  There, hovering in the air above the creature, was a pair of enormous wings.

  Come to me.

  Now?

  Of course now.

  Falcon took a step forward. His fingers reached out toward the canvas, trembling softly. He saw that the surface of the painting was soft and pliable, like a dark liquid. It seemed like the easiest thing in the world to just step into the painting, to let all that soft dark surround him.

  Falcon, said a voice, and just for a moment he turned back and looked over his shoulder.

  “Falcon?” said Megan again.

  He blinked. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

  “Who else would it be?” She looked at him closely. “Whoa. Your eye is glowing.”

  “My eye,” said Falcon. Now he felt it throbbing. It had never ached like this before.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” said Falcon. “It’s just this picture.”

  “Picture?” said Megan. “What are you talking about?”

  He pointed toward the golden frame. “This one,” he said.

  Megan raised an eyebrow. “Falcon,” she said, worried. “That’s not a picture. That’s a mirror.”

  She walked over to where he was standing. Falcon looked in the mirror, but the creature was gone now. The smooth, black surface was completely blank. “You’re telling me this is a mirror?” he said.

  “I thought it was,” said Megan. “I mean, I can see you. But I’m not there.” She looked at Falcon with alarm, then back at the mirror. “I’m not there!”

  The cold voice came again, filling the room like mist. Leave this place, it hissed.

  Megan looked at Falcon, and it was clear from her expression that she heard the voice too. “Falcon,” she said.

  Leave this place!

  Falcon and Megan turned from the dark attic and rushed out of the Tower of Souls as quickly as they could. The sound of their footsteps echoed long after they were gone, there in the dark room with its vast inventory of forgotten and broken things.

  It took a long time before the last echoing footstep disappeared down the tunnels and hallways below and the heavy door marked TEMPUS FUGIT slammed closed.

  Then the figure stepped out of the shadows and moved furtively toward the window. It stood there, framed in the window, its wings softly pulsing.

  Ffalcon, it said.

  Mr. Shale was not at his desk in the front hallway as Falcon and Megan crept back toward the Tower of Aberrations. Whether this was because the man had gone back to his gingerbread-house residence or because he was lurking somewhere else in the castle was not immediately clear. They crept up the stairs, fingers trailing against the banister. The stairs groaned underneath Falcon’s feet.

  “Ssshhh,” said Megan.

  “It’s not my fault,” whispered Falcon. He couldn’t understand why the steps only groaned under his feet and not Megan’s. He was doing all he could to be careful.

  Megan turned to face him. “I’m still mad at you, Falcon,” she said. “You let go of me!”

  “I told you. I heard someone call my name.”

  “I know. You said. Someone who was speaking to you from a mirror. Which you thought was a painting.” Megan thought this over. “What did it say, this voice?”

  “It said, Seek soul.”

  “Seek soul? That’s what it said?”

  “It said, Seek soul, and said my name, and then I kind of got drawn toward that painting.”

  “Mirror.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Falcon,” said Megan. “What did you see?”
<
br />   Falcon shuddered. Already it was hard to remember what the figure had looked like. All he could remember was the blackness of the eye and the hovering wings above its head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Something I’d never seen before.”

  “Was it something—bad?” asked Megan.

  “I don’t know,” said Falcon. “It seemed very powerful, and—secret. It scared me.”

  “Maybe…,” said Megan, “maybe the thing you saw is what you’re turning into.”

  For a moment, Falcon pictured it once more—the huge wings, the burning eye.

  “That’s not what I’m turning into,” said Falcon. “I’m turning into—”

  Megan looked at him flickeringly. “What?” she said, and then she said it again, more softly. “What?”

  “Megan,” said Falcon. “I’ve got two hearts.”

  She wavered slightly, then turned her head a bit to the side. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” said Falcon. “The one heart is a monster heart, they think. But the other—”

  Megan put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s the other heart, Falcon?”

  Falcon’s voice fell to a whisper. “Guardian,” he said. Megan stood motionless, looking at him intently.

  “Well?” said Falcon. “Aren’t you going to disappear?”

  “I ought to.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Falcon,” said Megan, irritated, “you don’t understand. You really think I’d vanish on you—because of the thing you are?”

  “Megan, guardians are here for one reason—to destroy us.”

  “Do you want to destroy me, Falcon?”

  “Megan…,” said Falcon. He stepped close to her again, so close that he could feel her breeze. “What I really want is to—”

  There was a sudden scream from the top of the stairs. Megan blew into a squall. “Is that Pearl?” she said. “They’re in trouble!”

  She turned away from him and began to run up the stairs toward the third floor and the Tower of Science. Falcon followed after her once more.

  The door to the Tower of Science flew open, and Destynee and Jonny and Pearl came tumbling out. Quickly the three of them shut the door, and leaned against it. There was a moment’s silence, then they turned to face Falcon and Megan.

  “Are you all right?” said Megan. Her lower half was twisting like a cyclone. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” said the three of them in unison.

  “Nothing?” said Falcon. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “It is nothing,” said Destynee. “Really.”

  “Where’s Lincoln?” asked Megan. “Did you find him?”

  “He’s not up there,” said Jonny, his face red.

  “What happened to you?” said Falcon.

  “We shall not speak of this!” said Pearl. “It does not matter!”

  “It looks like it does matter,” said Megan.

  “We shall not speak of it!” said Pearl again, and buzzed back up the stairs toward the Tower of Aberrations, muttering to herself in Spanish.

  “Pearl…,” said Destynee, rushing after her, “wait.”

  Megan and Falcon lingered at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Jonny. “Let it go,” said Jonny. “Seriously.”

  “Jonny,” said Megan, her face coloring. “Are you really all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “We’re all fine. Just a little accident, in Chamber X. Come on, let’s get back to our own tower.”

  “Chamber X? What’s Chamber X?”

  Jonny shuddered. “Don’t ask.”

  Falcon and Megan followed the others up the stairs to the Tower of Aberrations. When they arrived in the parlor, they found the place even more destroyed and disheveled than when they’d left. The furniture had been ripped to shreds, with springs and stuffing and upholstery strewn in every direction. Legs had been pulled off of chairs. Feathers from pillows drifted in the air, as if they had been ripped open only seconds before.

  From outside came the crowing of a rooster. The skies were beginning to grow lighter.

  “Guys,” said Megan’s voice, coming from the boys’ bedroom. Jonny and Pearl and Falcon rushed toward her, where they found their friend standing next to Destynee. The two of them were staring at one of the bunk beds.

  There, sleeping peacefully, was Lincoln Pugh, in his nerdly human form once more, wearing his pajamas with the little fire trucks on them and clasping a fluffy teddy. As they stared at him, the boy’s eyes fluttered open, and he yawned and stretched, perfectly well rested.

  “Good morning, everybody!” he said, and propped up his pillow so he could lean back against it comfortably. The small boy yawned again, then reached over and put on his rectangular orange glasses. “Gee. You’re all up early!”

  III

  THE PINNACLE OF VIRTUES

  16

  THE NAMING OF VIOLET HUMPERDINK

  Breakfast that morning was chipped beef on toast, served with beets. The Sasquatches had already cleaned their plates when Falcon and his roommates sat down. Weems joined them a moment later. He looked strangely satisfied with himself. Falcon might even have described Weems as glowing, were it not for the pale skin and the decaying teeth.

  Falcon studied his breakfast—a twisted mass of gray meat slathered with a thick beige sauce. As he watched, some of the chipped beef wriggled and crawled off of Falcon’s plate and onto Weems’s.

  The ghoul reached out with his fork and stabbed the still-moving beef, then popped it into his mouth.

  “You know, that’s the only thing I’m going to miss about this place,” said Weems. “The food.”

  “You want mine?” said Destynee. “I can’t eat this.”

  “You’re offering me your food?” said Weems. His eyes grew wide. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  “What do you mean, ‘miss about this place’?” asked Pearl.

  “The time draws near,” said Weems.

  Jonny looked at Megan and Destynee.

  “Listen, we might have to get out of here,” said Jonny softly. “Falcon and me.”

  A gust of wind blew threw Megan, and she began to flicker in and out. “Jonny,” she said, “you’re not serious?”

  “I think whatever’s going to happen,” said Jonny, “is gonna happen real soon.”

  “You do?” said Falcon, looking over at him.

  Jonny nodded. “They’re going to find out about Quimby. They’re going to find out we were up in the other towers. They’re going to find out we were in Chamber X.”

  Megan flickered again. “What is Chamber X?”

  “Chamber X,” Jonny said, “is where the trouble was.”

  “And you won’t talk about it because—”

  “It shall not be discussed!” shouted Pearl. “It is that of which we do not speak!”

  Megan sighed. “I’m getting tired of everybody keeping secrets from their friends,” she said, and gave Falcon a piercing glance. She luffed slightly.

  “Everyone has their secrets,” said Weems. “Even Megan Crofton.”

  “Falcon,” said Jonny, “you keep an eye peeled today. If they come for you, you run. Get yourself down to the catacombs.” He looked over at the ghoul. “Can we do it tonight, Weems?”

  Weems got out his paddleball and started whacking it back and forth. “It has not yet been determined if Falcon Quinn shall join Weems on this journey,” said the ghoul. “Falcon Quinn must first fulfill certain conditions.”

  “Listen,” said Falcon. “Destynee and I talked about this. She doesn’t want to go.”

  “Then Falcon Quinn shall stay,” hissed Weems. “And be turned into stone!”

  “Weems,” said Destynee, “I do want to go. With you and Falcon.”

  Weems stopped paddling and looked up at her. “Would you?” he said. “Could you?”

  “I want to be where you are,” said Destynee. “Weemsy.”

  Falcon looked at her suspiciously. “Destynee, you said—”<
br />
  “I changed my mind, Falcon,” she said. “Now that I see Weems with my own eyes. I couldn’t see before, but now I do. There’s only one place for me. And that’s by Weems’s side!”

  Falcon saw tears glistening in Destynee’s eyes, and he hoped they would not fall.

  Then, suddenly, she transformed completely into a giant enchanted slug.

  Weems’s eyes opened wide once more. “It is she!” he said. “The beloved!” He reached with one trembling hand toward her glistening skin. There was a soft hisss as Weems’s fingers gently, tenderly, touched the slime.

  Mr. Shale had his head down on the desk when they arrived in Guidance. At first the students thought he was asleep. But then the crumpled, flinty old troll raised his head and looked at them with bloodshot eyes.

  Merideath smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Shale!”

  Mr. Shale ran the palm of his hand down across his face. “Shaddap!” he said.

  “Mr. Shale?” said Mortia. “I have a question!”

  Mr. Shale shook his head. “No questions today,” he said. “Put your heads on your desks. And shaddap.”

  “But it’s important,” said Mortia.

  “It’s not,” said Mr. Shale.

  “No, seriously. It is.”

  “Whaaat?” said Mr. Shale.

  “Mr. Shale?” asked Mortia. “Are we dead?”

  The class paused to consider this. Mortia was right. It was a pretty good question.

  “Dead?” said Mr. Shale. “Who says you’re dead? Who?”

  “That’s my question,” said Mortia. “Are we?”

  “Zombies, dead,” said Mr. Shale with a sigh. “Vampires, undead. Ghouls, semidead. Frankensteins—never alive in the first place!”

  “So we’re dead, then,” said Mortia. “Or mostly.”

  “Not dead yet,” said Mr. Shale. “Senior year. Eighteenth birthday. Until then, the gloaming.”

  “Gloaming?” said Mortia. “What’s gloaming?”

  “Not alive, not dead,” said Mr. Shale. “In between. Like dusk. While you’re students here, you’re creatures of the gloaming.” He looked around at them. “You will learn to hide, to pretend to be like others, yes. But you shall always be creatures of the gloaming. So shaddap!”