Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “But, Max,” Falcon said, “they know I escaped from her. That I got away from the Island of Guardians and came back to rescue everybody. They know that, right?”

  “Sure,” said Max unconvincingly. “Sure, they know that.”

  “I’m going to find Megan,” said Falcon. “I swear it. And Jonny too! I’ll find them!”

  “Dude,” said Max. “I know all that. C’mon. Dim your headlights.”

  “Okay,” said Falcon. “What’s the problem then?”

  “Problem?” said Max. “Who said there was a problem?”

  At that moment, a fifty-foot robot approached. “Destroy—Falcon Quinn!” it said. “Destroy! Destroy!” The robot was covered with flashing lights and had a square head that looked sort of like an old-fashioned washing machine, and two shiny, reticulated arms that resembled the exhaust hose from a clothes dryer. Falcon and Max stood motionless for a moment as the gigantic robot staggered down Hematoma Boulevard toward them, waving its arms around.

  “Dude,” said Max regretfully.

  “Destroy Falcon Quinn!” shouted the robot. “Destroy! Destroy!”

  Falcon looked up and down Hematoma Boulevard. Some of the other monsters were looking at the approaching robot with anticipation. It was one of the park’s attractions, that giant robots occasionally appeared and destroyed things with their cyborg lightning or crushed various objects with their hydraulic arms.

  “Stand back!” said Falcon as his majestic wings unfolded above and behind him once more. They quivered in the air threateningly. Now the robot made a strange electronic sound, like HAUGH-HAUGH-HAUGH. It took a moment for Falcon and Max to realize that the robot was laughing at them.

  “Who are you?” said Falcon. “Where do you come from?”

  “Do—you—not—know?” said the electronic voice.

  Max and Falcon looked at each other, slightly embarrassed. “Dude,” said Max. “Do you know the robot?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Falcon.

  Now the robot’s head popped up, revealing a small trapdoor in the automaton’s neck. A tiny, familiar face appeared out of the door and said, “I am—¡la Chupakabra! The famous goatsucker of Peru!”

  “Pearl!” shouted Falcon as the pixie-sized Chupakabra flew out of the control booth in the robot’s head and swept toward them on her tiny wings.

  “Dude,” said Max, smiling broadly.

  “It is myself!” said Pearl with her usual bravado. “Operating the controls of this gargantuan machine! Providing entertainment and a touch of danger for all whom I encounter!”

  “They got you working the robot,” said Max. “Excellent!”

  “‘Excellent’ does not describe the interior of the robot’s control chamber,” she said, buzzing on her tiny wings and hovering above Max’s head, “which is devoid of fresh air and light! However, ‘excellent’ does describe many other fine things, not only Señor Falcon Quinn, angel at large, but Señor Maxwell Parsons himself, the Sasquatch to whom I am pledged henceforward!”

  “Aw,” said Max.

  “And greetings to yourself, Señor Falcon,” said Pearl. “I trust I am not interrupting a conversation of grave importance!”

  “Max was just telling me about some of the bad things people are saying about me,” said Falcon.

  “Those who besmirch your name,” said Pearl gravely, “shall find themselves facing the deadly poisons that I bear!”

  “Rrrr,” said a voice. “Destroy!”

  Falcon turned to see several of his other friends standing in the bright sunshine of Abominationland. There was Destynee, the enchanted giant slug, currently in her humanoid form, as well as Weems, the ghoul, wearing his tattered black rags. Sparkbolt, a young Frankenstein, stood just behind them, growling.

  “Hi, Falcon!” said Destynee, blushing slightly. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” said Falcon.

  “But how are you really?” said Destynee.

  “Greetings to you all, my companions!” said Pearl. “I bid you good day!”

  “Rrrr,” said Sparkbolt again.

  Weems cleared his throat. “We cannot linger,” he said.

  “Yeah?” said Max. “What’s up?”

  “We’re going to the Unhaunted House,” said Destynee. “Do you want to come, Falcon?”

  “I am not sure there will be room for—,” said Weems.

  “Dude, I have so wanted to check out the Unhaunted House!” said Max. “This is great! Let’s check it out!”

  “I too have nourished a curiosity about this place of grotesque normality!” announced Pearl.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” said Destynee. “Let’s do it!”

  Weems sighed. “Always it is like this,” he muttered.

  “Like what?” said Max.

  Weems shook his head. “This.”

  “Are you having a good day, Falcon?” said Destynee. “I hope you are!”

  Falcon looked at the faces of his friends—the brave Chupakabra, the enormous Sasquatch, the enchanted slug and the ghoul and the Frankenstein. He felt his two hearts pounding.

  “Yeah,” said Falcon. “It’s a great day.”

  “Friend good,” noted Sparkbolt.

  They walked to the Unhaunted House and joined the long line of monsters waiting to get in. A group of vampire girls in stretchy tank tops and short shorts looked curiously at Falcon and his friends. One of them whispered something to the others, and then they all laughed.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” said Destynee, “but I can’t wait until we get back to the Academy. There’s something weird about this place. An amusement park brings out the worst in monsters, if you ask me.”

  “Amusement bad,” said Sparkbolt.

  In the long line before them were dozens of other monsters—goblins and banshees and leprechauns and ice worms. Most of these creatures spent their days in disguise, out in the Reality Stream, living among humans, their true selves cleverly camouflaged. For many monsters, their annual vacation to Monster Island was the only time all year they got to be themselves.

  The doors to the Unhaunted House opened, and the line of monsters moved inside. The line snaked into a small dark chamber with oil paintings of skeletons and vampires on the wall. “Welcome!” said a cheerful voice. “To the Unhaunted House! A place where behind every corner lurks something—normal!”

  Everyone screamed.

  “Take this chamber, for instance. It might seem like a nice, clammy room, a good place for sucking blood or performing horrible experiments. But beneath this monstrous exterior lies something lighter, something fluffy, something wholesome! Ha! Ha! Ha! And do note—there is no way out! Your first challenge? To find the exit! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  There was a sudden flicker of the lights, and the room seemed to be growing taller, although whether this was because the ceiling was rising or the floor was dropping was not immediately apparent. The pictures on the walls were changing, and where the vampires and skeletons had been before were now insurance salesmen and nice ladies in book clubs. All of the monsters screamed.

  All at once the room filled with happy music, and the walls rotated back to show a panorama of dancing, happy children from many nations all singing in perfect harmony. “Monsters rowed the boat ashore!” they sang. “Kumbaya!”

  “Rrrraarrwwww!!!” shouted Sparkbolt in horror, and charged through the wall, screaming and waving his arms wildly. Now there was a Sparkbolt-shaped hole in one wall.

  Pearl looked at her companions. “It seems as if our large, green friend has located the exit!”

  The others stepped through the hole and into a kind of loading zone, where people in straw hats and seersucker suits helped people onto cars shaped like minivans and station wagons.

  Sparkbolt, Falcon, Pearl, Max, Destynee, and Weems found themselves in a car together—Falcon and Destynee up front, Max and Pearl in the middle, and Weems and Sparkbolt in back. Soon they were being wheeled through a vast universe of pastel colors. There was
a new song playing in their ears now, which sounded like a mixture of “Polly Wolly Doodle” and “Oops! . . . I Did It Again.” The car entered the first chamber, in which a dad was sitting in a big easy chair as his two children, each wearing baseball uniforms, sat in front of the TV. The dad picked up a remote control and pointed it at the TV. A mom came into the room with a big platter.

  “Who wants nachos ’n’ baco-bits?” she said.

  The monsters all screamed.

  Then they wheeled into another room in which some kind of party was taking place. There were guys eating crispy orange balls of cheese out of a giant plastic bag.

  “I like Harry Potter!” said a boy who was building a model rocket out of a kit.

  Weems covered his face with his hands. “Tell me when it’s over,” he said.

  Sparkbolt groaned. “Sparkbolt not allowed to read Harry Potter. Sparkbolt told it bad influence.”

  The car crashed through a pair of black doors, and now they were in what looked like some kind of lunchroom. On the wall was a sign: PTA MEETING. Two middle-aged women with frameless glasses were reading from a piece of paper as a dozen other women listened. “Okay,” said the woman on the right. “For our spring fund-raiser, we’re selling gift baskets! And magazine subscriptions! And popcorn! And lightbulbs! Who wants to be in charge of the gift wrap committee? We need volunteers! Patty? Margie? Jane?”

  “Sparkbolt want OUT!” shouted Sparkbolt, but he was held in place by his safety belt. “OUT!”

  On and on it went—a room full of white-haired people playing bingo; another room with two men in hunting outfits shooting a duck; a living room with a wall-mounted TV screen that displayed some cable news show where fat, angry guys yelled at each other. In a classroom, a teacher pointed to a blackboard on which was written The Importance of Flossing. By the time they got to the last room, Falcon and Sparkbolt and the two zombies were exhausted. Now “Kumbaya” was starting up again.

  “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip to the world of human beings,” said the laughing, macabre voice. “But before you go, do be careful of hitchhiking humans! They might just FOLLOW YOU HOME!” The cars passed in front of a mirror, and briefly Falcon and his friends saw themselves reflected. But then they saw the shadow of a human who appeared to be sitting between Falcon and Weems—a round woman holding bottles of cough syrup that she poured into a small teaspoon. “This cough syrup is for if you have mucus!” said the hologram. “This other cough syrup is if you have a cough and mucus! This third cough syrup is if you have a cough, and mucus, and a sore throat! This fourth cough syrup is if you have a cough, mucus, a sore throat, and postnasal drip! This fifth cough syrup is if you have a cough, mucus, a sore throat—”

  The monsters screamed in horror. Then the car bumped through a set of doors again, and a moment later they were back in the dim lights of the house’s outer chambers. A man in a straw hat and a seersucker suit helped the children out of their car. A moment later, they exited into the light of Monster Island once more.

  “I never want to do that again!” said Destynee. “Ever!”

  “Unhaunted house BAD,” said Sparkbolt.

  “You can say that again,” said Weems.

  “Unhaunted house BAD!” said Sparkbolt. “Humans destroy!”

  “You really think they’re so much stranger than we are?” asked Falcon. “Seriously?”

  “Dude,” said Max. “All those ladies playing bingo? And the guys shooting ducks with their big, blammo guns? That is seriously messed up.”

  “Yeah,” said Destynee. “And what was with that lady with all the cough syrup?” She shuddered. “Creepy!”

  Falcon and his friends stopped in the crowds of Hematoma Boulevard in front of the Five Cent Kandy Korner, a store where a huge machine stood in the window whipping saltwater taffy through the air. Falcon felt his twin hearts pounding in his chest. He was reminded that, of all his friends, he was the only one with two hearts. He had a monster heart, of course, but he had a guardian heart as well. Most of the time, these two hearts lived in equilibrium with each other, their pulses in harmony. At other times, like now, he felt strangely out of sync.

  “Hey, Falcon,” said Max. “You okay? You look kind of wonky.”

  The marching goblin band passed by again, and the air filled with the sounds of drums and godzookas and squeakaloes.

  “I’m fine, Max,” said Falcon.

  From a blue, endless sky, the sun shone down on the monsters of the world. There were ogres with digital cameras, banshees with cheeseburgers, dryads with violet sno-cones.

  But the parade contained no angels.

  Chapter 2

  The Filchers

  An hour later, Falcon stood on the beach throwing stones into the Sea of Dragons. He watched as they fell into the water with a soft plunk. Falcon could hear the sounds of the monster amusement park less than a mile away down the beach, the calliope in the Misery-Go-Round, the screams of vampires rushing down the flume ride in Plasma Falls. He bent down and picked up a small conch shell and held it to his ear. He heard the whisper of the sea.

  Falcon unfolded his angel wings and stretched them high over his head. He felt the wind blowing against them, and he thought, briefly, about taking flight. But instead he remained on the ground, feeling the ocean wind gust against his wings.

  He remembered the words that Snort had spoken. Everybody knows what you’re trying to do. What you are. And his reply: What am I, Snort?

  He would have liked to ask his parents for the answer to this question. But his mother, the queen of the monster killers, lived far from here, on Guardian Island. And his father, the Crow, was exiled to the Tower of Souls in Grisleigh Castle. Most of the time, his parents seemed more concerned with trying to kill each other than with their son’s fate. What did Vega, or the Crow, know about being an angel? What did anyone?

  Falcon walked down the beach, listening to the crash of the waves upon the shore. From a long way off, he saw something running toward him, a small creature darting and cavorting along the waves. There was something in his mouth.

  “Hey,” Falcon shouted. “Hello?”

  The creature appeared to be a black Labrador retriever, except that instead of four legs he had eight rubbery tentacles. His face came alive with happiness as he drew close to Falcon, and he bounded toward him on his squiggly appendages. He opened his mouth and dropped a book at Falcon’s feet. The octopus retriever barked once and began to wag his tail.

  Falcon bent down and picked up the book. On the cover was Sparkbolt’s handwriting: “Poetry Book of Rhyming Poems.”

  “Hey,” said Falcon. “That’s my friend’s book. Where did you get this?”

  The creature barked again, chomped down on Sparkbolt’s poetry journal, then turned and bounded down the beach with it.

  “No,” said Falcon. “Bad dog. I mean—dog thing. Come back. No! Bad!” Falcon ran after the creature. The octopus retriever bounded across the sand and into the thick, wooded area beyond it. There was a trail here that cut through the woods. Falcon hurried down the path, past ferns and tall mushrooms and thick pine trees. The forest floor was brown with fallen needles and enormous pinecones.

  “Oh,” said a voice. “Falcon Quinn. You found the dog.”

  Falcon turned to see a faun sitting on a stump, smoking a pipe. He was an older man with deep, thoughtful eyes. Two goat horns sprouted from his head. His legs, which were covered with fur, were crossed in front of him. He had two mud-covered hooves for feet.

  The octopus retriever sat at the faun’s side, the book of poems in his mouth. He wagged his tail when he saw Falcon.

  “That’s my friend’s book!” said Falcon. “It’s—” His voice sounded unpleasantly loud in that quiet place. Wind blew softly through the trees. The faun sucked on his pipe, then blew a thick smoke ring up in the air. “Did you hear that, Lumpp?” said the faun. “It’s his friend’s book.”

  Lumpp, the octopus retriever, looked mournful.

  “Drop it!
” said the faun. Lumpp whimpered. “I said drop it.” Lumpp lowered his head and deposited the book on the forest floor.

  “There you go,” said the faun. “All’s well!”

  “What?” said Falcon. He looked at the faun, his merry eyes taking Falcon in as if enjoying a very pleasant joke. “Who are you?” Falcon said.

  “I’m Mr. Sweeny,” said the stranger. “And that’s Lumpp.” He sucked on his pipe and then exhaled. The smoke came out purple. Mr. Sweeny smiled as he looked at the smoke. His hairy face crinkled with lines. He turned toward the forest. “You can all come out,” he shouted. “It’s all right.”

  There was no reply. Mr. Sweeny smiled thoughtfully. “They don’t want to come out,” he said. “They’re a little skittish.”

  “Who?”

  “My companions.”

  “What did he do to the dog?” said a voice, and Falcon turned to see a beautiful girl standing there. She had long, black hair, black eyes, full red lips, and two pointed ears. She appeared to be about Falcon’s age, but her eyes seemed as old as the Earth.

  “He found the dog,” noted Mr. Sweeny.

  “Is that what he says?” said the girl.

  “’Tis,” said Mr. Sweeny. “Falcon, this is Clea.”

  The girl looked annoyed and bent down to pat Lumpp on the head. “Poor baby. What did he do to you?”

  “Behold!” said a loud voice. “The Squonk!”

  The most hideous creature Falcon had ever seen stepped out from behind a tree. His skin was green and covered with hundreds of warts. Some of his warts had warts. In one hand the Squonk carried a birdcage.

  “Falcon Quinn,” the man shouted, extending his horrible, wart-covered green hand. “Meet the Squonk!”

  “I wouldn’t shake his hand,” said Clea. “It’s contagious.”

  Falcon shook the Squonk’s hand nervously. The Squonk looked at Clea, his feelings hurt. “It is not contagious!”

  “I didn’t mean you,” said Clea.

  “So you’re the famous Falcon Quinn,” yelled the Squonk, who apparently yelled everything. “Son of the Crow! Son of the guardian queen! The angel!”