Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “You think if you kill me you can win her back?” said Falcon.

  “No,” said Cygnus. “I think if I kill you she will know what it is to suffer as I have suffered all these years.”

  “Vait,” said another voice. “You shall not kill Falcon Qvinn.”

  “I won’t?” said Cygnus as Count Manson stepped into the room. “And why is that, Count?”

  “Because,” said Count Manson, “that wengeance belongs to me.”

  “He’s mine, Count,” said Cygnus. “Don’t interfere.”

  Falcon shot a huge fireball toward Cygnus, but the guardian general just stepped out of the way. The fireball sailed across the room and nearly hit Count Manson, but the count, using the force of his will, held up one hand and extinguished the fireball, which then fell in ashes to the floor.

  The count grasped the air with his fingers, exerting his willpower on Falcon, who suddenly found himself frozen to the spot. “Perhaps,” said the count to Cygnus, “ve might—cooperate, just this vunce? I shall hold him still. As you destroy him vith the qeres. That is qeres I smell, is it not?”

  “Indeed,” said Cygnus, drawing out a small vial from his cloak. “The ancient embalming perfume of the pharaohs. Most effective against angels.” He poured the perfume on the edge of his knife, and the room filled with the stench of death. “Very well, then, Count, let us join together to remove our mutual enemy. Of course, after the angel is dead I shall have to kill you as well.”

  “Naturally. And I, Cygnus, vill be obligated to kill you.”

  “It is good,” said Cygnus, “that we understand each other.”

  “Cygnus,” said Falcon, “it’s not me you want to kill.”

  “Vhat is he talking about?” said the count.

  “Killing me won’t bring her back to you,” said Falcon.

  Cygnus looked furious for a moment, then his features relaxed. “That may be so,” he said. “But you are wrong about one thing, Falcon. It is you I want to kill.” He laughed. “It is you.” And Cygnus rushed forward with the knife.

  The blade, shining with poison, slashed through the air and then straight into Falcon’s hearts—the two of them, both the guardian and the monster.

  For a moment Falcon stood there, looking at the handle of the blade sticking out of his own chest. Then he felt his pulses slow, and then cease altogether, and he fell into darkness.

  Monster Island was aflame. Monsters and guardians continued to stagger in confusion, clutching their bleeding ears, some of them falling back to safer positions in Plasma Falls and Abominationland and Yesterdayland.

  “Squonk bad,” said Sparkbolt, staggering through the drifting smoke. Black soot coated his cheeks. He was not at all sure how he had wound up outside, but here he was, stumbling down Hematoma Boulevard. He paused to cough. There was no sign of the Filchers in the disoriented, screaming crowd.

  Gyra, wielding her bullwhip, came out of the smoke, coughing. “Sparkbolt,” she said.

  “Monster angry!!” He shook his head. “Brain hurt.”

  Max and Pearl now emerged from the smoke. “Max. Pearl,” said Gyra. “You guys okay?”

  “We’re okay,” said Sam. “But where’s Celeste? And that really big dude?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gyra. “Everything’s confused!”

  “My mental processes have been roasted by that terrible noise!” said Pearl. “But I have emerged nonetheless! My dignity still intact!”

  “Your dignity?” said a voice, and they turned to see Mortlock, standing at the end of the street holding a large flail. “How can a Chupakabra speak of dignity?”

  “Is this a challenge?” said Pearl. “I shall sting you on your shiny metal backside! I shall inject you with the poison of humiliation!”

  “Mortlock,” said Gyra, “the Chupakabra fights with courage and honor! I have seen it myself!”

  “That’s funny,” said Mortlock. “The banshee who killed my mother didn’t have much honor at all.”

  “Please, sir,” said Gyra. “If you’ll just listen to us—”

  “That’s enough, Cadet Gyra,” said Mortlock.

  “I say,” said the colonel, now coming up from behind Mortlock. “This is all most irregular. Our party scattered, and everything aflame! Highly improper!”

  “Hey,” said Sam. “I thought that dude got chased off by that baby elephant.”

  The colonel continued. “Reminds me of the time back in sixty-two, when I encountered the lamia of Madagascar. Well, there we were—”

  “Rrrr,” said a voice. A pair of green hands wrapped themselves around the colonel’s neck, and the guardian adventurer was thrown through the front window of the Five Cent Kandy Korner, where he became enmeshed in the whirling tongs of the saltwater taffy machine. The colonel was struck by the whirling blades and engulfed with the thick, gummy taffy.

  Sparkbolt smiled happily. “Element of surprise,” he said.

  “Dude,” said Sam. “You made candy out of him!”

  Mortlock grinned. “You’re not making candy out of me,” he said, then whirled his flail through the air. It wheeled in a whooshing circle over his head, once, then twice, and then came down on Sparkbolt. The Frankenstein jumped out of the way, but Mortlock had anticipated this move and had adjusted his blow accordingly. The flail dealt a glancing blow to the Frankenstein’s knee, and with an agonized roar, Sparkbolt fell onto the cobblestones. Now Mortlock whirled the flail around again, and it would have crashed down upon Sparkbolt’s shoulders had something not stuck on to the flail’s spiked ball, nearly throwing Mortlock off balance. “What the—,” he said.

  There, clinging to the giant ball, was Chandler. The whirling ball had lifted him off his feet.

  “Cadet Chandler, let go,” said Mortlock.

  “Mortlock,” said Gyra, “we’re wrong about them.”

  “Turns out,” said Mortlock, “what I was wrong about was you.”

  Mortlock stepped toward her, Chandler still dangling from the ball of his flail.

  “Please, sir,” said Chandler. “Can’t you show a little mercy? Please?”

  “That’s what my ma asked the banshees just before they hauled her off,” Mortlock said. He shook his head in contempt. “Smarter now.”

  Dahlia and Maeve Crofton awakened on the edge of Abominationland, where they’d been blown after the blinding music of the Squonk. Dahlia trickled, half in and half out of her water form, as flames shot from the top of Maeve’s fingers. They held each other in a hug, making a volcano of hissing steam.

  Maeve reduced her flame and then ran her fingers through the waters of her sister’s hair. “Where are we?” she asked. “My brain feels like it’s been charbroiled.”

  “You’re on Monster Island,” said a voice. “With your family.”

  The Crofton sisters turned, and there they saw their sister Megan, flickering in and out like a candle flame.

  “Megan!” the girls shouted, and the Croftons fell upon one another until they thought their hearts would break. A warm fire, like coals on a winter day, glowed in Dahlia’s hair, and Maeve trickled around her sisters in joy. Megan flickered, but stayed visible, made more solid and stable by her family.

  “Mom told me you were dead,” said Megan. “She said you were drowned.”

  Maeve nodded. “She thinks you’ve drowned too,” she said. “That’s what they do when monsters leave the world. They tell the others they’re dead.”

  “She said it should have been me,” said Megan. “That I was the one who should have died instead of you. She said she’d never love me. That no one ever would.”

  “Oh, Megan,” said Maeve, wrapping her fiery arms around her sister. “No one’s ever been more loved than you.”

  Megan looked at the burning spires of Dracula’s Castle. Birds circled the towers. “Falcon,” she said.

  “What about him?”

  “We have to help him.”

  “Why?” said Dahlia.

  “Because he saved me,” said Me
gan.

  Maeve and Dahlia looked at each other. “Falcon Quinn?” said Maeve. “He saved you? But we thought—”

  “You were wrong,” said Megan. Her hands drifted like smoke for a moment. “Everyone was. But we can still help him if we put out these fires. The three of us. Maeve, you can control fire—Dahlia, you can put out flames with water—and I can try to steer the wind away from the blaze.” She flickered in and out. “That will help.”

  “Are you well enough?” said Maeve. “You seem kind of wavery.”

  “We have to help Falcon,” said Megan. “Save everyone.”

  “Guardians too?” said Dahlia.

  “Everyone,” said Megan. Dahlia and Maeve looked at each other uncertainly.

  Then Maeve transformed into flames, and Dahlia dissolved into a rushing stream, and Megan became the wind. And the elements turned upon the burning world.

  Jonny Frankenstein, when he came to, found himself in the heart of Dracula’s Castle. His head ached as he tried to remember how he had come to be here. The Filchers, he thought, looking around. The Squonk.

  “Why, Jonny Frankenstein,” said a voice, and Jonny turned. There before him was Merideath, and Dominique, and Muffy, their eyes dark and moist, their lips slightly open. “I was hoping you’d come.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Jonny.

  “Looking for you,” said Merideath.

  “Where’s Falcon?” said Jonny.

  “Falcon Quinn?” said Merideath. “Is he here too? Well, wherever he is, he’s about to get wiped out with the others. I don’t think there’ll be much left of either side when this is all done, do you?”

  “Listen, ladies,” said Jonny. “You need to back off.”

  “Jonny,” said Merideath. “Don’t be that way. We’re offering you a chance to survive this day.”

  “Boy, are you girls confused,” said Jonny. “Don’t you know what I am?”

  “I know what you’ve been,” said Merideath. “But that can change. After I was expelled, Jonny, I had a lot of time to think about who at that stupid school I’d most like to kill, and whom I’d most like to—” She smiled gently, and her long, shining teeth were visible. “Come on. Join the club.”

  “I’ll fry you with lightning if you take one step closer,” said Jonny.

  “Oh, Jonny, you don’t need lightning anymore. You just need someone to bite you. Don’t you think it’d be perfectly macabre, if you came over to our side? It’s the perfect revenge on all of them for the way they’ve treated you. Taking bets upon your life! You want to be an outlier, Jonny? It’s easy. All you have to do is join us.”

  She stared at him with her moist black eyes and drew very close to him. Jonny could feel her hot breath on his neck. Merideath held him still now with the force of her will.

  “Do you remember on the first day of school, Jonny?” said Merideath, putting her hand on the side of his face. “You showed up with your guitar and your duffel bag, and you climbed up the stairs to the Tower of Aberrations? You sat on the couch playing that little song on your guitar.” She leaned forward, her lips full, her eyelids drooping like the petals of a wilting flower. “That day, I knew I wanted you, Jonny. I knew I wanted you forever.”

  She opened her mouth, and Jonny saw her long canine teeth. “Muffy? Dominique?” said Merideath. “Hold him still!”

  Chapter 23

  A Beautiful Fish

  Falcon drifted in a vaporous whorl. The sun struggled through clouds. He saw his mother lying on a white bed in a white room. The Crow sat at her side, wiping her forehead with a cloth.

  “Falcon,” Vega whispered. “Where’s Falcon?”

  The room rose and fell as if the floor had become the surface of a raging ocean. A wave washed through Falcon’s vision and he went under. Strange hands reached up from the ocean floor, trying to drag Falcon down. Then he felt himself washed onto unfamiliar shores. Birds sang from trees.

  Before him was a long, wooden pier at the end of which was a man with a fishing rod. As he fished, he read a thick leather book.

  Falcon approached the stranger. He looked up from his reading and smiled, as if he had been expecting Falcon for a long, long time.

  “I’m almost done,” said Mr. Lyons. He held up the volume. “Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens.”

  “Mr. Lyons,” said Falcon.

  “I am known by that name,” he said.

  Falcon looked at the librarian and smiled sadly. “This isn’t real, is it?”

  “Real?” said Mr. Lyons. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that. Oliver Twist isn’t real either, is he? But I have spent many good days following his progress and thinking about his fate. He has brought me much joy, which is more than I can say for a number of these so-called real things of yours. Here.” Mr. Lyons handed Falcon the book. “This is for you.”

  “I thought you weren’t finished yet.”

  “I know how it ends,” said Mr. Lyons. He pulled on his fishing rod and reeled in the line. He looked at his lure for a moment, then cast it back out again.

  “What are you fishing for?” said Falcon.

  “That changes all the time,” said Mr. Lyons. “Until a moment ago, I was fishing for you! And look. Here you are. A lunker!”

  “Mr. Lyons,” said Falcon. “Are we dead?”

  “Dead?” said the librarian. “For heaven’s sake, Falcon, why would you think you were dead? On such a day as this?”

  “They stabbed me, Mr. Lyons. And I think—you must be dead too. We both are.”

  “Falcon Quinn,” said Mr. Lyons. “No man can kill me.”

  Falcon looked around at the roaring ocean, the strange cloud-filled sky. “Why not? There’s some law that you can’t kill a librarian?”

  “There should be,” said Mr. Lyons. “That is a law I would surely endorse. But no. The reason I cannot be killed is not because I am a librarian. It’s because I am the Watcher.”

  Falcon looked at him with wonder. “You’re the Watcher?”

  “I am. The Shepherd of Dreams.”

  “So this is a dream? We’re on—the Island of Nightmares?”

  “You can call it that if you like, Falcon,” said Mr. Lyons.

  “Are my parents here? My father said he was bringing my mom to you. That you could heal her.”

  “They were here for a time,” said Mr. Lyons. “They are both out of danger for now.”

  “So—you healed them?”

  “They healed each other.” He smiled. “I must say, I had my doubts, especially about your mother. But she has recovered, mostly, from the poison that she carried.” He shook his head sadly. “So much venom in the world.”

  He held up a broken watch upon a silver chain. The crystal was shattered.

  “That’s the stopwatch my father used to wear,” said Falcon. “It measured—”

  “That curse is lifted,” said Mr. Lyons. “They have both suffered enough. All three of you have.”

  “Where are they now? Did they go back to the castle? Or Shadow Island? Or—”

  “I had another task for them,” said the Watcher. “They are back in the Reality Stream, in Maine, in fact. There is trouble brewing up north, I am afraid. This is a matter only they can solve.”

  “What trouble?” said Falcon. “When do I get to see them again?”

  The fishing rod twitched and bent. Mr. Lyons began to pull in his line.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I thought you knew everything!”

  “Oh no, Falcon.” He smiled. “I only know what I read.”

  A large fish crashed through the surface of the water now, and Mr. Lyons reeled in his line. At the end was a large salmon, its silver scales shimmering, its bloodred gills wriggling and writhing. “Hello, my friend,” said Mr. Lyons. “Now, now, let’s get you unhooked here.” He glanced at Falcon. “It’s a beautiful fish, isn’t it?”

  Falcon nodded. “It is.”

  “All right then,” said Mr. Lyons, and threw the fish back
into the ocean. They watched as the salmon flashed its tail and then dove.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” said Falcon Quinn to Mr. Lyons. “Am I going to be all right?”

  “All right?” Mr. Lyons looked thoughtful. “I am not sure what you mean by that, Falcon. You will have occasions for great joy, I think, and others of sadness and pain. You will find many things you are searching for and lose others. You will be surrounded by the voices of those who love you, and on other occasions find yourself stranded and alone. You will know great hunger and thirst; and then days will come when the table before you is piled high with warm bread and sweet butter. Above all, dear boy, you will have many choices to make. Perhaps with love, and humor, and the counsel of your friends you will make more right choices than wrong ones.” He nodded. “So. If this is what you mean, then I suppose you will be all right, Falcon. Yes. You will be just fine.”

  Falcon looked out at the waters where the salmon had been released. “What’s going to happen now?” he asked.

  Mr. Lyons patted Falcon on the shoulder. “I think,” he said, “it is time to throw you back. You know what else I think, Falcon Quinn?”

  “What?”

  Mr. Lyons placed his hand on Falcon’s chest, right above his twin hearts. “I think,” he said, “that you too are a beautiful fish.”

  All at once Falcon found himself churning in the waters of the sea. The ocean roared in his ears as he rose toward the surface. As he rushed upward, he felt Mr. Lyons’s hand on his chest. His hearts began to pulse, gently at first and then with more force.

  He crashed through the surface, and as he did, the world spun around him. The world roared and then grew silent except for two men’s voices speaking and a soft, rhythmic thumping.

  “And so,” said Count Manson. “Ve now turn to each other.”

  “We do,” said Cygnus. “At last.”

  I’m back, thought Falcon. He glanced down at his chest. There was a hand-shaped pool of blood over his hearts, but as he watched, the stain slowly faded.