Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror (18 page)

“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!”

B
reakfast 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—”

“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,
un
dead. Ghouls,
semi
dead. 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
!”

“I got a question,” said Max. “Mr. Shale. Oo! Oo! Me! Call on me!”

“Whaat?”

“It's about the werecreatures. Like Turpin. And the weredogs.”

“Werewolves!” growled Ranger and Scout.

“Yeah. And the others. How come when they change—it's not, you know, when there's a full moon and stuff? I mean, some of them are sort of changing all the time, but others—like Lincoln Pugh—only change once in a while. It seems all random, man! It's messin' with my mind!”

“Werecreatures are still creatures of the gloaming,” growled Mr. Shale. “This was just explained! Their nature is still emerging, still unstable. Eighteenth birthday, all
transform permanently to monster selves. Unless you learn the method to resist. To suppress!”

“Wait,” said Mortia. “I want to know about the world we left. The—Reality Stream. What do people think happened to us—back there?”

“They think you're
gone
,” said Mr. Shale. “Kicked the bucket. Had an accident. We arrange for
mishaps
for each of you.” He snickered softly.

“How did I go?” asked Mortia. “Was it sudden?”

“Mortia Moulder,” said Mr. Shale, rubbing his face again. “You got hold of a bad clam.”

“I—got hold of—a
clam
?”

“A
bad
clam,” said Mr. Shale.

“Eee-eww,” said Merideath.

“But I'm vegan,” said Mortia. “I don't eat clams!”

Mr. Shale shook his head sadly. “Not anymore.”

“Mr. Shale,” said Mrs. Redflint, standing at the back of the room. “If I might have a word with Mr. Quinn. Now.”

“Oooooo,” said the young monsters.

“Take him,” said Mr. Shale. “Take all of them.”

“I do not want all of them,” said Mrs. Redflint. “I just want Falcon Quinn.”

Falcon got up and followed the dragon lady down the hall, his hearts pounding. The others remained in their seats but looked after him with expressions of dread.

 

“This way, please,” Mrs. Redflint said, leading him into a small, unused classroom. Mr. Hake, Dr. Medulla, Algol, and the moth man were sitting to one side. “Sit,” she said, indicating a chair in the front row. He sat down.

“Is there something you would like to tell us?” she said. “Anything?”

It was happening just as Jonny had foretold. As he looked at the faces of the authorities before him, Falcon felt very much like he had been called before a tribunal. His black eye began to burn.

“I don't have anything to tell you,” said Falcon.

“Please,” said Dr. Medulla gently. “What did you see last night? In the Black Mirror. In the Tower of Souls, when you and the wind elemental were sneaking around.”

“It tells us the truth,” said the moth man. “Or it suffers.”

“So…,” said Falcon, “you know about that?”

“Falcon, of course we know about that,” said Mrs. Redflint. “The headmaster was quite impressed that you got it working. It can be a bit cranky, the Black Mirror.”

“I didn't—” Falcon looked from face to face, confused. “Is he the clockmaster? Is that who was watching us?”

“It is not permitted to speak of it,” said the moth man. “It tells us what it saw in the mirror.”

“Why is it not permitted to—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Mrs. Redflint. “We're asking the questions. What did you see in the Black Mirror, Falcon? And please try to be truthful, no matter how convenient you find it to lie.”

“I don't—” Falcon felt his black eye throbbing again. “It's kind of hard to remember now. I felt like I was being sucked down a drain or something—”

“Good! Good!” said Mr. Hake. “It's
fun
to be sucked down a drain!”

“Sssh,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Concentrate, Mr. Quinn. Try to focus.”

Falcon tried to conjure the vision in his mind. For a second he saw it—the shadowy creature with its huge wings. “There was this—
thing
with a dark eye, an eye as black as oil. It was shining.”

“One eye, or two?” said the moth man excitedly. “It tells us!”

Falcon thought. “I can't remember. Uh—one, I think. I mean—it was in shadow. I only saw one side of it. It's hard to…”

The adults were hanging on his every word. “One eye, then,” said Mrs. Redflint. She sounded sad. “Only one dark eye. I see. Anything else?”

“Wings,” said Falcon.

“Wings are good, too!” said Mr. Hake. “This is happy-happy!”

“Would you say bat wings?” asked Dr. Medulla. “Or, say, eagle wings? Or—”

“I don't know,” said Falcon. “I can't remember.”

“These wings were black?” said Mrs. Redflint.

Falcon tried to remember what he had seen, but it all seemed unreal to him now, like something that had taken place in a dream.

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“It tells us,” said the moth man, “if it went within the mirror.”

“What the acting headmaster means,” said Mrs. Redflint, “is that the Black Mirror can, hmm—well, it can pull one in. And once one is in, it is very difficult to get out.”

“I felt it pulling me,” said Falcon. “But I didn't go into it. I just looked.”

“Once you're inside the mirror,” said Mr. Hake, “you need to get out quickly. Or else you get absorbed! Like liquid into a sponge! Yes, absorbed! That's what you get!”

“Absorbed?”

“It gets absorbed,” said the moth man. “It does not come out.”

“Well, at least we were spared this,” said Mrs. Redflint. “I suppose we should be grateful. But still there is the
matter of the reflection. This—hmm—entity you saw. Did it have one wing? Or two?”

“I don't know!” shouted Falcon. “What difference does it make?”

“Oh, it makes a difference,” said the moth man. “It makes all the difference in the world to Falcon Quinn.”

“Would someone please tell me what this is about?” Falcon asked.

“The Black Mirror in the Tower of Souls,” said Mrs. Redflint, “reflects a creature's monster nature. This is why Megan Crofton was not reflected, of course. Her nature is that of the wind, a thing unseen.”

“Okay, but what about me?” said Falcon. “What was the thing I saw?”

The adults exchanged grave looks. “Falcon,” continued Mrs. Redflint. “There is great concern about your case. For weeks now you have eluded diagnosis. This alone is not unheard of; we have had students over the years who have conformed to no mutation but their own. But there is the fear”—she paused here to look her colleagues in the eyes, one by one—“that no matter what form of monster you are, you are only half monster. And that your nonmonstrous half might well be something
counterproductive
.”

“And that would be bad for you,” said Mr. Hake. “Oh yes. I'm afraid we'd have to dispose of you! Yes indeedy!
Oh, we'd do it nicely of course, but still: dispose!!”

“I'm not a guardian,” said Falcon. “I'm not!”

“What does it know of guardians?” said the moth man. “It knows nothing.”

“I don't want to hurt anyone,” said Falcon. “I just want to be with my friends.”

“Oh, but it will want to hurt someone,” said the moth man. “It will wish to hurt lots of ones.”

“I don't,” said Falcon.

“This is what the guardians say,” said Mr. Hake. “They pretend to be happy-happy. When they're really
unhappy
-happy.”

“Falcon,” said Dr. Medulla. “Why did you go into the Tower of Souls last night? Do you know?”

“We went because…” Falcon paused, and for a moment he wondered whether he understood his own motivations. Had he really gone on that insane adventure in the middle of the night just to do a good deed?

“Yes?”

“We were trying to rescue Quimby. He got out of his jar and floated out the window. He was stuck beneath the overhang of the tower.”

“Oh, we know about Quimby,” shouted Mrs. Redflint, “whom you have loosed upon the world! We know all about him!”

“Quimby is not the issue,” said the moth man. “Falcon
Quinn is the issue. It tells us why it cared.”

“Why I cared?”

“Did it not know,” said the moth man, his unpleasant, dusty mouth chewing the air, “did it not know it was leading its friends into danger?”