“What is this?” said Pearl. “Cannot wake?”
“You mean she dies?” said Falcon. “Or she just can’t wake up?”
“Another satisfied customer,” said Quimby.
“This is stupid,” said Megan.
“I have no true love,” said Pearl.
“Not yet,” said Quimby.
“Then I shall be the guardian of my heart,” said Pearl.
Quimby shook his head. “Yeah, well,” he said. “Good luck with that.”
“This one, then,” said Pearl, buzzing around Falcon’s head, “the boy.”
“Falcon,” said Megan. “Don’t.”
Falcon wasn’t sure he wanted Quimby to do his fortune, especially since the ones he’d given Pearl and Megan were nearly incomprehensible. They were worse, in some ways, than no fortune at all. Then he remembered the thing he had seen in the graveyard that morning, the cloaked figure covered with snow. He stepped forward and placed his hands on the lid of the large jar. “Tell me,” he said.
“I always warn them,” said Quimby, “but they never listen. All right then. Relax, and focus on the beyond.”
Falcon closed his eyes. He felt as if all his thoughts were draining out of him.
“Falcon Quinn,” said Quimby, and paused.
Falcon opened one eye. Quimby’s forehead was creased with lines. “Falcon Quinn,” he said again, more thoughtfully.
“What?” said Falcon. “What is it?”
“Falcon Quinn,” said Quimby, “gets—ripped—in half—”
Quimby paused again. He looked confused.
“Ripped in half?” said Pearl.
“Falcon Quinn gets ripped in half, makes his choice, and—uh—” Quimby’s eyes suddenly shot open. The man’s eyes were as wide as hard-boiled eggs. “No!” he shouted. “No!”
“What?”
All at once Quimby screamed. It was an ear-shattering scream, so loud that it knocked Pearl out of the air. Quimby vanished. His crystal went completely dark, then fell over on one side.
Pearl got herself up off the floor. “Whoa,” she said.
Falcon stood there with his mouth open. Then he shut it. He thought of his grandmother and his home. Was the fate that Quimby foretold the one that would befall him if he remained here at the Academy? Or the one that would only come to pass if he somehow made his way back to Cold River?
“Our futures,” said Pearl, “seem—unfortunate.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Megan. “You want to go downstairs, check out the cafeteria?”
“Ripped in half?” said Falcon. “What does that mean, ‘ripped in half’?”
“Falcon,” said Megan. “Come on.”
“Señor,” said Pearl. “We shall not suffer these fates so long as we are here to protect each other. To you I pledge my stinger!”
“And I’m not leaving my friends,” said Megan.
Falcon looked at Megan, more than a little surprised. “Your friends?” said Falcon. “I thought you hated me.”
Megan looked at him as if he was even stupider than she’d thought. “Hated you?” she said. “Are you serious? You’re the only person who’s ever been nice to me.”
“Again we make this pledge,” said Pearl. “We put our hands together and say, we look out, you for me, and me for you.”
Megan put her hand onto Pearl’s. Then Falcon put his on top of Megan’s. He looked over at her, and she nodded gently.
“Okay, okay,” said Pearl. “There. I tell you this. I prefer the fortunes we make, better than the ones made by Quimby. He said one true thing in the midst of his lies. We control the future, not Quimby.”
“I never knew a goatsucker before,” said Megan thoughtfully.
“And I—I have never met—whatever it is that you might be. Come now, we fly to dinner.”
“We can’t fly,” said Falcon.
“I fly you, all of us, together,” said Pearl.
“Fly us?” said Megan. “You can do that?”
“Exactamente,” said Pearl. “Put your hands upon mine, and I shall uplift you, into the sky.”
Falcon looked at her, astonished. “You’re full of surprises,” he said.
“Of course I am full of surprises,” she said. “I am la Chupakabra! The famous goatsucker of Peru!”
She took Megan and Falcon by the hands, and all three of them rose in the air. The Chupakabra’s wings beat quickly, like a hummingbird’s, and in a moment the trio had rushed out the window and into the dusk.
5
LITTLE DIRTY BIRDIES’ FEET
The horizon tilted. “Do not fear, my friends,” said Pearl, pressing Falcon’s and Megan’s hands tightly. “I am sworn to protect you.”
Pearl did not need to worry about Falcon or Megan, however. They felt no fear, only exhilaration, as they soared above the earth. Below them were the five towers of the castle, the long wall that surrounded it, and beyond this, dozens of other academic buildings and well-manicured green lawns. In the distance was the ocean, the sunlight twinkling on the waves. Megan looked over at Falcon, her mouth open in amazement and wonder. For once the expression of grief seemed to have left her face.
Pearl swept down to the ground. Before them was an open door that led to a large institutional cafeteria. Pearl let go of Falcon’s and Megan’s hands.
“We have arrived upon the ground,” said Pearl. “Our flight is at an end.”
Falcon exhaled sharply. “Wow,” he said. “That was great.”
“The speed!” said Megan. “And—the wind!”
“I am pleased that you enjoy the adventure of flight,” said Pearl. “We shall fly together again—we three! But now, let us enter the chamber of dining. Surely more discoveries await us.”
Falcon, however, was reluctant to go inside, and for a moment he stood there in a state of exaltation. He felt the wind rushing through his fingers, the air pounding in his lungs. He looked up at the sky in wonder.
“Falcon,” called Megan. “Come on.”
The room was filled with other creatures about their age, most of them moving in a long line toward what appeared to be a kitchen. There were cafeteria tables arranged in rows throughout the large, ugly room, and a few of the Academy’s students were gathered at these, eating their dinners. The student body, to say the least, did not look very much like Cold River Middle School’s. There were young zombies with glazed expressions, carrying plastic trays piled high with french fries. There were two Frankensteins with bolts in their necks, wearing T-shirts that read, respectively, I’M WITH STUPID and STUPID’S WITH ME. There was a mummy, whose top and bottom halves were wrapped up in gauze bandages; her midriff was bare, exposing a tight, muscular stomach. A pair of minotaurs wore New England Patriots T-shirts.
“Where’s Max?” said Falcon.
“This Max,” said Pearl. “Who is this Max?”
“He’s our friend,” said Megan, and Falcon raised his eyebrow.
“Yeah,” said Falcon, scanning the room. “You’d recognize Max—he’s huge. Mrs. Redflint said he was a Sasquatch.”
“Among the bigfeet,” said Pearl, “all things are in abundance.”
Falcon looked over at one table, where a half dozen gorgeous girls were all sitting in a row. At first he didn’t see what kind of creatures they were; they all looked human enough. Then, in unison, they smiled. Each of the girls had braces. And giant vampire fangs.
Megan, Falcon, and Pearl joined the line that led toward the stainless-steel kitchen. An obese creature stood behind the counter. She looked like a giant iguana standing up on two legs. She was wearing a white chef’s apron and holding a nasty, dented spatula. A fly buzzed around her head. For a moment she followed the flight of the fly with her eyes. Then a three-foot-long tongue shot out of her mouth, snagged the fly, and disappeared just as quickly back into her mouth.
“Ack,” said Pearl, her eyes wide. “This is not the place for me.”
“She wouldn’t eat a student,” said Falcon. He looked su
spiciously at the cafeteria lady. “Would you?”
The cafeteria lady narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like you,” she said.
“We will be together later, we three,” said Pearl, and she buzzed off into the dining room.
“What kind of meat is that?” said Falcon, looking at some trays of gray flesh in brown sauce.
“I said I don’t like you,” repeated the cafeteria lady.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Megan. “What is the meat? Please?”
The cafeteria lady pointed to the first bin and said, “Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts.” She pointed to the second bin. “Mutilated monkey meat.” Finally she pointed to the last bin. “Little dirty birdies’ feet.”
Falcon’s jaw fell open. “Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts?” he said.
The iguana lady looked around for an implement to serve the food with. “And I forgot my spoon,” she muttered.
They slid their trays down the cafeteria line. The farther they went, the worse the food looked. There was a bin full of large, burned bullfrogs. There was another bin of some kind of deep-fried fingers. And there was soup in a cauldron. The soup was chunky.
Falcon ladled himself a little of the soup. It was thick and gray.
At the end of the line was a salad bar. Strangely, nothing about it looked too terrible. There were lettuce and tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs, along with something called the house dressing. Megan and Falcon both made salads, although Falcon was a little nervous about what the house dressing might contain. He was just as nervous about the glass of milk he poured himself, being relatively certain that whatever animal the milk came from, the odds were pretty good that it was not a cow.
As they left the kitchen, two cute girls came rushing up to Megan. “Hi!” they said. Are you Megan Crofton? From Maine?”
“Yes?” said Megan.
“We’re your roommates! I’m Destynee,” said the blond girl. “And that’s Merideath.”
“Did you meet Pearl?” said Megan. “She’s in our room too.”
“Is she a vamp?” said Destynee. “Like us?”
“She’s, like, this little flying thing,” said Megan.
“You’re kidding,” said Merideath.
“She’s nice,” said Megan. “Sucks blood.”
“Really?” said Merideath, interested.
“She’s from Peru.”
“We’re sitting with the vamps,” said Destynee. “Come on, join us!”
Destynee looked at Megan’s salad. “That’s what you’re eating?” she said.
Megan seemed to remember that Falcon was standing there. “This is Falcon,” she said.
But Megan was already being led away by Destynee and Merideath as if he had become invisible.
Falcon walked through the cacophonous cafeteria. It looked as if the room had once served as one of the school’s gymnasiums, because there was a basketball hoop and backboard at each end of the room, and foul lines on the floor. All the tables seemed full. He felt kind of stupid and self-conscious as he looked for a place to sit down. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice.
“Dude!” Max roared.
Falcon looked over to see Max sitting at a table with two other Sasquatches. Before the boys were giant mountains of food. Max had some kind of drumstick in one hand. The table was meant to accommodate four students, but with the three Sasquatches there wasn’t an inch to spare.
“Guys, this is my friend Falcon,” said Max. “From Maine.” Max seemed to have grown yet again since the last time Falcon had seen him. He was taller and wider and covered with more hair. The other boys were of a similar build and appearance. “Falcon, this is Peeler, and this is Woody.”
The boys roared at Max. It was a friendly noise.
“How’s everything in your tower?” said Max.
“Good. We met Megan’s roommate. She’s a Chupakabra.”
“A what?”
“Peruvian goatsucker.”
The Sasquatches took this in.
“Okay,” said Max. “That’s—excellent.” He rubbed his hairy face.
“What else you got up there?” said Woody. He had a very, very deep voice. “You got a genie?”
“A what? Oh. No. We’ve kind of got this disembodied head guy, though. He’s in a jar of this, like, jelly stuff.”
“We got a genie,” said Peeler, whose voice was surprisingly high for a Sasquatch. “He’s excellent.”
“Really?” said Falcon. He felt a little sad that Max and his friends apparently had a genie and all they had was Quimby. “So this genie—he grants wishes?”
“Well, technically, he’s just a pizza genie,” said Max.
“What’s a pizza genie?”
“We want pizzas, we rub the lamp!” said Woody. “You wish for pizzas, and bang—you got pizzas!”
“Can you wish for anything else?” asked Falcon.
“What else do you need?” said Max.
Peeler looked at Falcon thoughtfully. “So,” he said. “What’s your head in a jar do?”
Falcon didn’t really want to explain about Quimby, or his opaque but disturbing prophecies. “Listen,” he said. “I should find a place to sit.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Max. “I’m down in the catacombs, if you want to hang out.”
“Okay,” said Falcon. “We’ll catch up, I guess.”
He left the table of the bigfoot boys and felt his face flushing. It was like Cold River all over again; everybody was sitting with their own little group. Here, instead of emos and goths, athletes and skateboard punks, it was vamps and Sasquatches, mummies and Frankensteins. But from Falcon’s point of view, it was all the same. He had no idea where he belonged.
After a moment he sat down by himself at the one empty table at the far perimeter of the cafeteria. He picked up his spoon and dug into the soup.
There was a large, deep-fried beetle in his spoon.
“I don’t suppose I might sit here,” said a voice, and Falcon looked up to see Weems standing by the table with his tray.
“Sure,” said Falcon. “Have a seat.”
Weems sat down. His tray was filled with bloody meat. “Are you going to eat that?” he said, eyeing the beetle on Falcon’s spoon.
“No,” said Falcon. “I don’t think so.”
“May I?”
“Sure. Knock yourself out.”
Weems reached forward and grabbed the beetle. He looked at it carefully. “Mmm,” he said. “Scarab.”
A young mummy came by the table. She looked at the beetle and her eyes grew wide. “The sacred scarab!” she said.
“Get lost,” said Weems, and popped it in his mouth. It crunched.
“You’re eating the sacred scarab,” said the mummy girl, astonished. “Blasphemy!” Her eyes began to glow, and she pointed at Weems with one arm. Tattered gauze bandages hung from it. “I curse you, the defiler of the sacred scarab, for all eternity! I curse you for all time, for the sacrilege of the—”
“I said get lost,” hissed Weems. He bared his horrible teeth.
The mummy girl shrank back from him and then slowly departed, still cursing Weems under her breath.
“You have to be firm with them, the mummies,” said Weems, picking up some of the greasy, grimy gopher guts with a pair of chopsticks. “Otherwise it’s all cursing.”
Falcon looked around the cafeteria at the other monsters. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The air was filled with happy sounds—wolf men howling, Frankensteins moaning, bigfeet gently roaring. Megan, surrounded by the vampire girls, was laughing at something, and Falcon heard her laughter rising above the sound of the crowd.
“What’s the matter, Falcon?” said Weems. “Feeling left out?”
“No,” said Falcon. “I’m fine.”
“Each to his own kind,” said Weems. His forehead crinkled. “And—what is your kind again?”
“I don’t know,” said Falcon.
“Poor you,” said Weems. He looked into Fal
con’s soup, where another scarab beetle had risen to the surface. He reached into the soup with his chopsticks and extracted the beetle.
“Mmmmm,” said Weems, “tastes like chicken. But then, to me, everything tastes like chicken. Except chicken.”
“Hello, boys and girls,” said a loud, cheerful voice. The roar in the cafeteria died down, and the young monsters turned their attention to a man in a white starched shirt and a blue tie who was standing at the front of the room. Something about him seemed aggressively wholesome. He had apple cheeks and twinkling eyes.
“Hello, boys and girls,” he said again. “I am Mr. Hake, the vice principal.” He paused expectantly.
The young monsters softly groaned in unison. “Hello, Vice Principal Hake.”
Two other adults now moved into place behind Mr. Hake. One of them was Mrs. Redflint. The other was a small, furtive creature with long, dusty wings.
“Oh, look,” said Weems. “They have a moth man.”
“Allow me to introduce two of my colleagues. Most of you have already met Mrs. Redflint, the dean of students. And this is Mr. Pupae, the acting headmaster. He’ll also be serving as your teacher in Numberology class, which is what we call math.”
The moth man chewed the air restlessly. “No need for math,” he whispered. “Pointless.”
“Good,” said Mr. Hake. “Can you all say ‘Hello, Acting Headmaster?”
“Hello, Acting Headmaster,” muttered the Frankensteins.
He nodded approvingly. “That will be five happiness stars for the Frankenstein table. Let’s all try it together now, shall we? Hello, boys and girls!”
All the students spoke with one voice. “Hello, Vice Principal Hake!”
“Very good,” said Mr. Hake. “That’s five happiness stars for everyone!” He looked around the room, as if the students ought to be pleased by their good fortune. “I want to welcome each and every one of you to the Academy for Monsters. I know you must all be feeling so many things right now! I want you to know that feelings are good! It’s okay to have feelings! It’s okay to share!” He nodded happily.
Oh, great, Falcon thought. This guy is a complete idiot.
Mr. Hake looked over at Falcon with a troubled expression. “What is not okay,” he said, “is having private feelings, thinking bad thoughts. If you have a bad thought, just think of it as a soap bubble floating in the air. You reach out with the sharp, pointy finger of happiness, and you just make those bad feelings go POP! Yes, they go POP! That’s what they do.”
Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror Page 4