Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?” said Merideath.

  She had only read one line of the play, but it was already clear to Falcon that Merideath might be the worst actress in the history of theater. Her voice was flat and uninteresting and dull. “Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love—” She wrinkled her nose and said in a very whiny, unhappy voice, “This makes no sense!”

  “You’re doing vonderfully!” said Count Manson. “You seem so sveet—and wulnerable!”

  Falcon looked out at the audience. The vampires were sitting there, openmouthed and agape at the wonder of Merideath’s performance. Max looked at Pearl, who was sitting next to him, and the two of them exchanged gazes that suggested that either or both of them were about to vomit.

  “Try a little farther down—Falcon, ‘Lady, by yonder—’”

  Falcon cleared his throat. “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,” he said. “That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—”

  Merideath moved closer to Falcon. He could see her long vampire teeth now. She said, “The inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”

  The theater was suddenly very quiet. Falcon felt his hearts pounding. He whispered, “What shall I swear by?”

  “Louder, Mr. Quinn,” said Mr. Lyons.

  “What,” he said, looking deep into Merideath’s black, liquid eyes. “What shall I swear by?”

  “Sweet, good night,” she said. “This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet!” She moved close to Falcon, and she put one hand on his cheek. Her mouth opened wide, and Falcon could see those long, shining canine teeth coming closer to him. He could feel the place on his neck where she would bite him, any moment now, could imagine the rush of his blood into her mouth.

  “Very nice,” said Mr. Lyons, putting one hand on Merideath’s shoulder and pulling her away from Falcon. She staggered backward, her mouth still open, as if she had forgotten for a moment where she was.

  “And now others may try their hand at this part!” said Pearl, buzzing around Max’s head. “The auditions shall continue!”

  “I don’t think it vill be necessary to cast anyone else,” said Count Manson. “You’ve got your Juliet. Haven’t you?”

  Mr. Lyons made a soft, muffled growl. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose so. But perhaps we might let the others have a chance—just to—to demonstrate how superior Miss Venacava’s performance is!”

  “You have your Juliet,” said the count a little more forcefully.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Lyons. “Well, let’s try out some other Romeos, then.”

  “Dude!” shouted Max. “I want to try it! I would be an awesome Romeo. Guy.”

  “I said I want him,” said Merideath, pointing a long finger at Falcon.

  “I thought you didn’t like him,” said Max.

  “I do want him,” said Merideath, her lips parting once more and her long canines glistening in the stage lights. “As my victim!”

  “She vants him,” said Count Manson conclusively.

  “Dude,” said Max, leaping to his feet. “This is bogus. How come she gets to push everybody around? She sucks!”

  “What did you say?” said Merideath. Her fan club turned around to face him, their faces shocked.

  “I said—” Max was suddenly embarrassed by the attention that had fallen upon him. “I don’t know. It’s just not fair, is all. I can, like—sit down now.”

  “You should not be afraid of speaking the truth!” said Pearl, buzzing toward the stage now. “Truly her talents leave much to be desired! For this—this—creature to dictate terms to the rest of us is an injustice that shall not go unavenged! What Señor Max has spoken must not be unsaid! We must fight for justice! For equality! For our lives!”

  “Pearl,” said Max in a hoarse voice. “You gotta let this go, man.”

  “I shall not let this go!” shouted Pearl. “I do not suffer injustice!”

  “That vill be enough,” said Count Manson.

  “And who are you, to arrive from nowhere and tell the director of the play what he may do, and what he may not do?!”

  “I am vun of the senior faculty members,” said Count Manson. “Mr. Lyons is not faculty. He is only—staff. I am the authority in this room. And those who disrespect me, Miss Picchu, vill be squashed like—ah yes. Like a mosquito! Like wermin!”

  Max shook his head. “Dude,” he said.

  “Mosquito!” shouted Pearl, enraged. “Mosquito!” She flew toward Count Manson. “Prepare to feel the poison of ¡la Chupakabra!” she shouted. “The famous goatsucker of Peru!”

  But Count Manson just raised one hand, and Pearl suddenly bounced off what seemed like an invisible wall in space. She fell to the floor, still buzzing, as Count Manson yawned wearily. “And you should prepare to feel the utter indifference of Count Manson. The wampire from Transylwania.”

  “Pearl,” shouted Max, jumping to his feet. He ran to the aisle of the theater, where the Chupakabra lay buzzing upon the floor. “She’s hurt!” he said, looking at Count Manson angrily.

  “Of course she’s hurt,” said the count. “She ran directly into the force of my vill!”

  Mr. Lyons rushed to Pearl’s side. A dark violet liquid was seeping from her mouth. “Mr. Quinn, I believe we could use your healing eye here. As quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Falcon. He began to walk toward Pearl and Mr. Lyons, and then he remembered—I have wings—and spread them. In one second he flew off the stage, over the rows of seats, and then landed in the aisle.

  “Please focus your beam on her neck,” said Mr. Lyons. “There is a great deal of blood.”

  “You stupid idiot,” roared Max, heading toward Count Manson. “You hurt her! You seriously hurt her! You should—”

  But Count Manson raised his hand again and Max bumped against the force of the count’s will, just as Pearl had before him. It felt like an invisible wall. “You’re not being fair!” Max roared.

  “Fair,” said the count dispassionately. “Fairness is not vun of my considerations vhen I am considering the velfare of wampires!”

  Falcon was concentrating on Pearl’s wounds. His light began to shine upon her. As he focused, however, he noted something strange about the light. It wasn’t coming out blue, as it usually did. It was coming out red.

  Pearl screamed softly, and now more blood rushed out of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and looked into Falcon’s. “Stop,” she said. “¡Señor! You are—killing me—”

  “Falcon?” said Max, rushing back to Pearl’s side.

  “What’s happening, Mr. Quinn?” said Mr. Lyons. “I said the blue light. The healing light.”

  “This is the healing light,” said Falcon, confused. His light faltered as he lost concentration, and went out.

  “I am—,” Pearl whispered. “I am slain.”

  Then her head fell against the floor once more, and her wings, which had been buzzing intermittently, suddenly stopped.

  “What do you mean, ‘slain’?” said Max.

  “Pity,” said Count Manson.

  Mr. Lyons was down on his knees, looking at Pearl with a grave expression.

  “What’s wrong with her?” said Falcon.

  “Oh no,” said Mr. Lyons. His dark eyes seemed especially moist.

  “Mr. Lyons,” said Falcon. “Should I shine my healing light on her again?”

  “Healing light?” said Merideath, who had rushed up to join them. “You killed her with that weapon of yours! That’s no healing light! That’s a death ray!”

  “I was trying to save her!”

  “What do you mean, exactly, when you say—‘slain,’” said Max, holding Pearl’s hand. “Pearl. Wake up. Come on. I’ll get you some—sandwiches.”

  “Falcon Quinn killed her!” said Merideath again, pointing at him. “You all saw it!”

  “He di
d,” said Picador, standing up. “He used his eye thing on her and wasted her!”

  “It’s what you did to my sister,” said Dahlia Crofton, her voice catching.

  “And the Sasquatches,” said Maeve, “Peeler and Woody!”

  The crowd of young monsters began to stagger toward him now, anger and vengeance in their eyes. Falcon began to walk backward, and as he walked, he looked at the faces of the many monsters he knew, some of whom he had counted among his friends. But now he saw only hate-filled strangers.

  “That’s enough,” said Mr. Lyons to the students. “Back to your seats, all of you!”

  But the mob paid no heed. “Traitor!” said Merideath.

  “Mr. Quinn,” said Mr. Lyons. “I might suggest leaving this area with all due speed.”

  “But you saw,” said Falcon. “You saw what happened—”

  But Mr. Lyons transformed into his full lion self at this moment and roared at him.

  Picador the minotaur shouted, “Destroy Falcon Quinn! Destroy!” The others took up the chant. “Traitor! Enemy! Destroy!”

  The last thing Falcon saw, before spreading his wings and flying away, was Max kneeling by Pearl’s body. He looked at Falcon, his eyes full of tears. “Dude?” he said.

  Falcon beat his wings twice and sailed over their heads. He flew out a window and ascended to the Tower of Souls.

  The young monsters yelled and screamed and pointed in the direction in which Falcon had flown. “After him!” shouted Merideath. “Don’t let him escape!”

  They grabbed torches from the wall and raced after him. Mr. Lyons rubbed Pearl’s tiny body with his large lion paw. His eyes closed, and he licked her face with his lion tongue. A soft blue light surrounded Pearl’s body.

  “She was the bravest person I ever knew,” said Max. “She was—”

  A faint, weak voice said, “I was—la Chupakabra. The famous—goatsucker of—”

  “Dude,” said Max. “You’re alive!”

  Mr. Lyons licked her face again, and Pearl sat up. “Dude,” said Max. “What did you just do?”

  Mr. Lyons transformed back into human form. “Max,” he said. “Take her to the Wellness Center. She will survive. Do you think you could carry Miss Picchu for me?”

  “I would carry her anyplace,” said Max, slowly picking Pearl up in his arms. “But how did you—”

  “Go,” said Mr. Lyons.

  Max rushed out of the auditorium, holding the Chupakabra in his arms. “Where is our friend Falcon?” said Pearl to Max. “We have to—”

  “Falcon’s in trouble, man,” said Max. “After what he did.”

  “What did he do?” said Pearl.

  “He’s the one who fried you, man,” said Max. “He’s the one who—”

  “Señor,” rasped Pearl. “Falcon Quinn—is our sworn friend. He has done me no harm. We have pledged—with our lives—to defend him. . . .”

  From down the hall, they heard an angry roar from the mob.

  “Listen,” said Max. “About that.”

  Pearl’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Sweet—prince—” she said. “Sweet—Good—night—!”

  Falcon flew through the eastern window of the Tower of Souls. His ears filled with the ticking of the clockworks.

  “Dad—,” he said. “I’m in trouble!”

  “He’s not here, Falcon,” said a voice, and he turned to see a shadowy form hiding behind the golden frame of the Black Mirror.

  “Who’s there?” said Falcon, squinting in the dark.

  “A friend,” said the voice, and he could tell that it was a woman speaking. It was a voice he knew from somewhere.

  “I’m kind of short on friends right now,” said Falcon. “Maybe you could give me a hint?”

  “It’s me,” said Copperhead, stepping into a small pool of moonlight cast onto the floor through the west window. Falcon could hear the snakes hissing softly beneath the burlap bag that covered her head.

  “You,” said Falcon. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” said Copperhead. “I knew you’d come up here. Once they turned on you. As I knew they would.”

  “Where’s my father?” said Falcon. “Do you know what’s happened to him?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question,” said Copperhead.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you?” said Copperhead. “I think you do. I think you and I have understood each other from the beginning.”

  “You,” said Falcon. “That stuff you put on my eye. That wasn’t—”

  “Honestly, Falcon,” said Copperhead. “Scorpion blood? You’re so gullible. What I rubbed into your eye was an ointment specifically designed to alter the effects of that blue eye of yours. To change it from a healing eye to a killing one, and without you even knowing! I must say it was far more effective than I expected.”

  “Why would you want to hurt my friends?” said Falcon. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Your friends,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “Whenever you use that word, I just feel sorry for you.” She inched toward him.

  “Listen—,” said Falcon. “I don’t know what you think I’m—”

  “I know exactly what you think,” said Copperhead. “Because we’re two of a kind, you and me—aren’t we? Two creatures that have no place. At least—not here.” She reached up to her head and pulled off the burlap bag that concealed her face.

  Falcon tried to cover his eyes, but it was too late. All at once he found himself looking directly upon the face of the Gorgon.

  Except that, as Falcon now discovered, Copperhead was no Gorgon. She was, in fact, a beautiful young woman with soft black hair and piercing blue eyes. He recognized the color of those eyes. They were guardian blue.

  “You’re—a guardian,” said Falcon, stunned. “You’re not a monster at all.”

  Copperhead nodded. “Neither are you, Falcon Quinn.”

  “But the snakes—I heard them hissing—I—”

  “Hsssss,” said Copperhead, hissing through her teeth. “Monsters are so easy to deceive. You put a bag on your head and hiss like a snake, and everyone concludes you’re a Gorgon. And you stick Quagmire inside somebody’s godzooka, everyone assumes he did it on purpose!”

  “Y-you,” sputtered Falcon. “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping an eye on you, of course,” said Copperhead. “Hoping that you’ll come to your senses. About who you are. About where you belong.”

  Below them, a large crowd of monsters was now storming into Castle Grisleigh, bearing torches and pitchforks and axes and swords. Falcon could hear their angry voices calling his name.

  “They’ll be here soon,” said Copperhead. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Copperhead,” said Falcon. “I’m out of ideas.”

  “My name isn’t Copperhead,” said the girl. “It’s Creeper.”

  “And you’re a guardian?”

  Creeper nodded. “Like you.”

  Falcon looked around the Tower of Souls in dismay. “Where’s my father?” he shouted. “He’s supposed to be here!”

  “He is,” said Creeper. “So why would he abandon you, at your time of need?”

  “I have no idea!”

  “Really?” said Creeper. “I should think it’d be obvious.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a monster, Falcon. Like all such creatures, he has no loyalty, or faith, or love. Not even for his own son!”

  “What am I supposed to do?” shouted Falcon. “I can’t fight them all by myself!”

  “What will you do?” said Creeper. “It’s a very good question.”

  The sounds of the approaching monsters were growing louder now. Light from the flickering torches reflected from the trapdoor in the middle of the floor.

  “Good luck, Falcon,” said Creeper, placing the burlap bag back on her head.

  Merideath was the first one to emerge through the trapdoor. She was followed by Mr
. Hake, Count Manson, and Mrs. Redflint. The Tower of Souls filled with angry creatures—vampires and zombies and Frankensteins, dark elves and banshees and boiling pools of slime.

  “Wait,” said Falcon. “Everybody calm down! There’s been a mistake!”

  “Miss Copperhead,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” said Creeper, rushing to Mrs. Redflint’s side. “He captured me! Took me prisoner! He said he was going to throw me out of the tower window!” Creeper’s voice dissolved into tears.

  “She’s lying!” said Falcon. “She’s a guardian!”

  Mr. Hake shook his head. “This is making me unhappy-happy!”

  “Pull the bag off her head, if you want proof! She’s a guardian!”

  “Pull the bag off her head so we’ll all turn to stone,” said Picador. “That’s your plan?”

  “Don’t let him hurt me!” sobbed Creeper. “Please!”

  “There, there, dear,” said Mrs. Redflint, pressing the girl to her bosom. “You’re all right now.”

  “She’s not a Gorgon!” said Falcon.

  “Oh please,” said Count Manson. “Must ve listen to this?”

  “I’m sorry, Falcon,” said Mrs. Redflint. “But you’ve left us no choice.”

  Mr. Hake reached toward Falcon with his slithery tentacles.

  But Falcon beat his angel wings and rose up in the air. He took one last swoop over their heads, then sailed through the northern window of the Tower of Souls and out into the open air.

  The monsters shouted as Falcon flew off. “And so,” said Count Manson. “Ve bid farevell to Falcon Qvinn.”

  “Farewell?” said Mrs. Redflint. “You honestly think we’ve seen the last of him? I fear the next time we see Falcon Quinn, he will be at the head of an army of his kind, bent on our destruction!”

  “Then ve should prepare,” said the count. “Perhaps, should he return, ve vill be ready for him. Ready for them all!”

  For a while the monsters stood there, observing Falcon’s retreat, as he flew, silhouetted by the bright yellow moon. Then he grew smaller and smaller as his receding form reached the shores of Shadow Island and flew out above the sea.