by Amy Hopkins
Penny missed final exam week and had to request extensions on all her assignments, all of which were approved without question.
Her recovery from near-drowning came at a miraculous rate, but the buzz around the mission had rocked her mind and scattered her concentration for weeks.
None of it, though, came close to the shock and awe she felt when viewing the news footage.
A journalist en route to film some feel-good shots of the bridge festival from overhead had covered it all from a helicopter—the giant squid breaking the water’s surface, Penny’s capture and eventual attack, and the unbelievable act that had saved her life.
Boots had swallowed the river.
More than the epic battle against a mythological horror, the city of Portland had been awed and enamored with the video of the rainbow-colored serpent lying along the now-dry Willamette River, swollen to the size of the channel and bloated with water as it sucked away the deadly river that threatened to drown Penny.
When the journalist had seen a dim circle of light peeking out from between two limp tentacles, he’d thought it was nothing. The trio on the riverbank waving their arms and pointing at it? Probably just excited about the giant squid.
However, the call over the chopper radio had given that tiny light all new significance. “There’s a girl down there,” said the voice, apparently someone from the FBI.
Sensing the scoop of the century, the journalist and his pilot had landed in the middle of the Willamette. If that didn’t get them a Pulitzer, then the rescue of the woman who had saved Portland certainly would.
When she’d finished watching the footage on her phone for about the ninetieth time, Penny reached out to scratch Boots' back. “I’m glad they didn’t see you leave,” Penny mused.
After the chopper had left, Boots had opened her giant mouth. The footage showed the river swelling as the serpent shrank.
As far as the people of Portland knew, Boots had swum off to some magical land.
Penny tapped the completed assignment in front of her. It was titled The Kraken and detailed the history of the monster, and contained a log of events related to her acquisition of one of its suckers, harvested and given to her by Cisco from the limb Red had sliced off during the fight.
The library door swung open, and Cisco, Red, and Amelia piled in. “Are you done?” Amelia asked. “I know you said you needed this week to finish your assignments, but come on! We haven’t celebrated yet!”
“You look pretty done to me, Penny.” Red picked up the assignment and flicked through the pages. “Is that your last one?”
Penny lifted her hand and waggled it. “Just one more thing to do,” she explained.
The door opened again and Dean March strode in, two sheets of paper in her hand. “On my desk by five p.m., please.”
Penny took the papers, grinning. “Of course, Dean March.”
“What’s that?” Cisco leaned over to peek at the paperwork. His eyes widened, and his smile grew. “Penny, are you…”
“What is it?” Red asked, stepping back as Amelia slid past him.
“Enrollment forms!” Amelia screeched. She threw her arms around Penny. “You’re staying!”
Penny hugged her back, meeting Cisco’s eyes over her friend’s shoulder. “Yeah. I’m staying.”
Author Notes - Amy Hopkins
October 19, 2019
If you read the dedication (everyone reads that, right?), you’ll know where Penny came from.
As authors, we’re always told no to self-insert, that writing your own ass into a book is the height of egotism, that books based on the people who wrote them are pretentious.
Fuck those people.
Except… Penny isn’t really based on me. She’s kind of an amalgamation of all the Aussie women I know. All the friends I’ve had, all the women I’ve looked up to. She is born of the white sand of Airlie, the dripping leaves in Paluma, the slick stones of Paronella, the long, winding mindfuck of the Bruce when you left at 4am, the sun is setting right in your eyes, and home is still a few hours away.
None of those are the globally known places of Australia. They’re not Bondi or the Opera House, Uluru or sexy Melbourne. They’re the places I remember from years ago, places that will probably look a lot smaller when I finally go back.
Mike told me to stop pretending. Stop pretending I’m not an Aussie girl, that I don’t live in a small town, that I know how to walk in stilettos and rock a miniskirt. I don’t. I wear jeans and t-shirts, my hairdresser knows the drill (I don’t care as long as I can put it in a ponytail), my only shoes are sneakers, gumboots, work boots and a single pair of sandals for ‘going out’. My friends are all the same. We’re practical, sensible, and our adventures are on beaches and mountains, not nightclubs and fashion strips. I love reading about those things, but they’re not me.
I was scared to do that. MY life? It’s pretty chill, and I love it, but it doesn’t make for riveting reading. Michael assured me otherwise. With the right setting, the right cast, my small town Aussie girl would shine.
I think she did. Penny isn’t a character in a book. Not anymore. By about the second page, she was real, living, breathing, and sassing me right from the page.
(That’s my recollection of events, anyway. Michael’s version might be more along the lines of “I dunno, I said some stuff, she said some stuff, I said try write an Aussie character.” I may have read a little more into it, but you get the idea.)
-A. H.
P.S. Screw Dora. I got all the way to final edits before someone pointed out that Boots, Diego (Cisco’s original name) and Backpack are all Dora the Explorer characters. For the sake of my readers and to save them from the relentless torture of having the backpack song stuck in their head, I changed Diego to Cisco.
I’m still salty.
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
October 24, 2019
Thank you for reading this book and following Amy and Jace on these crazy adventures when the Veil is torn asunder!
A very short bit about me. I’m just under four years old as a releasing author. My first book (Death Becomes Her – The Kurtherian Gambit 01) was released on November 2, 2015. Since then, I’ve written dozens of books and been a collaborator on dozens of series. Along the way, I built a fairly large Indie Publishing company.
To that end, I met Amy Hopkins when she worked on the Age of Magic with CM Raymond and LE Barbant. I’m not sure how the three of them met, but they have a great relationship. Fast forward, and I was minding my own damned business when Amy and Jace interrupted my very important meeting (read this as “I was probably tacking a nap because of jetlag.”)
The one important aspect of Amy I knew about was her biting Aussie humor. I never know what might come out of her mouth (or fingers since we communicate via ZOOM or Slack messaging mostly), and I felt she should let loose and be her in these books.
I thought, if there is someone who is scathingly truthful and funny, it’s her.
(CM Simpson as well, but she is also an Australian. So it makes total sense that Amy and co. are cornering the market on this type of writing and humor.)
So, when I was talking with her, I was encouraging Amy to allow her inner snark to reign supreme. Then I realized exactly who I was talking to.
Perhaps, I thought, I should suggest a bit of restraint.
So, it’s my fault if you are easily offended. Nothing I can do about it at this point, but I hope you aren’t ;-)
So, sit back, grab your e-reader of choice, and enjoy these stories. Amy and Jace are sure to entertain ;-)
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Werewolves And Wendigo
Penny and Boots Book 2
Chapter One
“Penny? What is that?” Amelia pointed at the orange and brown crocheted throw in Penny’s hands. “Tell me you didn’t fly to the other side of the world just to bring it back?”
“Of course not.” Penny threw the blanket at her.
“I flew across the world to bring it back and give it to you!”
Amelia squealed, hurling the dusty blanket back at Penny. “No! It’s probably infested with bed bugs.” She watched as Boots haughtily took the edge of the blanket between her fangs and pulled it into her sleeping basket. “Or worse, Bunyips.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you really see one while you were back home?”
Penny grinned. “I didn’t just see it. I chased the damn thing through two paddocks and a stream. I almost caught it, too!”
Amelia snorted. “Almost isn’t good enough, girl. I bet you were holding back!”
“What if I was?” Penny taunted. “It’s not like I had a chopper on call to pick the thing up.”
“Fair enough.” Amelia frowned. “So, what elective track did you choose for this semester?”
Penny’s paperwork hadn’t been submitted until the last minute. The dean had sent a frantic email while Penny was away, asking her to choose a career track within the Mythological Resurgence course immediately so that scheduling could be worked out. “Field, of course. You’re doing it too, right?”
Amelia shook her head. “Me, trekking through muddy forests and oozing swamps to chase down Chupacabras? No thanks. I picked Media since it covers a lot of political stuff which I can use if I ever want to go mainstream with the qualifications.”
“Oh.” Penny’s exuberance at being back in America and back at the academy dropped a couple of notches. She had assumed she would be in classes with her best friend again. “Well, I guess it’s only two classes we have apart. What did Red pick?”
The Irishman had been dithering between Field Training and Forensics, last she’d heard. Amelia’s texts and emails had been frequent over the two weeks Penny had been absent, but somehow contained little information.
Well, unless you counted the long list of parties and events she’d been to, who she had seen there, and which celebrities she’d spotted over the winter break.
“He went with Forensics.” Amelia gave her a sly smile. “You’re not going to ask about Cisco?”
“What? Of course, I am.” Penny turned away to hide the pink in her cheeks. “What did he choose?”
“Don’t even pretend you weren’t Skyping him daily,” Amelia said. “He ran off the same time every morning with that doe-eyed look on his face! I bet you know exactly what track he chose—and what he had for breakfast every day, and who he spoke to, and everything else he did while you were gone.”
Penny cringed. “That obvious, huh?”
Amelia nodded. “At least he’ll be in Field Training with you. Ugh, I couldn’t even imagine being stuck in a class with Clive and Jason otherwise.”
“No Corey?” Penny asked with relief.
Amelia shook her head, eyes sparkling. “Not according to the gossip.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He got kicked out. He failed two classes, then went batshit at Professor Madera when she wouldn’t change his grade. They tossed him for poor conduct.”
“What?” Penny screeched with glee. “He went off on Madera? How did he think she’d let that slide?” Shaking her head, she dumped the last few items out of her duffel bag.
She set a ballerina figurine beside her bed next to a photo of her parents. It had been a gift from her nan—too valuable to risk for a short trip, too sentimental to leave behind if she was staying.
“Gee, Penny, it almost looks like you’re moving in for real this time.” Amelia flopped down on her bed and eyed Penny’s once-bare side table. “You are, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Penny set her hands on her hips and nodded once, satisfied with the tiny arrangement. “Now I just have to figure out how to afford it.”
Dinner that evening was at seven, sharp, according to the email Penny had received two days prior. She had missed the Academy’s first welcome dinner five months ago, so she had made sure she’d be back in time to attend this one.
When she entered the dining hall, she immediately wished she’d dressed up a little for it. The number of students had doubled thanks to the mid-year intake, and Penny counted a dozen teachers, up from the four she had met the previous year. With them, Special Agent Crenel, the appointed Academy liaison and his wife, Dean March.
It still blew Penny’s mind to know the bristly agent and the immaculate dean were married. Although it does explain a lot, Penny had to admit. For starters, why Crenel was so damn involved with the Academy to start with. Not to mention how hard he had worked to get the Academy affiliated with the Bureau.
Penny took a seat at the end of a long table, glad to see Cisco and Red already there. Cisco quickly jumped up as she approached and pulled a chair out for her.
“Glad to see you back,” he said with a grin. “How was the trip?”
“Good.” Penny awkwardly sat, trying not to step on his toes as he pushed the chair back in under her.
“Would you two just sleep together already?” Red asked in a bored tone, ruined by a chuckle. “Poor Cisco’s been pining away for you, Penny. Two weeks without his— Ow!” He rubbed the bicep Cisco had punched and quickly changed topics. “How was your New Year?”
“Amazing,” Penny gushed, her mind flying back to the night in the hotel overlooking the Brisbane River. They’d been drinking champagne on the balcony, the perfect spot to watch the midnight fireworks. “Mum and Dad were pretty devastated when I told them I was coming back. It was a nice way to say goodbye.”
“Speaking of goodbye, how far away is my wee girl?” Red glanced at the empty doorway.
“Just putting the last touches of makeup on,” Penny reassured him. “She’ll be here soon.”
The clink of metal on glass rang out, and Dean March stood and cleared her throat. “Attention. Attention, students! No, Clive, that won’t be necessary…”
She was too late. Clive’s holler of, “Be quiet!” rang across the hall loudly.
Dean March gave a patient sigh. “Thank you. That’s quite enough, Clive.” She lifted her head and addressed the room. “Thank you, students. Welcome to the March-Blaisey Academy of Myth and Legend. Most of you are returning from last semester. I hope you’ll join me in wishing the new students all the best as they begin their courses tomorrow morning.”
A limp cheer went up from a few students, and the dean waited until it died down before proceeding. “Of course, you will all know by now about the changes this semester. Though we retain a level of independence, the March-Blaisey Academy is no longer a private institute. Special Agent Stuart Crenel is here to explain what that means.”
A smatter of applause went around the room as the dean sat and the agent stood. Crenel pulled out a crumpled bit of paper and squinted at it. “That’s not it,” he muttered.
Dean March smoothly passed him a crisply folded sheet, and he took it with a raised eyebrow. “I made a copy,” she explained.
“You did? Of course, you did. Thanks.” Agent Crenel cleared his throat. “The March-Blaisey Academy of Myth and Legend is now the second training institute to be officially recognized by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The FBI has worked with the Academy to ensure the curriculum will not only turn out the best-equipped students to assist in Mythological Threat Management, but your qualifications will be of specific value to the bureau.”
He paused, running his eyes over the watching students. “As an entity now under the umbrella of the FBI, you will be expected to comport yourselves with this in mind. There will be instances in which your skills will be called upon, even before you graduate. Unfortunately, the situation out there isn’t willing to sit back and wait until school’s out.
Crenel’s face was serious. “You can and will be called upon to assist the FBI during your time at the Academy. The accomplishments you make in the field will be reflected in your final grades. In addition, the missions you are given will impact the people outside. You will be doing your part to ensure America is, and always remains, the land of the free.”
He sat down quickly and downed the glass of wine by hi
s plate, then wiped his face with his napkin.
Watching Dean March’s long-suffering expression, Penny wondered how she’d ever thought the two were anything but husband and wife.
Dean March stood again. “Now, those of you returning this year will see some new faces. I’d like to introduce our faculty, new and old. Professor Glass will replace Professor Jones, who was relieved of his position after endangering the life of a student.”
A man stood, ignoring the titter of surprise that ran around the new students.
Penny knew the story of her Defense exam had already been passed around by everyone who’d been there for the first semester. She examined this new professor carefully, wondering if he’d been told which student was responsible for Jones’ termination.
Glass was younger than Jones, with shaggy hair and the slightest bristle of beard. Where Jones was large framed and obviously strong, Glass was small and wiry. Still, he watched the room with intelligent eyes. When he stood, his couple of steps forward were awkward and shuffling. He nodded and maneuvered back to his chair, bending down to adjust one leg after he sat.
Prosthetic? Penny wondered.
“Professor Anand will be taking Cross-Cultural Mythology this year. She will also be adding Indian Mythology and Cyber-Mythology to the curriculum next year.”
Anand stood, giving the students a shallow bow as she watched them over silver-rimmed glasses.
She immediately reminded Penny of Professor Madera. The two were of a similar age, and each had a no-nonsense look about them.
Penny noted and immediately forgot about the next two professors, both taking classes for the electives she had decided against.
