by Amy Hopkins
Werewolves And Wendigo
Penny and Boots™ Book Two
Amy Hopkins
Michael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2019 Amy Hopkins & Michael T. Anderle
Cover by Fantasy Book Design
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
This book is a Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, November 2019
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-535-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-536-1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Author Notes - Amy Hopkins
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Werewolves And Wendigo Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers:
Mary Morris, Larry Omans, Kelly O’Donnell, Nicole Emens, Michael Baumann
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Angel LaVey
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Dave Hicks
Misty Roa
Deb Mader
Jeff Eaton
Paul Westman
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
SkyHunter Editing Team
I was going to dedicate this book to my cat. Then I remembered I don’t have one.
— Amy
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
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 Acade
my 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 his 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.
Professor Quaid’s introduction, though, snapped her back to attention.
“Most of you here know Agent Crenel personally,” March was saying. “Well, this is the man who taught him.”
The grizzled agent-turned-professor scowled, crossing his arms as he endured the curious looks of the fifty students. He stood, jerked a nod at them, then sat down with the same irritation his former protégé had shown earlier.
March informed the students that one of the new professors was absent. Professor Blaisey would arrive in time for his first class on Friday.
“You will note that Professor Blaisey shares his last name with the Academy itself.” Dean March gave a small smile. “He is, in fact, the financial backer of this fine institution. I hope you will give him all the respect that deserves, despite his…unorthodox teaching methods.”
March quickly introduced Professor McClure, a ridiculously handsome psychology professor and Professor Smith, the media studies teacher. Once done, she sat and gestured for the students to talk among themselves.
“Wow. So many people,” Penny said. She glanced over the hubbub to see the doors crack open as Amelia slipped through.
Her friend hurried over to their table, where Penny had saved her a seat. “I guess the mid-year intake was a success,” Amelia said. She craned her neck to look at the head table. “Wow. Who’s the hottie? Please tell me I’ve got him for a class.”
Red sighed. “Are you telling me I have to be jealous of the bloody psychology professor now? It was bad enough when you spent three weeks yabbering about how cute that magic party guy was.”
“God,” Amelia corrected him. “Bacchus wasn’t a guy, he was a god. And a really hot one, too.” She leaned over to peck Red on the cheek. “None of them can hold a candle to you, my dear, but I have to have something nice to look at when you’re not around.”
Red grumbled good-naturally, then looked up with glee when a platter of hot meat appeared at the table, courtesy of Cook.
The old woman had a suspiciously warm glow to her face. “You’ll like today’s dinner,” she said with a wink. “I had a bit of help with it, you see.” She gestured to a man carrying past a tray of drinks, headed toward the head table.
“Oh, strike me down. It’s him, isn’t it?” Red groaned and sank into his seat.
It certainly looks like Bacchus, Penny realized. But what the hell is he doing here?
“How in the world did you wrangle a god to help you in the kitchen?” Cisco asked.
Cook giggled. “Not me, love. Dean March organized it, something about an alliance of some sort. I wasn’t really listening, to be honest.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was too busy watching him. He’s very handsome, he is!” She urged
the students to “eat up so you don’t all waste away,” then left to continue serving food.
“I really hate that guy,” Red muttered.
Amelia nudged him. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was very polite when we met him. He hasn’t done anything to you!”
Red threw his hands up in defeat. “Aye, I’ll just go and make best friends with the handsome god my girlfriend is drooling over. Why not?”
He shoved himself up from the table and, ignoring Amelia’s hissed protests, strode over to intercept Bacchus on his way back to the kitchen.
The god—he really is handsome, Penny thought—listened to Red and nodded sagely.
When Red returned, it was with his new friend in tow. “There you go,” Red said with a smirk. “Bacchus himself. Scoot over, Penny, and I’ll grab him a chair.”
Penny did so with an internal groan. She still hadn’t quite forgiven Bacchus for promising them all the secrets of the Mythers, then making them promptly forget everything he had revealed.
“Greetings, old friends.” Bacchus smiled and took the chair Red offered him. “It is good to see you again.” He drew a plate out of nowhere and began to pile on food. A quick hand wave, and he had a glass of deep-red wine.
“One for us?” Amelia asked.
Bacchus laughed. “Apologies, Amelia. Your representative instructed me that only the higher ranks of your organization may imbibe tonight.” He gestured to the head table and the professors.