by Amy Hopkins
Penny laughed. “You know where I’m from, right? Back home, we know it’s winter if it takes more than a minute and a half to fry an egg on your bonnet.”
“You...cook eggs in frilly hats?” Amelia gave a weak smile. “That’s not weird. Not at all.”
Penny thought for a minute. “Hood. The hood of your car.”
“Oh!” Amelia looped an arm through Penny’s. “Now, I get it. Well, winters in Portland aren’t too bad, but nothing like what you’ll be used to. And there’s only one way to fix that.” Her eyes sparkled. “Shopping trip!”
“The reviews online all say the best coffee is here,” Amelia proclaimed. Her eyes searched the crowded coffee shop. “Look! There’s a spot free!” She pointed to two stools under a large window.
“I haven’t bought this many clothes in one trip in...well, ever,” Penny admitted. She plopped the four bags of clothes on the floor beneath the table while Amelia quickly scooped up the two dirty cups and balanced them on her arm.
“That’s why they gave you a stipend—to cover expenses like this,” Amelia pointed out. She pulled her purse out with her free hand. “What are you having to drink?”
“Coffee. A latte. Do you want to share something to eat?” Penny scanned the display of sandwiches and pastries beneath a blue neon sign that said ‘Coffee.
“I’ll bring back cake!” Amelia had to raise her voice to be heard over the bustle as she headed to the counter.
Penny waited as Amelia chatted to the barista, first pointing at a tall, layered cake, then some oversized muffins. It’s not that much different from home, she decided. Although her actual hometown, small as it was, had nothing like this hipster café, she’d visited enough of them during her year of traveling through Australia.
The hiss of frothing milk and the rumble of the machines hadn’t changed, just the accents she occasionally picked out as bits of conversation passed her. She relaxed against the long table, closing her eyes for a moment to inhale the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Instead of the busy street outside, her mind conjured a picture of waves lapping white sand. Bondi. That was the last place she’d had a truly good coffee.
“Doesn’t this look amazing!” Amelia’s exclamation brought Penny back to the present.
In front of her sat a slice of cake. Or, maybe it would be better described as a tower...seven layers of dark chocolate sponge separated by pale buttercream. The white icing on top was carefully dusted with fine chocolate shavings. Amelia brandished two forks, and Penny eagerly plucked one from her hand.
Penny carefully slid the little fork through the top layers of the cake. It got about halfway down before she pulled it away, the sliver teetering precariously. “This looks…” She put the fork in her mouth, and this time when she closed her eyes, it was in pure appreciation. “Incredible,” she mumbled through the mouthful of crumbs.
“Immm mrphm, phrramt?” Amelia swallowed her own much larger bite, then tried again. “I know, right?”
“It’s our most popular dessert,” a woman said. She held up two mugs balanced on saucers. “Two lattes?”
Amelia nodded eagerly and thanked the woman as their coffees were delivered. Penny reached for hers, taking a moment to appreciate the swirling tulip in the foam.
“Perfect way to end the day,” she mused. “Although I probably shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late. I’ve been up for—“ she checked her watch. “Oh, hell, way too long.”
“Still jetlagged?” Amelia asked sympathetically.
“I guess. I only slept for a few hours last night after I got in. My body is screaming at me to sleep, but also telling me I should be getting ready for breakfast.” Penny sipped the coffee anyway.
“At least you’re not cold!” Amelia pointed out.
Penny wriggled inside her new leather jacket. The shopping trip had burned up a chunk of her money, but Amelia was right—she was now properly equipped for the weather on this side of the world. “You know, it’s just occurred to me—where am I even going to put all this?”
“On your body, silly,” Amelia giggled. She stabbed her fork in Penny’s direction. “Look, it would be a sin to buy that jacket and not wear it every chance you get. It’ll go on the door hook. The boots are for every day too, you can just—“
“I told you, I’m not giving up my old faithfuls,” Penny insisted. “I spent way too much time wearing them in.” They had indeed argued about it. Amelia had been forgiving of Penny’s refusal to buy a pile of frilly, girly clothes, but the shoes had been a sticking point.
Of course, Amelia didn’t know the clothes would only need to last the season. Penny bit her lip, thinking of the money wasted—but clothes were clothes, and a good quality jacket would keep her just as warm in the Australian bush on a cold night as it would in Portland.
Amelia scooped up the last bit of cake and pushed the plate away when she was done. “Fine. Your old ones are ok for class, I guess. The tall boots are for wearing out. Now we just need somewhere to go.”
“Does the dining hall count?” Penny asked. She ducked the swatting hand that flew toward her head. “Hey! I’m serious. I don’t know anyone in Portland. Hell, I don’t know anyone in America! Where is a small-town Aussie girl going to find a social life in the big smoke?”
Amelia threw her hands up, exasperated, almost tipping over her mug in the process. “You ask your new best friend, of course! Look, I’ve already hit up a distant cousin. He’s having a get-together Wednesday night to welcome me to town. Just something small and informal.” She paused, taking a sip of coffee. “That red dress would be perfect.”
“The red one. Sure.” Penny grinned nervously. That dress had taken a lot of talking into.
Amelia didn’t respond, just drained the last of her coffee, eyes twinkling.
Penny wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter Four
When Penny woke at eleven the next morning, she silently thanked whoever had made the class schedules. She’d slept restlessly at first, only sinking into a deep slumber in the wee hours of the morning. The late start meant she had enough time to still get a solid eight hours of sleep.
She might not even have woken then except for the unrelenting tap, tap on her face. Penny shoved away Boot’s insistent snout. “Fine! I’ll get up. I know, you’re bored, but you get to come out today, ok?”
She rolled out of bed and dressed lazily, taking her time to work the knots out of her long hair as Boots watched from the mess of blankets. Penny’s curls hadn’t adjusted well to the sudden weather change, puffing up around her face until she gave up trying to smooth them down and pulled them back in a ponytail instead.
Her favorite boots slipped on like gloves. So did her new jacket. Neither felt as good as the familiar weight of her serpent draped over her shoulders, though. Boots had only been around for a few months, but she was Penny’s constant, the thing that would never change.
By the time they made it to the dining hall for lunch, she almost felt human again.
“You girls, always skipping breakfast.” The cook squeezed three burritos onto Penny’s plate, despite her protests that two would be fine.
“Sorry, I slept through it,” Penny explained. “The jetlag is still kicking my ass..”
Cook tsked at Penny’s language, then leaned closer to look at Boots. “What does this one eat? We chased off the mice—bad for the kitchen. I’m sure I can find a supplier of snake food, though?”
“It’s fine,” Penny explained. “She sometimes tastes my food, but I’ve never really seen her eat. All she needs is water.”
Cook motioned for Penny to wait, and a moment after she disappeared from the serving window, she reappeared with a large bowl of water.
“Off you go.” Cook shooed Penny away. “Make sure you eat all that. You’ll waste away if you’re not careful!”
“No chance of that,” Penny replied cheerfully. “Not with all this grub around.”
Penny gave a timid wave t
o the small group of students at one end of the table, but they didn’t notice her, too intent on their conversation. Without the distraction of companions, she ate quickly and, with nothing better to do, arrived at class early.
American Folklore was held in the room next to the previous day’s history class. Penny took a seat near the front, ignored by the professor bumbling about his desk as she entered.
Clearly agitated, his silver-rimmed glasses had started to slide down his long nose, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His gray wool suit added to his scholarly appearance, despite the messy clutter strewn across the desk.
She watched as he rifled through pages, muttering to himself in increasingly frantic tones as he searched for something. “Bag. Bag, where’s the bag. I know I put it here!” He ran one hand through thinning hair as he looked up, scanning the room.
“Uhh...sir?” Penny called. “Is it that one?” She pointed at a gray satchel perched on a chair in the front row.
The professor stared at her for a moment as if trying to process her words. Then, his head jerked in the direction she had gestured to. “My bag! Yes, that’s it. Thank you, thank you. Err.” He pushed his glasses back up with one finger and squinted at her, then Boots. “What is that thing? And who are you?”
“That’s Boots. She’s a rainbow serpent.” Boots flicked her tongue in the direction of the professor, tasting the air.
“Ah. Lovely coloring, I’m sure. And you are?”
“Penny Hingston.” When his confusion didn’t break, Penny added, “A student?”
“Oh. Why are you—“ He broke off and spun to check the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Class! Of course! It’s almost time for class.”
He shoved the paper into a pile, rummaged in a drawer until he found a box of chalk, and then hobbled over to Penny. She noticed the bulge of twisted toes that stretched out the top of one of his shoes.
“I am Professor Craster. Jim. Jim Craster.” He stuck a hand out, and Penny reluctantly shook it. To her relief, it wasn’t sweaty. “Ahh, good to see you’re an eager student. What made you choose American Folklore, eh?” Craster didn’t wait for her to answer, turning his back on her to return to his desk.
“It’s a compulsory class, Professor,” Penny explained. Surely, he would know that?
“Oh? Oh, good. They weren’t going to include it, you know. Jessica said it should be relegated to the electives, but I told her!” Reaching his desk, he sat with a thump but raised one wrathful finger into the air. “I told her, we’re in this country, and we’re going to be confronted by its history! You can’t ignore that, and to leave our students unprepared to face such things as the Sasquatch and the Chupacabra would be worse than foolhardy. It would be negligent!”
“Ah.” Penny busied herself with setting up her notebook and pens, letting out a relieved breath when the other students began filing in, several giving her startled looks or coming over to exclaim over Boots.
Craster made it a point to approach each student, asking their names and introducing himself, and offering little snippets of information about the course to each student.
Penny quickly realized that although he was clearly disorganized, he was extremely passionate about the subject of American Folklore. Though his animated conversations caught her interest, Boots was less impressed. Within minutes, the serpent was curled up under Penny’s desk, asleep.
When the clock chimed the hour, Craster knocked on the table to get the students’ attention.
“Welcome to American Folklore!” he proclaimed, leaning back to hook his thumbs through his belt. “Now, I should start by mentioning there may be some crossover between this class and the Modern Myth unit. You’ll get to that next semester, but for now, know why you are here.”
He leaned forward to rest his hands on the desk, taking a moment to eye each student carefully. “This country has changed. It has been overrun! Creatures from myth and legend—and yes, some from nightmare—walk the streets.”
A muffled laugh, quickly covered by a cough, pulled Penny’s eyes to the back of the class. A boy near the back—Corey, she was pretty sure—rolled his eyes at the professor’s exuberance.
“Unlike the myths of specific denominations, American conjurations will be impossible to avoid as the insurgency grows in strength.” Craster either hadn’t noticed the interruption or had chosen to ignore it. “You can avoid the leprechauns if you don’t go to bars. Greek and Indian legends are less often seen on our soil, and witch-gods are strongest in Britain. But the ghosts, the horrors, Mothman, and the Horsemen...all those beings are here in our backyard, just waiting for a moment of distraction before they pounce!” Craster snatched at the air to punctuate his speech.
“The Wiccan movement is quite strong here, though, isn’t it?” It was the first time the gum-chewing girl in black had spoken up.
Craster nodded. “It is. The belief system here seems less tangible, though. Or perhaps, the believers relate their deities to the home country more strongly.”
That made sense to Penny. Professor Madera had explained how the “conjurations,” as Craster called them, were dependent on the level of belief or worship in the community. If enough people in an area believed a creature existed it would appear. There were exceptions, of course--creatures summoned through the Veil by other means--but the experts seemed to think this was how it started.
“So, if people here are trying to conjure a pagan god, will that affect things in Britain?” Penny asked.
Craster stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Am I psychic? I have no idea. We have no way to track that. Yes, Mara?”
“Professor, where do they come from?” Mara blushed as she spoke and slid down in her seat as soon as she was done.
Craster emerged from behind his desk to begin pacing lopsidedly back and forth. “Well, that is a question, isn’t it? They claim they have always ‘been,’ that they have existed for as long as we have.” He nodded as his voice turned introspective. “Yes, that’s what they tell us. Is it true? Are they lying, or perhaps simply created with the collective memory of the human consciousness?”
His head snapped up, and he scowled at the class. “We do not know. We suspect that the entities have been living in a world next to ours.” He held up both hands and pressed them together. “When the Event occurred, it pierced the Veil that separates our worlds. They are leaking through, one by one. And that’s just the ones coming through by accident!”
“How do we know that?” Corey called. “What did you do, ask one of them?”
“Yes, of course, we did. How else would we know?” Craster irritably brushed off the question and hobbled back to his seat. “Enough about the state of the invasion. It’s Professor Madera’s job to teach you that. Now, who knows what a Sasquatch is?”
After the class finally ended, Penny had a fair idea of where many of the professor’s quirks came from. After all, ten years living in the mountains alone, with no one to talk to while you hunted non-existent Bigfeet could make anyone a little screwy. Although I guess it exists now, Penny mused.
Craster had given them a little too much detail about the injuries inflicted on him when he’d accidentally stumbled on the beast two months ago. It certainly explained his limp.
Penny had just slipped the last of her study materials into her bag when Cisco leaned over her shoulder from behind. “Well that was a trip.”
Penny shot a glance toward Professor Craster, but he was deep in conversation with Clive, who had shown great interest in the professor’s exploits in the mountains. “It certainly was,” she agreed. She stood and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder, nudging Boots awake with her toe. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re going.”
“And did you see that scar?” Cisco asked. He waited impatiently as Boots lifted her head and lazily made her way up Penny’s leg. He sounded as thrilled as Clive had. “It went all the way up to his—“
“I know!” Penny cut him off. Boots settled around her shoulder
s, and she headed for the door. “It was terrifying! I thought his junk was going to fall out. That would have scarred me for life.” She shuddered as the unwanted image encroached on her mind.
“’Junk?’” Cisco asked bemusedly.
“Yeah. You know.” Penny gestured to her nether regions. “Junk. Meat and potatoes. Knackers and tallywhacker?” She tried to stay deadpan, but couldn’t keep her giggles from erupting as Cisco’s eyes widened.
“I can’t even tell you how much I love the Australian language,” he said, awed. “Will you teach me?”
Penny looped her arm through his. “Stick with me, kid, and I’ll turn you into a fair dinkum yobbo.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” Cisco asked. When Penny clamped her mouth shut, he tugged on her arm. “A yobbo? Yobboes are good? Like, they’re really cool Australian dudes?”
“Sure.” Penny rubbed her face to hide the grin. “Really cool.”
Cisco pursed his lips, then shook his head. “I feel like you’re setting me up. Hey, did Amelia tell you about dinner?”
“Dinner?” The sudden change of subject took Penny a moment to process. Still, when she double-checked her recollections, she had to shake her head. “I know she said a cousin of hers was going to arrange something, but I don’t know any more than that.”
“There’s a really cool pub at the back of the Baghdad Theatre. He said to meet him there tonight.” Cisco ducked his head, cheeks pink. “I think there are others going, but I don’t know any of them. You in? We can share an Uber.”
“Sure,” Penny said. “I’ll even teach you some Australianisms on the way so you can impress the girls.”
Cisco punched the air with a hiss of satisfaction. “I’ll be the best yobbo there!” He spoke with an exaggerated Australian drawl that sent Penny into uncontrollable laughter.
“You...you do...you do that, Cisco,” she gasped. “Oh, my God, I...can’t breathe.”
Cisco chuckled, despite having to hold Penny up so she didn’t collapse in the hallway. The pair caught a few strange looks from passing classmates, but all Penny could do was wipe the tears from her eyes.