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“Where to now?” I asked.

“Lunch.”

Later, I found out there were two hundred pupils (give or take) at Miss Van Loon’s, which was about one-fifth of the total New York Between population of maybe one thousand mortal changelings. Two hundred isn’t really very many mortals when they’re separated. But when they’re all smooshed together in a long, narrow room with no windows and a hard floor, laughing and eating and gabbing, it’s like a Full Moon Gathering without the music.

Bergdorf abandoned me at the door. I was about to slink off to find somewhere quiet to eat when a dark head popped out of the crowd, grinning excitedly: Fortran, the best liar in Columbia. I pointed at myself. He nodded and waved some more.

Feeling more cheerful, I shoved through the crowd toward the long table he was sharing with the leprechaun girl—Espresso, from the Village. I sat down next to her. Even though the dining hall was packed, we had a whole table to ourselves.

Espresso pulled a steaming cup out of a brightly striped woolen pouch. A dark, rich smell tickled my nose.

“Is that coffee?”

Espresso made a face. “It’s mostly moo juice, man. But there’s a lick of java in there somewhere.”

It sounded like English, but I didn’t have a clue what she’d said. “Huh?”

“Moo juice,” Espresso said. “Milk. Java is coffee. Haven’t you ever heard anybody talk Village before?”

I shook my head.

“It’s easy,” Fortran said kindly. “You’ll pick it up in no time.”

“Right,” I said. “Um. Isn’t coffee just for Folk?”

Espresso laughed. “You’re jiving me. Every mortal in the whole City drinks java.”

“Not me.”

Silence. We set our magic bags on the table. Fortran’s was blue and lumpy and rich in straps. Espresso’s was a brightly striped woolen sack.

Fortran sighed. “I thought for sure some of the Columbia guys would come sit with me, but no. They’re all over there, talking about amulets.” He pulled a floppy slice of very thin bread with red sauce on it out of his bag and stuffed the pointy end into his mouth.

“So why aren’t you sitting with them?”

Fortran’s dark eyes slid toward Espresso, whose sack had produced a bowl of something that looked like green-flecked sand. “Oh, you know,” he said. “I see those guys all the time. The whole point of school is meeting new people, right? So I’m meeting you.”

I opened Satchel and wished, as usual, for a hamburger and French fries. I got a cold chicken leg, a chunk of brown bread, an apple, and cider.

“Wizard!” Fortran said as I tore into the chicken with my teeth. “That’s the real deal. Super-trad, right from the Old Country, I bet.”

“Isn’t that where all magic bags come from?”

“No way.” Fortran patted his lumpy blue bag, its zipper open on enchanted emptiness. “I got Backpack here at Talisman Town.”

I put down my chicken. “Are you telling me you can just go out and buy a bag like Satchel?”

Fortran shook his head. “Not just like Satchel—it’s too old-fashioned. But you could get a bag that looked just like it. Plus, it would give you whatever food you wanted—even burritos and hot dogs and pizza.” He waved the remains of his tomato-smeared slice.

I thought it might be nice to have a Satchel I could boss around. But then it wouldn’t be Satchel. I clutched the old, worn, stubborn leather strap. “I’ll stick to this one, thanks.”

We talked for a while longer. Fortran told us his fairy godfather was a geek in Columbia’s Magic Lab. Espresso’s godmother was a hippie chick called Earth Mother.

“What about your fairy godmother?” Fortran asked. “She’s a wood nymph, right?”

I thought about lying, then decided that if Fortran and Espresso were going to hate me because of my Park-related weirdness, I might as well get it over with as soon as possible. “Astris is a giant white rat,” I said. “She bakes really good cookies.”

Two pairs of eyes stared at me, round as marbles. I closed Satchel and got ready to move to the empty end of the table.

“Wizard!” Fortran said.

“Groovy!” Espresso said.

I looked up. They were smiling. “You don’t mind?”

“A giant white rat is cool