Page 110 of Shroom for Improvement

The moment would have been romantic—should have been romantic.

Had I not pickpocketed him.

Why was I like that?

My hand, without instruction from my brain, slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket, closed around its treasures and removed them from his person before I had even a fraction of a second to reconsider my actions.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to pickpocket you. I have no control over this sometimes.” I wanted to be upfront and honest about what I’d done. He deserved that much at least, and I didn’t want any secrets between us—besides my rapidly growing affection for him—so I held my palm up, showing him the spoils.

And immediately, I prayed Jenny would read my sudden and overwhelming, soul-deep need for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

Claude’s freckles glittered. “Ah, fuck, it’s not what you’re thinking. I mean...” He blew out a breath, and I looked down again at what was unmistakably a condom. In its golden wrapper. An equal parts nerve-racking and exhilaratingXLprinted on the foil. “I’m not being presumptuous. I only thought of being prepared.” He hid his eyes behind his fingers.

“I thought the same,” I said, and removed from the front pocket of my shorts a travel-sized bottle of lube. “Just in case we go skinny dipping again.”

Claude motioned to say something. His mouth opened and stayed open, but no sound came out. He reached forward and took the bottle of lube from my hand. Maybe testing it to see if it was real.

A smile blossomed on my face. I stopped it forming all the way by catching my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Damn,” Claude said. “When you bite your lip like that...” He let his eyes travel over my body, though they froze when he noticed the straps on my backpack. He tucked the condom and the lube back into his jacket pocket and straightened his lapels. “Good to be... ready for whatever situation. What did you need me for?”

“Right,” I said, shaking my head and loosening my thoughts. “Yes. I want to see if I can collect some of Jenny’s spores, and make some cultures from them. From it, the house.”

“Well, that sounds a lot more important than—”

I didn’t let Claude finish his sentence. I pulled him towards me by the lapel of his jacket and kissed him. Soft and deep. Wet, hot, and breathy. Then, I pushed a gap between us. “It is very important work, but I needed to do that first.”

“The spores on fruiting bodies of fungi are usually found in the gills. You know, those frilly bits underneath the cap,” I said. Claude nodded along as though I wasn’t mushroom-splaining his own species to him. “With stinkhorns, it’s in a smelly, sticky substance called gleba at the top. It smells like shit, basically, and attracts flies, which then help spread the spores around to other decaying parts of the forest. If Jenny is okay with it, I’d like to collect the teeniest sample of this liquid. I want to see if spreading these spores onto the tablet at the leylines is part of the ritual, but I also really, really, like... super reallyneedto create a culture so I can analyse it in my lab.”

“Okay.” Claude said the word as though there should be a question mark at the end.

We were standing in the gardens of Stinkhorn Manor, looking up at one of the mid-sized turrets. In the late afternoon sun, it appeared faded pink, with a yellow... cap? Head? Roof?... Still couldn’t decide which term was most appropriate.

“So, if you could ask Jenny, pretty please, for its consent?” I looked at him, but he remained silent.

“Jenny said, ‘Knock yourself out, but don’t get too excited.’”

“Why not?”

Claude listened. “It doesn’t produce spores, never has. But you’re more than welcome to scrape its walls and put them in your little dishes. Says... No, I’m not repeating that.” He huffed out an exasperated breath. “Fine, it says it’s been an age since it’s had a decent wall scraping.”

“Do you have gleba, Jenny?” I watched Claude for the house’s answer.

“No, apparently not.”

I lifted my arms up and slapped them down at my sides. Then what the hell was the house?

The soil samples I’d already collected from around the grounds showed me there was life. I’d seen it with my own eyes. Minerals, microorganisms, mycorrhizae, and weensy particles of glittering glamour. If the magic wasn’t coming from the house itself, where was it coming from? Fungi from the fields? And if so, how was there enough magic in those tiny mushrooms to power an entire thirty-turreted, soul-reading, sentient mansion who conjured ice rinks and atriums and butt-plug storage closets at will?

I needed to see it for myself. Needed to take some samples from the house’s structure to study more closely. Not that I didn’t trust a house I couldn’t hear, but... okay, whatever, I didn’t trust the fucking house.

I was sure I’d had it sussed and then it goes and says no spores. No fucking spores. How was that possible?

How did it get to be this size? Would it ever produce spores?

Now I was getting annoyed.

“Jenny, I believe I asked for a ladder!”

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