Page 22 of Shroom for Improvement

“Son?” she said, answering my call on the third attempt at ringing. The word was both feigned surprise and feigned indignation.

“Hi, Mum. How are you?” I sat on my leather sofa and immediately stood again. Resumed my pacing.

“Don’t‘Hi, Mum’me. It’s not the third Sunday of the month. What do you want?”

“Just wanted a chat.”

“Mmhmm. Is this about your father?” How did she find out? Somebody must have told her about him. Perhaps the solicitors, though I couldn’t imagine my father had left her anything in his will.

Part of me was relieved. I wouldn’t have to broach the subject now. Wouldn’t have to deal with Mum’s forced impassiveness.

“I heard about what happened to him. Mauled to death by a great western crested ignoramus bear,” she said.

What the hell was a great western crested ignoramus bear?

“If you expect me to grieve over that turd of a man,” she continued. “Well, you’d be wrong. And if you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on—”

“I don’t, Mum,” I interrupted before she could either go off on some rant I’d heard a thousand times before, or slam the receiver down on me. “I’m not upset he’s dead. I barely knew him.” That stunned her into silence. I’d find it difficult to grieve a man I saw six times in five centuries.

The upset wasn’t from my father’s death itself, rather the mess he’d left me to fix. If anything, I was annoyed with him too, for not leaving any instructions, or indeed paying me a visit to explain what I’d someday have to do twice a year for the rest of my life.

And what would happen if I died? I was a terminally single, five-hundred-year-old gay fae with no plans for any children of my own.

“Specifically, a direct descendant of Mycelium Stinkhorn the first.”

Was I expected to provide lineage? My own direct descendant to continue the legacy? I didn’t even know if I wanted kids, not that it mattered when I had no way of providing them. I wasn’t about to raise a family alone, and the closest I’d ever come to a long-term relationship was a luxury, self-heating stroker.

Anyway, none of this would matter until I figured out what this rhizome ritual entailed.

“I’ve inherited his house,” I said, deciding to dive straight in. The longer I pussyfooted around the subject, the more opportunities I gave her to hang up. “And I need to perform this ritual twice a year to keep the house and its occupants standing.”

Mum was quiet.

I waited thirty seconds... one full minute... before speaking again. “I’m not doing it for Dad. I’m doing it for the people that live here. They said you were with him a few times while he performed the ritual, and... I was wondering if you can tell me what it is? What’s the ritual, Mum? What do I need to do?”

She waited another minute before answering. “I can’t.”

“Look, Mum, I know you didn’t like him, but I have—”

“It’s not that. It’s... I can’t tell you what happened, what the ritual involved. Even if I wanted to, I physically would not beable to get the words out. It’s protected by ancient shroom law. Nobody can speak about the magic. Even your father couldn’t tell me. He just took me there one time and showed me, and then I went with him again a couple more times.”

“Try it? Can you at least try to tell me? Please,” I begged, fully aware of the desperation in my voice. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here, and people’s homes and livelihoods are relying on me.”

She sighed. “Well, first you go to the ley lines, and you find the exact spot where they meet. It should be marked by a stone tablet.” In my head, I conjured the image of the flat, squarish rock. “Then youbrrrrrrrrbbb.”Mum laughed, cleared her throat. “Youfiiiissssssssss, fuuuuuussssssss, brrrriiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnggggg.See? Nope. Can’t do it.”

I mirrored Mum’s sigh and collapsed onto the chesterfield.

“Maybe it’s just something you figure out on your own. Or maybe you let that dick house wither and die, and the occupants will find somewhere else to live?”

“But how can I figure it out on my own? What if it’s some incantation? Am I meant to just guess at words until I get it right?”

“It’sshhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuffffffftttt,”Mum said. “Urgh, this is fucking annoying!”

“So fucking annoying,” I confirmed.

Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.

“So, are you at Stinkhorn Manor now?” Mum asked.

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