Page 3 of Shroom for Improvement

No fae could lie. That was common knowledge. Certain types of fae could bend the truth more than others, and we could all dance around it, but sarcasm was different. It was something I’d worked on my entire life and practised to a fine art, yet my light-fingered companion obviously failed to grasp the concept. Another of my talents gone to waste.

“It’s just, you don’t see many shroom fae these days.”

“No, you don’t,” I replied.

Sonny chewed over his next words. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my attention. “They’re fascinating, really. Shroom fae. I hope you don’t mind me saying—”

“I do—”

“Your glamour is so interesting.”

“It is not. It is unexceptional. Commonplace. The same as every garden-variety fae.”

Every fae had some grasp of basic glamour. The ability to influence the elements—fire, wind and water—that was standard. Our hearing, sense of smell, and eyesight were better than a human’s, but not excessively so.

Yet, what I didn’t have were type-specific glamours. Magic that only shroom fae wielded. A lot of fae had unique gifts that belonged only to their genus and were passed down throughout generations. For example, a nymph had some sort of super sex power. A shadow fae could shapeshift. A winter fae could freeze a man with a flick of the wrist.

Some fae could heal. Some were exceptional in battle. Some were naturally gifted leaders. Some even possessed the ability to see the future.

I had nothing. Nothing to set me apart from my brethren.

And anyway, even if I had any special type of glamour like mind reading or tap dancing, I doubted I’d be any good at them. I’d always been a bit... shit, with magic. Luckily, folk like Sonny would never have to know how shit I was.

“But you can communicate with plants,” Sonny said, as though reading my thoughts and trying to prove me wrong.

I shook my head. “I cannot even keep a houseplant alive.”

“You have uncommon healing powers?”

“I’ve had a perpetual cold for eighteen months now.”

“You have, like, incredible anti-aging magic?”

My laugh came out of my nose. A snort. “I look every bit my five hundred and ten years.”

“Mmhmm.” Sonny trapped his smile between his teeth. “In human years, you look no older than fifty—” I gasped. “Forty-five, then.”

“And you appear to be twenty.” I meant it as an insult, but the bastard smiled.

“Three hundred and sixty-six... ish, but thank you. You want to know my secret?”

I deliberately and noisily crumpled the newspaper, then straightened it with a flick of my wrists. “I do not.”

“My night cream contains mushroom extract,” he said.

Unbidden, images of Sonny at bedtime, rubbingcrème de shroominto his cheeks, flashed through my mind. Did he wear pyjamas? Or did he sleep shirtless? Or completely nu—

Nope. Shutting down those thoughts immediately.

“Also,” he continued, either unaware I had no interest in pursuing the conversation or not in the slightest bit bothered. “Oat jizz, uh, shit—” The tips of his ears grew pink. “Juice. Oatjuice. There’s, uh...” He blew out a breath. Surprisingly minty, given his half-drunk travel mug of black coffee on the table. “There’s like, an enzyme in oat that when mixed with water, restores your skin’s natural microbiome.”

I lowered the paper and gazed at him for two, three seconds. A response formed at the back of my throat. I willed it to stay there, not to slide along my tongue like it was desperately trying to. He was only being nice. Or... whatever he was attempting to be.

Don’t say it, Claude.

“So...”Do not say it.“Tell me, which department store did you liberate that product from?”

Why, Claude, why?

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