Page 33 of Shroom for Improvement

Oggy gasped.

“I’m sorry, Ogs. I never meant to curse.”

“It’s okay.” Oggy cradled Willow’s cheek. She turned to me. “Stay, at least one night. We’ll do everything we can to convince you to stay long term. We could show you to your room—”

Willow put their hand up and spoke in a hushed whisper. “That, uh, might be a risky move. Depending on whether it likes him.”

“Good point,” Oggy whispered back. I didn’t know whose benefit the lowered voices were for; I could still hear everything they said. She turned to me again. “There must be something you like that will pique your interest? Do you like books? There’s a vast library somewhere in the house. Video games? Pretty sure there’s an arcade. Kink? There’s definitely a sex dungeon. Though we should keep you out of Mr Dupont’s direct line of contact. You especially don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.”

“He mentioned a Helena?” I said. The sentry fae’s eyes widened. “So, this dropping a piano on her head... is foreplay?”

“He’s going to do what?!” Oggy yelled, but evidently it was a rhetorical question because the next moment she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. Her mouth moved over silent words and I realised she was praying.

Willow’s tiny hand closed over my forearm. “What about gardening? We have acres and acres of land begging to be... cultivated? Farmed? Tilled?”

Instantly, every ounce of my attention snapped to Willow. “What kind of gardens? Flower gardens? Are they walled? Allotments? Is it pasture?”

“Yes, I believe they are all those things,” they said.

And suddenly, I could move my feet again.

When I turned to look at the grand front doors of the property, Claude was nowhere to be seen.

Further Pee-Bales and Cute Little Knives

Sonny

In a million years, I would never have dreamed of calling the land shrouding Stinkhorn Manor “gardens.” Scrubland would have been an apter term. Wasteland. A dust bowl. An ecological graveyard.

Parched, cracked earth stretched around for what seemed like miles, punctuated only by the hardiest, most nuclear of weeds. Thistle and knotweed and horsetail and occasionally, a little burst of yellow dandelion. It had been a long time since anyone showed a drop of interest in the grounds.

I wouldn’t even know where to start. I mean, I would. I’d start by removing the weeds and trying to save the soil. I grabbed a handful and let it fall through my fingers as though it was sand. It would be a heck of a job.

Willow and Oggy watched me diligently. Claude, having retreated inside the mushroom-shaped mansion, was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s not usually like this,” Oggy said, scrubbing the base of her plimsole against the dirt. “It’s because we’re so close to the summer solstice. It always gets a bit dusty around this time of year.”

“It’s never this bad, though, is it?” said Willow, in a quiet, resigned voice.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Oggy. She turned to me. “The house is... well, magical. It feeds from whatever is around.” She motioned her arms wide. “And it pulls magic from that. Twice a year Claude’s father would return to the house from his travels to perform a ritual—we could show you the ley lines, they seem to be the only place with any grass left. The ritual restores the magic in the land and everything becomes green again. But he died a few weeks ago, and now we’re...”

“We’re shitting paddles,” Willow finished. “Or however the saying goes.”

“So, that’s why Claude’s here?”

“Right. He has to continue with the ritual, but he doesn’t know what to do, what it involves. And none of us know because Angus told no one.”

Of course he didn’t. Bloody shroom fae. All the pieces of the past few days began clicking into place. Claude not showing up for his U-Rail shifts. The emails. Why I’d been called in without Claude realising who I was. Presumably he’d found my business card in his wallet—the one I’d planted the morning I took his cufflink—and he hadn’t put two and two together. Hadn’t realised I was the surprise mycologist come to save the day.

I patted the butt pocket of my jeans to check the cufflink was still there. It was. I had thought this, and this alone, wasthe reason for my summons. I knew very little about mushroom magic. That was why I so desperately wanted to talk with Claude. And now it turned out he also knew nothing.

But I had a choice, I guessed. A chance to help someone in need. And not only that, but a chance to learn more about a subject I was obsessed with, from a man I was fascinated by. Sure, he was grumpy and seemed reluctant to accept my help, but maybe I could find a way through that tough, cranky exterior of his. Also, if he was as desperate as the sentry fae were making him out to be, what other option did he have?

I couldn’tnothelp him if I had the capability, and he couldn’t very well say no if I was the only person able to help.

Willow and Oggy patiently waited for my internal debate to conclude itself.

“Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?” Oggy asked. “It’s not all this bad, I promise. It gets greener the closer you get to the house. The kitchen gardens are still reasonably productive.”

---