Page 5 of Shroom for Improvement

We hope you’ll forgive this most unorthodox method of contacting you, but we believe the phone number we have on file is wrong. Our names are Willow and Oggy, and we are the custodians of Stinkhorn Manor.

We realise this isn’t the nicest way to do things, but time is of the essence, and we areshitout of luck. We apologise that you will hear this from us. Your father, Angus Stinkhorn,is a gonerhas perished during an expedition to the northernmost tip of the Mythic Realms.

By decree, as was written in your father’s will, Stinkhorn Manor and all his worldly possessions (of which there are MANY) will pass into the hands of hiseldestonly child.

We have called Mr Stinkhorn’s (your father’s) solicitors and arranged an urgent appointment for you in their Remy branch at 9:30a.m. on Tuesday. Address overleaf.

There is a decent chance this letter might not reach you until Tuesday. If that is the case, you must make haste, and also,whoopsieour sincerest apologies.

Yours,

W&O

PSthere is something we need to tell you about Stinknvm. I am informed there are more appropriate ways to do this, and you will likely find out everything in due course.

PPS Part of Stinkhorn Manor is being used as a B&B. You must decide what will become of this, and its guests. Do NOT let the guests sway you one way or another, especially Mrs Ziegler. In fact, best to stay away from Mrs Ziegler altogether.

I read the letter again on the steps of Cope and Gryphon Solicitors, and then once more while waiting in the foyer, and I still couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I half expected the human receptionist, a fair-haired man who unhelpfully wore no name tag, to laugh in my face when I approached his desk a little after nine. But he appeared as flummoxed as I was, more so perhaps, blinking up at me as though I were a dead celebrity’s holograph singing “Happy Birthday” to him. Buck naked.

He picked up his phone, pressed a button, and spoke into the receiver. “Elektra, he’s here. Mr Stinkhorn’s here.” A pause. “I know!” Another pause. “Right?!” The receptionist offered me a dorky, thick-cheeked smile. “Sure. Okay. No problem.” He turned to me. “Sorry, sir. We weren’t convinced anybody would turn up today. But good news, you’ve just won me and Elektra fifty silvers. Would you take a seat over there? She’s not... ready for you yet.” He put on a stage whisper. I had no idea why. Wewere the only two people in the foyer. “She’s still at the gym. Can I get you a coffee? Tea?”

It took a good five seconds for the words to align in my thoughts. “Tea. Milk. Lots of milk. No sugar. Please,” I added as an afterthought. Always forgot those pesky pleases.

“Certainly.” He bumbled off, leaving me in the dark, impersonal, slightly outdated and kind of musty wood-panelled waiting area of Cope and Gryphon. I liked it.

Twenty minutes passed. I left my tea undrunk because long-life milk, gag, and I stared at the ticking clock above the water fountain, trying not to remember the feel of Sonny’s lanky body squished against mine. Or the strange mossy scent of him in my nostrils. Or the fact that I’d been right, and all along he’d been waiting for his moment to thieve from me. My Employee of the Decade gold-mushroom cufflink. My favourite cufflinks.

Well, he had another think coming if he expected to catch my train tomorrow morning and not receive a confrontation. We shroom fae might be known for our taciturnity, but that didn’t make us afraid of conflict. I was going to give him such a dressing down. Nobody steals from me and acts so blasé about it. Maybe I would perform a citizen’s arrest. Hold his arms behind his back, pin him to the carriage wall until we reached station security.

“Mr Stinkhorn? Elektra’s ready for you now. Let me take you through,” said the human receptionist, and I opened my eyes.

When did I close them?

He led me down a wide corridor, up a short set of stairs, and knocked loudly on an open, grand mahogany door.

“Thank you, Jack,” said Elektra, getting to her feet.

Turned out, Elektra was an orc. Six-nine, six-ten, green skin, tusks, muscles from here to the U-station. I tried not to let my surprise register on my features. Not that I hadanything against orcs. They were largely a hardworking, loyal, and diligent species—all things I greatly admired. My surprise, however, stemmed from Elektra’s attire, because she wasn’t wearing a suit, as one might expect in such formal settings. She wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Instead, she wore a spandex tank top and cycling shorts, and I saw every line of her supermassive honed body.

I smoothed my own tummy through the layers of my vest, shirt, and waistcoat. Yep, still squishy. Though, weren’t dad bods supposed to be all the rage these days?

“Elektra Roxburgh. Nice to meet you, Mr Stinkhorn.” She crossed the office in two strides and reached for my hand, and despite being only three quarters of a foot taller than me, her hand engulfed mine. “You’ll have to excuse the way I look. Came straight from the gym.” She turned to the receptionist, who still stood in the doorway. His mouth hung open, his eyes—bright and wide—flitted between Elektra and me. “Thank you, Jack,” she repeated.

“Right, yep,” Jack said, snapping into action. He grinned at us and almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to close the door behind himself.

“Take a seat, Mr Stinkhorn.” She pointed to a chair beside her desk, and I sat. I didn’t bother to remove my coat. “I’ll be honest with you, we were all very dubious as to whether anyone would show up today. Can I get you another drink?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” I said.

Elektra perched on the edge of the desk, making herself only marginally less massive. “We received a call last night. From Mr Cope himself. Senior partner here. Basically, Mr Cope explained that a good friend of his had passed away and—”

I held up my hand. Elektra stopped talking and raised a brow.

“Were you going to say something?” she asked after a few seconds of silence had passed.

No, I wasn’t. I needed to straighten things out inside my head. My father and Mr Cope had been friends? Close friends? What did that mean? If it meant anything at all. I hadn’t known the man well, but I’d always assumed my father was inherently the same as all shroom fae: largely friendless.

I shook my head. “I only required a moment to process the information. Continue. Please.”

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