Page 65 of Shroom for Improvement

I faltered. Almost tripped. Almost blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Managed to reel it in.

This was not ideal. Storm in a teacup was basic glamour all fae learned in preschool. You start with a cup full of tea leaves and you make them swirl around into a teeny little tornado.

That Claude had never done this before was kind of disappointing, if I was being honest. But no big deal. We could overcome this.

“So, maybe we practise?” I hoped Claude did not think I was being condescending.

“Practise? Summoning a storm?” Oh, shit. I’d offended him.

“We could start with a teacup?”

“I’m not a toddler.” Really, really offended him. “Ugh, I knew it was going to be something like this. Well, we’re screwed then. Sorry, Jenny, I’ve failed you all.” Claude threw himself back onto the blanket, his head tilted up to the morning sun.

I knelt next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not even sure the lightning thing is the thing, but I feel that of all the possibilities, it’s the most likely. And you’re not failing anyone unless you don’t try.”

Claude stared at my hand, followed the line of my arm up, up, up to my face. “I’m five hundred and ten years old. I can’t tell you how many teachers I’ve had over my life who’ve given up on me. It’s fucking child’s magic and I can’t do it.” And then he folded in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and using them as a pillow for his forehead.

I waited. Gave him the time he needed. He flinched. Flinched again. Shook his head.

“Jenny,” I said. “Please, give him some space.”

Claude lifted his head from his knees, looked at me, and raised one eyebrow. He could have been saying,“How did you know?”Or he could have been saying,“Thank you.”After what seemed like five minutes, he let out a long, dragging sigh. “The least I can do is try. Can you teach me?”

“Of course.” I chose not to mention the teacup would be the best place for a beginner to start. I didn’t want to upset him again. “We’ll try to conjure a small rainstorm. You’ll not get much projection with the rainstorm, but it’s safer than attempting lightning. Do you want me to talk you through it first, or... as we go?”

“Let’s just get started. As we go.”

“When you’re ready, you can stand up. I think this’ll be easier on our feet.”

Claude nodded and pushed himself up.

“Hold your hands out like this. Palms up.” I placed my own hands in front of me, slightly wider than my shoulders. Claude copied, and I cupped the underside of his hands with my own. His skin was soft and warm and a little hairy, and Ipretended I didn’t notice the sharp zing of electricity that shot through my entire body.

He sucked in a breath, made the cutest, “Oh.”

“Shut your eyes,” I said, my words sounding altogether far too breathy.

Claude obeyed without hesitation.

I cleared my throat. “It comes from within.” My voice was still too gravelled, too sensual. I cleared my throat again. “You don’t think it. You feel it. Like it starts in your chest and your spine and your guts. The humidity and the pressure and the rumbling. Feel, don’t think. Empty your thoughts. And feel.”

A few minutes of silence passed.

“Yeah, um, how long before I feel anything?” Claude peeked one eye open.

“Honestly? It might take a while. We could be here all day.”

Or days.

He sighed a resigned sigh. “Well, I brought a picnic. And Jenny has magicked your pee-bale over there.” He cocked his head to the side, where indeed my pee-bale rested against the hedgerow.

“Wow, nice. Is that the same one from the allotment, or a new one?”

Claude paused. “The same one. Jenny said it will move the bale back and forth between here and the allotment because...” He paused again. “It thinks it will take me more than a day to figure out lightning glamour.”

I didn’t let my features show how much I agreed with the house. We were in this for the long haul. I’d need to call Mash. Tell him I might be a little longer than I originally planned. Maybe send him some more lecture slides.

“And Jenny said it reads your soul and can see your desperate necessity to collect urine,” Claude said, as thoughsensing I’d confirm his fears if he left the silence stretch any further. It sounded accusatory, and he must have thought so too, because he added, “But personally, if it works for you, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

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