Page 87 of Shroom for Improvement

“I honestly have no idea.”

“Theodora Sorrel. From the motherfucking—”

“EHK’s Society for Biological Sciences!” I finished. Theodora Sorrel was the journal’s editor-in-chief, to be precise. “What did she want?”

“Oh, only to tell you she’s coming to Remy next month and she wants to set up an official—but informal—meeting for you to discuss your paper.”

“Oh, my gods.” I was on my feet again, my laptop clutched in one hand. “Oh, my gods, this is huge. What else did she say?”

“Nothing much. That she read your proposal and feels like it would be good for their summer quarter, because they have a...” Mash looked at the back of his fist where he’d obviously scribbled some notes. “A sustainable farming and food-production theme. She wants to talk in person, though, face to face, not on a FaeTime call.”

“That’s perfect.”

The EHK’s Society for Biological Sciences!

My dreams were manifesting right in front of my eyes. First Claude, now the most notoriously persnickety editor of the most prestigious and exclusive journal for my science was interested in publishing my paper.

“So how’s it going there, anyway? Have you made the breakthrough you were hoping for?” Mash said. He looked off to the side of the screen, frowned, then fixed his attention back on me.

“Not yet, but I feel like it’s close.” Even if Claude and I didn’t figure out what the ritual was, I reckoned there was enough proof of mushroom-glamour existence to finish the paper. We knew that a small piece of magic could power the soil, feed this incredible house and the surrounding lands and its occupants.

It’d be nice to know what that magic was, but science wasn’t always about spelling things out the first time. It was about taking a few steps closer to the end goal, making headway, the journey of learning.

“Did Dr Sorrel say when she was coming to RU?”

“Yeah, um...” He checked the back of his hand again. “Twenty-first of June. Two p.m.”

“Twenty-first of June? That’s the summer solstice.”

“Is that gonna be a problem? Doc said that’s the only day she’ll be in town. Heading up to East Winterlands after that for a month or something.”

“Shit.” I ran my hands through my hair. The summer solstice. That would mean leaving Claude here the night before the ritual needed to be performed. I wouldn’t be here to see it through. To witness the fruits of our... his labour.

But the solstice was five weeks away. I was certain we would have figured out the ritual by then. I wouldn’t be leaving Claude in the lurch. “Did she leave a number to call her on?”

“Not hers, her PA’s. She said to RSVP by the eighteenth. Otherwise she’ll meet with Dr Styles.”

“Dr Styles? The entomologist?”

“Mmhmm, something about making bees resistant to pesticides.”

“No!” I mean, I was all for saving the bees, but we wanted to be discouraging the use of pesticides, not giving farmers the thumbs up because we’d somehow created nuclear pollinators. “No, no, no.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one. So, you gonna message her now?”

I sat back down. “I need to think about it.” I had so much to lose from either option. Miss my opportunity to publish my paper in the biggest journal around, and hand the spot instead to a person whose article would potentially do more damage than good, or miss the climax of this entire mission. Miss out on Claude performing literal magic.

A magic I’d been dreaming of for decades.

“Okay, but don’t sleep on it. This is once in a lifetime shit.”

Didn’t I know about it?

“So, anyway, now that’s out in the open,” Mash said. “Have you guys fucked yet, or are you still lying to yourself about it being an academic hook-up?”

“No, we haven’t fucked.”

“Liar.”

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