Page 9 of Shroom for Improvement

That part was straightforward, even considering how rare the species was. Seasonal fae and nymphs, now they were ten a penny, but shroom fae... You had to know where to look to find one.

What did mushrooms like? Dark, dank spaces, lots of moisture. The underground train network, of course. And that was precisely where I’d found Claude.

My heart almost spontaneously combusted the first day I caught the eight-thirty to Downtown and he was there. And not just any old shroom fae, okay... he was hot. Gorgeous even. With his brown skin and fiery copper hair and his furrowed brow. He’d been wearing his conductor’s uniform—a love letter in royal blue and gold to his incredible curves. A shiny ticket machine sat on his hip, and a cute little railroad cap embellished with pins celebrating the many years of his U-Rail service was nestled on his copper curls.

Over the years, I may have sequestered a couple of those pins. Just, like... three or four.

I usually gave everything back after I’d stolen it. But with Claude, for some reason my fingers wouldn’t relinquish his treasures.

I never set out to steal anything from anybody. Truly, I didn’t. It was simply... something I had very little control over. Millennia of ingrained magpie-fae instinct. It didn’t matter how often I told myself not to, or how much therapy I’d sought to override it, or even if I physically tied my hands together.

See something shiny, and I was a shark sniffing a droplet of blood in an ocean.

Anyway, back to the plan. Step one? Yes, done that. Shroom fae located.

Now, step two, convince said shroom fae to let me use him for experimentation, and step three, complete experimentation. Those were the tricky bits. Especially considering I only had vague ideas of what those experiments might be.

It had been three years. Three years of catching that bloody train. Three years of buying my ticket from Claude,instead of swiping my card at the barrier like a normal person, just to give me an extra two minutes of his attention. And three years of hoping and praying that was the morning or afternoon he’d finally agree to have coffee with me.

“Dude, come on,” Mash said, interrupting my thoughts. “You’ve gone all fuzzy eyed thinking about him. I say you should come Friday. Marnie’s friend, Josh—you know, the law professor guy—is coming. He’s cute.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, but I didn’t say how long I’d think about it for.

AaandI was done. It was a no. But I’d keep that to myself until Saturday. Guaranteed Mash wouldn’t even notice my absence until he was on his comedown from whichever synthetic high he’d sought.

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes and slung his arm over my shoulder again. “Hey, Sonny?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have my watch back now?”

“Shit, yeah. Sorry, mate.”

Phallus Impudicus

Claude

Stinkhorn Manor rose from the mist-shrouded forests like a giant’s—or giantess’s—enormous dildo collection.

Phallus Impudicus.The official name for a stinkhorn mushroom. Translated, it literally meant “shamelessly phallic.” And boy, did the original architects of Stinkhorn Manor go to town with that design concept.

I’d never seen so many turrets on one building. They were of differing heights and thicknesses, painted in a rainbow of sun-bleached colours. Some stood straight and proud, others veered left or right. All had, erm, domed roofs. And one, gods have mercy, obviously had pigeons or doves nesting in the concealed chimney, as evidenced by the long trail of white poop dripping down the front of the tiles.

It was like nothing I could ever have imagined and, simultaneously, my worst fear realised.

“No,” I said out loud, as the wheels of my rental car crunched down the weed-infested gravel drive. “On secondthoughts, nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Sorry, Pops.” I twisted the steering wheel to the left and put my foot on the gas before anyone could peer out of a cock... window?... and catch me. But the wheel caught on a stone or something, and the car ground to a stop.

I slammed on the handbrake, threw off my seatbelt and slung the door open, getting out to inspect and remove any offending debris. I pulled up short. There was nothing: no stones trapped under the tyre, no creeping vines wrapped around the wheels, no dead animal corpse lying in my path, preventing me from driving away. Nothing. Just gravel and a few puffy dandelion seed balls.

“I cannot, absolutely will not, inherit this place.”

I might be gay, but I wasn’tthatgay.

“Lord Stinkhorn, sir? Claude?” came a quiet voice from the other side of the car.

Great, someone had spotted me. I allowed myself one second to close my eyes and mentally expel every swear word I could summon.Fuck, bollocks, hell, tits, arse, wank, wanker, wankiest.

When I opened my eyes, two faces peered up at me. Fae—but small for fae—they stood at approximately nipple height to me, had slender, androgynous bodies, young, wrinkle-free skin, and huge cartoon-like eyes. Both had sheets of waist-length blonde hair. One of them had ginger eyebrows, the other a grey, bristly moustache. Nope, not grey, brown—no, wait...

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