Page 143 of Shroom for Improvement

Willow evidently failed to notice my near-death state and instead lifted a beaker, half-full of amber liquid, and tilted it towards me. Ice clinked against the sides.

There was no sign of Claude.

“You came back!” Oggy said, toasting me with her drink. A fluted glass with a creamy white concoction, decorated with a slice of pineapple and a paper umbrella. Her eyes would not settle on me.

Where was Claude?

“Mate, good to see you again.” That was John. He had a pint of lager. Dozens of empty glasses littered the surrounding tables.

“Wait, are you guys... getting pissed?” I asked, wincing against the stitch developing in my side. “And smoking cigars?” I seized a jug of iced water from the breakfast counter and began chugging it straight from the rim.

“We’re playing strip poker!” Oggy declared gleefully.

“It might be our last night ever on this plane of existence,” said Willow.

“Shhhhh.”Oggy’s eyes slid out of focus. “We’re notssspeakingabout it.”

I swallowed . . . heaved my breath out . . . wiped my mouth. “Where’s Claude?”

Willow shrugged. Oggy hiccupped.

“Ley lines, probably,” John said, apparently the only one still sober enough to think.

“I know what the ritual is,” I said, and all three of them gasped.

John got to his feet. “Well?”

Time to put the theory to the test, I guessed. “It’sfffuuuuuuuhhhnnn.”I laughed. “It’sniiiiiinnnnn.It’sheeuuuufffffff.”

I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t get the words out.

John punched the air, then pulled me into a bone-crunching bear hug. Willow fell to their knees and began sobbing and cheering at the same time.

“Go. Go find him,” John said.

I nodded, but I needed to make sure of one thing first. “If Mr Dupont turns up.” I said this to John because out of the three, he seemed the least inebriated, and also stood the greatest chance of defending himself. “Keep him away from Claude and me.”

John opened his mouth, but another voice spoke before he could.

Mrs Ziegler, who I had not spotted until that second, lay on her back on a chaise longue, a salad-sized bowl of Peanut Goobers balanced on her belly. “Don’t worry, Jasper won’t interfere.”

“Holy fuck!” My heart was in my throat. I clutched a hand to it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust Claude to figure out the ritual, but I was beginning to pre-grieve these candies.”

“I’m just gonna... I’ll be off then,” I said, and I ran from the building.

Of all of them, Mrs Ziegler could definitely hold her own against Jasper. I just needed to get to Claude.

But when I reached the ley lines, he was nowhere to be seen.

Shooting Craps

Claude

There were hundreds of them. Tiny mushroom folk with their red and white caps like little hats. They were between five and fifteen centimetres tall, and they did not speak. Mute, as Jenny had said they would be, and I wondered just how much of what Jenny told me was the truth.

They did squeak, however. A lot of squeaking. They sounded like the product testing room of a dog-toy factory. And though they didn’t speak, they had guided me farther into the forest. So deep it was impossible for sunlight to penetrate the canopy. It was unnaturally dark, and I lost my only time teller. It could have been six o’clock, or it could have been midnight.

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