Page 145 of Shroom for Improvement

Great, I was being pranked by a gang of tiny non-verbal mushrooms.

They nodded.

“Definitely sure?”

They nodded again, more vigorously this time. Then they made a gesture with their teeny hands, pumping their fist at hip height, and splaying their palm flat.

That gesture had only two meanings. Either the Earth Bell had mimed shooting craps at a casino, or they had mimed having a wank and spraying cum everywhere.

Could that really be it?

Only one way to test the theory. Could I say it out loud?

“The ritual iswoo—waaahhh—wreeeeeaaaccchhhhtttt.”

I jumped to my feet. The Earth Bells squeaked and retreated a little.

That was what should have happened when I told Willow about the lightning. Now I knew what I was supposed to do, I couldn’t say those words.

Maniacal laughter burst free from me. I would have to wank at the ley lines—on the ley lines.

Good gods.

Time myself for the sunrise and aim my spray onto the tablet. It was absolutely unhinged. Completely bonkers. But guess what? I was already great at wanking.

“Thank you! So much. So, so much. I will bring you so many shells. So. Many. Shells.” You weird little perverts.

The hum-squeaking sounds reached a crescendo. It sounded like cheering, though I couldn’t be sure, and then I caught the faint sound of something else. Something that made my heart trip over itself.

“Claude?!” The voice was fuzzy. Distant. Dampened by the roaring water splashing against the rocks and the squeaking of the Earth Bells. “Claude?!”

Silence fell amongst the mushroom folk. It hadn’t been my imagination.

It was him. I was sure. So quiet and far away. But he was here, not in Remy, which he probably should be by this point. Why wasn’t he in Remy?

“Claude?!” the voice called out again, louder this time.

Sonny.

My Sonny.

“CLAUDE?! Are you here? I love you!”

The Origins of a Mycophile

Sonny

“SONNY?! IN HERE!”

Claude! He was here!

I had arrived at the ley lines and Claude wasn’t there. Immediately, I pulled out the compass and followed that. It took me to the pool. But he wasn’t there either. So I started screaming his name.

And he yelled back.

His voice came from the little cave beyond the waterfall, or at least, that was what it sounded like. There was no way to get to him without going through the water, so I tugged my trainers off, let them land wherever they landed, and I dove in fully clothed. Then I swam up to the edge, pulled myself up, and crossed through the deluge of runoff.

Claude peered up at me with wide, watery eyes. He was mid-stripping off his clothes, presumably to get to me. His shoesand socks were off, his jacket in a heap on the rocky floor, his shirt unbuttoned to his belly button. I barely had time to consider why he seemed mostly dry and why he wasundressingbefore he cupped my face either side and pulled my lips down to his.

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