Page 31 of Shroom for Improvement

Jasper snort-laughed. “Yup. Can’t wait. The bees didn’t work. This’ll teach her.”

“Uh …”Shut your mouth, Sonny.“You’re going to murder her?”Please say no. Please say no.

“Well, I’m certainly going to try,” Jasper said with another bark of laughter. “But she can’t actually die. There’s only one way to kill that bitch, and it ain’t gonna be with a fuck-off piano. Ehh, she might have a week-long migraine. If we’re lucky. But she’ll be fine.”

Oh, gods. Oh, gods. Oh, gods. How did I fall for this trap? Claude says jump, and I say off which fucking cliff?

I started to memorise turnings. Left, left, straight for about three miles. Another left. A hair pin right. I pulled out my phone, brought up the maps app. Nothing loaded.

“There’s no signal out here,” Jasper said. A grin eased all the way across his face.

“Is... is there any signal at Stinkhorn Manor?” Because if not, I was definitely not on my way to see Claude. How could he email me with no service?

“Depends. On whether the house likes you or not. Or whether it wants you to communicate with the outside world. It hates me, probably because I’m always trying to burn it down.”

“Sure,” I think I said. Squeaked maybe.

Me:

Go ahead and call the cops. By the time this message gets to you, I’ll be hellhound fodder. My dying wish is that you find someone to continue my research. My lab comp password is Mushrooms4Eva!!

“You’re awfully pale and sweaty,” Jasper boomed. I didn’t know if he’d read the text over my shoulder, or if it even mattered at this point.

“I’m a magpie fae. I’m always pale.”

“Hey, listen, I’m gonna be real upfront with you here. I was gonna pick you up and leave you in the woods at the foot of Mount Agaricus.”

Shit, called it.

“But you’re just so small and cute and helpless, and I can’t do it. I may be a daemon, but I’m not a monster. You’d have been fine, by the way, if I’d’ve done that. There’s nothing there that could eat you. Well... there’s probably nothing. It just would have taken you a few days to get back to the station, and by that time you’d have been so pissed off with the whole thing you wouldn’t have bothered with this Stinkhorn mushroom ritual.”

A thousand thoughts, emotions, and responses flitted through my mind.

You would have let me get eaten by a bear?

Why?

What the hell is going on?

Is Claude even at this house?

Are you lying?

Am I still gonna end up in a ditch?

What part of this situation is real?

Is any of it real?

Am I dreaming?

Was it the Stilton I ate on the train?

What I actually heard—and ended up focusing on—wasStinkhorn mushroom ritual.

Stinkhorn mushroom ritual!

“Wh-what’s this ritual?” I asked, my heartbeat kicking up a few gears in anticipation of his answer. He’d said mushroom magic. Mushroom magic plus ritual sounded like a fever dream. Or a lottery win.

---