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“It’s fertilised, just like the others. Bring your lantern in closer.” He did as she asked, illuminating a trailing group of mushrooms.

“Like a little cluster of trooping faeries,” she mused. “Did you bring gloves?”

Silently, he fished them out of his pocket and handed them to her, pulling a test tube out of his interior jacket pocket as she donned the gloves.

Carefully, Atta dug at the soil and he wished she wasn’t bent over in that skirt. She dug until she plucked up the mushroom, its fungal root system still intact.

“This is exactly what I needed,” she said almost reverently. “Fresh mycelium.”

He held out the test tube, grateful he’d brought a large size, and she gently stowed their findings away.

She stole the lantern from his grasp and leaned over the place she’d taken the mushroom from. “Do you think it’s coming from her, or called by her?”

“What do you mean?” But he already knew. He’d read her research paper three times, after all.

Atta sat back on her heels. “Mushrooms essentially ‘talk’ to trees by connecting to their root systems through this stuff, the mycelium, which is a network of microscopic threads. It creates a network of communication underground where trees and plants can exchange nutrients and water, all connected. Look.” She took his forearm and pulled him closer, but he couldn’t see well enough in the low light, not with the blasted mask on.

He reached for the edge of the mask, lifted it from his chin, and she gasped.

“No.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “Don’t!”

“I can’t see, Atta.” But maybe he meant that he couldn’t see her. Not properly. Not the way he wanted to. In one swift movement, he had the mask off.

Atta’s lips parted. Her eyes went wide and glistening in the glow of the lamp. “Sonder.” The way she said his name was like a dagger to his heart.

“Atta. You’re a brilliant woman. You had to know it was me.”

She was looking at him with what he’d swear was relief, but then she said, “Of course I knew it was you, but now I have no plausible deniability!”

He huffed a laugh, enjoying how close he was to her. How alone they were. He wanted to take her beautiful face in his hands and learn how that smart mouth tasted. “If we need plausible deniability, we’re already fucked,a stór.”?*

Just then, a beam of light passed over their heads. Sonder cursed and pushed Atta down to the dirt, whispering in her ear to stay quiet as he covered her. The beam passed over the grounds, lingering on them once more before disappearing. A clang of the heavy iron gate revealed they were alone again a few moments later.

Rattled, they hurried to his car in a crouch and drove off without the lights on until they were far enough away.

At least they had the mushroom.

At least she knew it was him.

a stór(uh stohr)—Irish Gaelic; meaning my darling, or my treasure

Atta

At least they had the mushroom.

At least she knew it was him.

“So itwasyou that had something to show me, after all,” Atta said coyly after several moments of driving. She hadn’t questioned why he didn’t drop her off at Trinity. Why they were driving in circles. She didn’t want the night to end, and, she hoped, perhaps he didn’t either.

Sonder smiled, looking at her across the front seat. It was the freest she’d seen him yet and her heart crackled a little.

“Yes,” he said, “but that wasn’t it. I’ll show you now if you’d like.” He glanced at the dash clock. “Though it’s late. And better in the daylight.”

Atta was incredibly tired, and she didn’t relish the thought of facing Domhnall when she got home, but she probably did need sleep, and Dony was likely already passed out.

“Tomorrow?” she posed.

Sonder grinned. “I’ll pick you up at 9.”