Reincarnated as a Mushroom?

Chapter Ninety-Six:

Blue Silk, Bitter Gin, and the Slow Alchemy of Aphrodisiacs

—

The door to the VIP suite glided open with the kind of luxurious hush that suggested bribery and blood had once stained its frame.

Inside, the suite was steeped in moody violet lighting and sinfully expensive upholstery. And at its center—like a cherry perched atop a very drunk sundae—sat Kathrine Sorella.

She had a crystal glass of Avantant gin and tonic clutched in one hand and the air of a noblewoman who fully intended to ruin someone's evening. Possibly mine. Hopefully Sophia's.

Until now, every time I'd encountered Kathrine, she'd been dressed in hard lines—political suits, military blazers, the kind of couture that shouted "I eat bureaucrats for breakfast and spit out tax audits by noon."

Today?

She was wearing sin.

Her dress was a glacial blue silk slit-curve atrocity, the kind that clung to her chest like it had a crush and wasn't subtle about it. Neon pink accents winked at the edges, threatening seizure or seduction depending on your dosage of alcohol. The slit on her thigh went so dangerously high that if she sneezed, I'd be staring directly into the abyss.

"My, my," Kathrine purred, tipping her glass in greeting as Sophia and I entered. "For a southern hemisphere establishment, your club has the taste of a royal brothel and the architectural orgasm of a palace. Honestly, darling, it puts most northern clubs to shame."

Sophia didn't bother hiding her suspicion as she folded her arms beneath her breasts—an involuntary gesture that only made them bounce slightly higher with defiance. Tactical cleavage, involuntary or not.

"Compliments are appreciated," she said coolly, "but you arrived in my territory with armed guards, Kathrine. That usually implies something less recreational."

"Oh come now," Kathrine waved dismissively, her jewelry winking in the light. "Your delightful establishment may be technically southern, but it's still within tactical spitting distance of my rivals. One can never be too careful. Besides... I assume you've already taken precautions against my entourage?"

She was right.

Even before the conversation started, Sophia had sent orders through the sub-hive. Our best snipers had been repositioned to strategic balconies. Extra muscle had been filtered into the crowd disguised as dancers, bartenders, and that one suspiciously hot janitor.

Kathrine took another sip, unbothered.

"But enough politics. It's been years since I let myself indulge. I intend to drink. I intend to dance. And I expect this place to open early. You wouldn't deny a lady her pleasures, would you?"

Sophia looked like she wanted to shove a stiletto into Kathrine's smug little mouth.

I leaned in, lips grazing her ear. "Let her drink. She gets drunk. We don't. Could be... advantageous."

Sophia didn't reply, but her mind opened slightly to mine.

Tactical approval.

"Very well," she said aloud. "I'll call the promoters. We'll be full within the hour."

"Splendid!" Kathrine clapped like a debutante who'd just discovered glitter. "While you do that, Irvine and I shall begin pre-drinks."

Sophia gave me a territorial kiss on the cheek, brushing her mark across my skin like a dog pissed on a throne. Then she disappeared into the back with a huff of frustration and a promise to return.

And suddenly, it was just me.

And her.

Kathrine wasted no time. She was already pouring something thick and purple into two shot glasses.

"To corruption!" she chirped.

"To chaos," I replied, and downed it with a grin.

It tasted like pomegranate and sex crimes.

—

By the second round, I had to ask. "Just to be clear—you're not here because I used your throat like a sentient holster yesterday, right?"

Kathrine let out a breathy laugh and bit her lip like she was replaying the moment in high-definition.

"Oh, that was memorable, darling. Positively enlightening. But no. That's not the reason I'm here. Now drink up."

Sophia returned briefly to let us know she was handling logistics and that I should keep our guest entertained.

Which meant: keep her talking, keep her drunk, and—if possible—extract anything useful between the flirting and the implied dry humping.

Easy.

An hour later, I was still "acting" buzzed while Kathrine was somehow holding herself upright despite downing enough liquor to sedate a minor god.

"Hey Kat?" I asked casually. "You can really hold your shit. You enhanced?"

She blinked slowly, brain visibly lagging a half-second behind her mouth.

"Why yes," she whispered conspiratorially. "Psionic lineage. Old blood. Makes us... sturdier. I've been slacking on training, but I'd wager I'm tougher than some metal maniacs. Oops."

She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth like a schoolgirl who'd farted during meditation class.

"Don't tell anyone," she slurred, poking my chest with increasing inaccuracy. "Big family secret."

"I won't," I said smoothly. "And to get even... I'll tell you one of mine."

Her eyes lit up like Christmas on an opium trip.

I leaned in. Just enough to press my lips against the shell of her ear.

Her whole body shuddered.

"When I awakened," I whispered, "I didn't just get one gift. I got three."

Half-truth. I had more.

But three was enough to shock her into arousal.

"T-T-Three?" she stammered, her pupils expanding as if my words had unzipped her DNA. "That's... incredible. Just one power makes you a national resource. But three...?"

Her thighs pressed together. Her breath hitched.

"Can you show me one?"

"Sure." I reached out with exaggerated flair, pointed to a bottle of peach schnapps across the room, and summoned it to my hand with telekinetic precision. The bottle obeyed like a loyal dog.

I uncapped it and took a swig.

Kathrine clapped like an audience plant. "You're drunk and precise. That's hot. I knew there was a reason my little Hailey found you irresistible."

"Greedy much?" I teased. "One secret per secret."

—

Fifteen more minutes.

Kathrine had an idea.

"Hey stud," she cooed, reaching into her clutch and producing two microtablets the size of a pinkie fingernail. "You wanna party hard?"

I raised a brow. "Depends. How many galactic laws are we violating?"

She rolled her eyes. "Takot. Technically illegal. But being decriminalized. No long-term effects. Total sensory enhancement."

I considered.

My body could process poisons like candy. So even if this was secretly engineered by a rogue chemist, I'd survive. Probably.

I nodded.

She dropped the pills into our respective drinks.

Downed.

We both shuddered.

The taste was chemical love and bad decisions—but more interesting was the effect. For her? Euphoria, heat, immediate vulnerability. For me?

The drug interacted with a neurochemical junction in my thalamus.

Specifically the sex-response sub-spiral.

It was a goddamn aphrodisiac.

Clever cunt.

She wasn't trying to party.

She was trying to prime me.

Five minutes later, the first wave hit.

We both groaned.

"Holy shit, that's awesome!" I exclaimed, adding a dash of drunken exaggeration.

"Right?" she laughed. "Come on! Let's dance!"

She tried to pull me up—and fell. Directly onto my lap.

Her palm landed on my crotch.

Accidentally.

Sure.

My body registered the touch and the chemical reaction deepened. Arousal. Thalamic resonance. Rising heat.

Interesting.

She led me out into the club.

It was full now—sub-hive had worked fast. Music thundered. Lights danced. People were already sloshed, half-fucked, and grinding like their lives depended on pelvic friction.

Kathrine dragged me to the center of the dance floor and began moving.

Seductively. Strategically.

Every move was choreographed chaos.

A twerk, a stumble, a "mistaken" grind. Her hand kept finding its way to my chest. My arms. My hip. At one point, her thigh just landed between my legs.

It was like dancing with a banshee who'd been trained in erotic infiltration.

And then, finally, Sophia returned.

She didn't even raise her voice—just appeared beside us like an executioner in heels and dragged Kathrine back to the VIP suite by the elbow.

"Lady Kathrine," she said with ice. "Your guards are more provocative than deterrent. I'm done waiting. Why are you here?"

Kathrine was swaying. Her head bobbed like a drunk sea buoy.

But when she opened her eyes?

Clarity.

"Fine!" she slurred. "But after I tell you, me and Irvine are going back to dancing!"

She steadied herself with the sheer power of aristocratic will and declared:

"I want to temporarily employ Irvine Lambdason into my service. There. Said it. Now let's fuck—I mean dance!"

Sophia shoved her back into the couch with one hand.

---

Author's Note: A Heartfelt Message from Me to You

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"Explain."