The Harlowe Community Garden wasn’t much to look at from the street. The place actually seemed like it was trying to scare away gardeners, rather than entice them in, featuring a crooked wrought-iron gate with a rusty padlock, peeling green paint, and a sign half-covered in ivy that promised “A Greener Tomorrow!” in faded letters. But stepping through the gate was like crossing into another world.

  The air was thick with green—leaf mold, fresh herbs, the damp sweetness of overturned soil. Wind chimes dangled from every arbor, clinking out half-tunes that didn’t match but somehow harmonized. Candle jars and half-burned lanterns hung from branches, giving off just enough glow to blur the edges of the path.

  And then there were the people. If you could call them that.

  At first glance, they looked normal hipsters with gardening gloves, retirees in floppy hats, teenagers clutching iced teas. But then one blurred, flickered, and burst into a glowing orb of light, drifting a few feet before reforming as the same twenty-something, now on the other side of the garden. He shook himself off like it was nothing, like phasing into ball-light was as casual as hopping a fence or popping open another bottle of kombucha.

  Elly muttered a curse under her breath. “Of course. Of course she’d send us here.”

  “They friends of yours?” I asked.

  Her jaw tightened. “Neighbors. Cousins. Rivals. Depends on the week. Will-o-Wisps are… fae-adjacent. Shifty little lantern-rats. Love tricking travelers, lighting paths into swamps and mires. And Jade knows exactly how much I hate admitting I can’t tell them no. Don’t let me talk to any of them.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What you’re saying is… this is a family reunion.”

  She shot me a look sharp enough to cut string cheese. “You’re hilarious.”

  We moved deeper down the path. More denizens revealed themselves—long-limbed figures with bark-textured skin weeding the rows, little spritely things perched on trellises like parrots, whispering gossip to each other. One tossed a pebble at Elly, and it whizzed by her ear. She didn’t even flinch.

  “Friendly neighborhood crowd,” I muttered.

  “They’re not hostile,” she said. “But they’ll remember. And if Jade meant for us to come to this place, she knew it’d drag me here too. Which means—”

  “You were the plan all along,” I finished for her, quickly recalling the receptionist at the travel agency knowing both of our names already.

  Well, shit. Outmaneuvered again by our neighborhood dumpling-wielding dragon.

  Elly didn’t reply. Her silence was louder than her voice ever could be. The manipulation sat plainly on her face. For a trickster to be played so easily clearly burned at her ego.

  We reached the center of the garden. That was where I saw it.

  At first, I thought it was just a scarecrow—something the neighborhood association had propped up to keep nosy raccoons and pesky birds away. But no. Too tall. Too still. Its arms were stretched wide, sleeves dangling, its head nothing more than a burlap sack stitched with a jagged grin. Crows perched along its shoulders, too quiet, their eyes glinting like little black marbles.

  The air near it bent funny, like heat waves rising off asphalt. And though it didn’t move, every instinct I had screamed that it was watching.

  Elly’s face had gone pale. “Threshkin.”

  “Gesundheit?”

  She shot me another glare. “Scarecrows don’t just… stand there, Daniel. Not the real ones. The wind moves them and all that. A Threshkin’s a boundary guardian. You don’t walk past unless you’ve paid the toll. And if you don’t…”

  “…you get threshed?”

  She ignored me. Which was fair.

  “Okay,” I whispered, staring at the seed packet still tucked in my jacket. “We just plant this. Easy. This is a garden…”

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  “Easy,” she repeated, like I’d just said I was going to swallow a lawnmower. She leaned close and whispered in my ear, her breath tickling. “No red, remember?”

  “Why no red?” I whispered back.

  “Threshkin see red as a challenge. Blood. Rage. War. Wear red near one, it’ll treat you like a matador.” She pointed at the crows. “And they don’t miss.”

  I swallowed. “Noted. So… what’s the plan?”

  “Distract it. Keep its eyes—”

  “Button eyes. Sack eyes.” I supplied helpfully.

  “—whatever—on me. You plant the seed.”

  Before I could argue, my phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Euryale’s name. I hesitated, easing away from Elly to answer the phone. I swiped.

  “Daniel.” Her voice was sharp. “Where are you?”

  “Uh. Garden center. Picking up seeds.”

  There was a pause. Then Lily’s voice cut in from the background: “Seeds? Is that a euphemism?”

  “It is not—” I started, but Eury cut me off.

  “You’ve been gone too long. Did you elope with Elly?”

  “No elopements yet today, Eury. Sorry to disappoint.”

  Elly, overhearing, snorted so loudly the crows twitched. “Tell her yes. Tell her we got married in a glade by candlelight and the will-o-wisps catered.”

  I covered the phone. “You’re not helping.”

  “Never said I was.”

  “Daniel.” Eury’s tone brooked no nonsense. “If you’re in danger—”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “Really. No eloping. Just… botany.”

  Another pause. Then Lily’s voice again, teasing: “If you two come back smelling like fertilizer and regret, I’m not cleaning it out of the sheets.”

  I hung up before I could die of embarrassment.

  The Threshkin twitched. Just a fraction. The grin on its burlap face seemed wider now.

  “Daniel,” Elly whispered. “Time to move.”

  She stepped forward, casual as a cat, tossing a pebble toward the scarecrow’s base. The crows stirred, heads swiveling toward her. The Threshkin creaked, its arms shifting by inches, and every hair on my arms stood up.

  That was my cue.

  I knelt by the central flowerbed, dug at the dirt with my hands, and pulled out the greasy little seed packet. My fingers shook. It felt alive, pulsing faintly against my skin.

  Behind me, Elly whistled low and sharp. Her fingers twisted and reddish sparks shot forth. “Hey, straw-for-brains. You want red? Come get it.”

  Something rustled—the sound of stalks breaking. The Threshkin turned, just enough, its stitched grin facing her. It made something akin to a hiss, as if it didn’t have lungs to do much more than gently exhale. Of course, it did appear to be made from straw, twigs, and burlap.

  I wanted to open the packet, but the directions had said to deliver unopened. But it was delivered, right? Planting was different. I tore it. It felt like the thing to do.

  The smell hit me—wet earth, copper, ozone. Inside was a single black seed the size of a walnut. It vibrated in my palm like a second heartbeat.

  The scarecrow’s shadow stretched toward me.

  I shoved the seed into the dirt and covered it fast.

  The garden went still. The crows lifted their heads in unison. The Threshkin froze mid-motion, its grin slackening, and then slowly… it bent back to its original post, arms outstretched, guarding but no longer searching.

  I exhaled hard. “That’s it? We’re done?”

  Elly stalked back, muttering under her breath. “We’re alive, which is more than I expected. That’s step one.”

  The ground under the fresh soil pulsed once. Twice. Like something was taking root.

  I stood quickly. “And step two?”

  Her eyes flicked to me. “Step two is we get the hell out of here.”

  “Yeah?”

  She glanced at the still-flickering will-o-wisps, the bark-skinned gardeners, the scarecrow that hadn’t stopped watching. “We want to be gone before we find out what that growing plant will feed.”

  The air shifted as we made for the gate, like the whole garden exhaled at once. I didn’t look back at the Threshkin. Didn’t need to. The way the crows tracked us with beady little eyes was reminder enough.

  Elly walked fast, her shoulders tight, muttering curses in languages that probably predated plumbing. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to step on any glowing moss patches that looked a little too alive.

  We passed under the crooked archway of the gate, and I thought we were free—until my neck prickled.

  Someone was watching.

  Not one of the will-o-wisps. Not the bark-skinned gardeners or the gossiping sprites. This was heavier. Colder. A weight that pressed behind my eyes.

  Across the street, beneath a flickering lamppost, stood a figure.

  At first, I thought it was just a man in a coat, loitering. But no—the proportions were wrong. Too tall. Too stiff. Its shoulders didn’t rise and fall with breath. Its head tilted in a slow, unnatural angle, like a puppet tugged by the wrong string.

  And then its chest shifted. The metal panel there—the hinged lid of an old post-office box—flipped open with a soft clack. Something pale and narrow slipped inside, like a memo being filed away. When it shut again, the sound carried across the street like a lock sealing.

  Elly froze beside me. Just for a second. Then she grabbed my wrist hard enough to hurt. “Don’t. Stare.”

  “Not staring,” I whispered, definitely staring. “What the hell is that?”

  Her voice was tight. “I don’t know...”

  “You don’t know?”

  Her nails dug deeper into my flesh. “And that makes it automatically bad.”

  I couldn’t help but agree.

  The thing didn’t move. Didn’t chase. Just stood there under the lamplight, head cocked, as though cataloging us.

  And then, in the time it took me to blink, it was gone.

  Elly was already pulling me toward the car, her shoulders rigid. “We shouldn’t stay here.”

  I glanced back one last time at the lamppost, my skin prickling. Nothing there now. Just the faint sound in my head, that metallic clack.

  We’d planted Jade’s seed. But someone—something—had taken note. Again.