Harlowe Community Garden looked the same as it had a week ago, delightfully rustic. It was inviting only to garden types: fences patched with chicken wire, a rusty padlock that Elly coaxed open with two whispered syllables, and neat rows of raised beds stretching back under the halo of streetlamps. Except now, it felt like walking into the open mouth of something that breathed slow and deep.

  “Déjà vu,” I muttered, shoving my hands in my hoodie. “Except this time, I didn’t bring snacks.”

  Elly rolled her eyes, her short dark hair catching a glimmer of orange light as she slipped through the gate ahead of me. “You’re the snack. Try to keep up.”

  I followed, feeling the ground squish under my sneakers. The air was heavy with the scent of damp soil, compost, and something sweet—like clover, but too sharp. Above, the will-o-wisp people flitted in and out of globes of light, reappearing ten feet away with their laughter trailing like bells. Wood sprites rustled unseen in the hedges, the occasional sparkle of eyes flashing between the leaves.

  And in the center of it all, the Threshkin.

  The scarecrow had grown since last time. Taller, shoulders broader, its burlap face painted with a new jagged smile. Its chest bulged where grain and roots tangled, threads writhing like veins. It stood too still, with its head cocked toward us like it remembered. It probably did.

  Elly’s hand brushed mine briefly as she pulled a pair of rune-covered gloves from her pockets and slid them on. Then she produced a pair of small gardening spades, offering me one. “Dig quietly and quickly. And no red.”

  I glanced down at my hoodie—dark gray, faint pizza stain near the hem. “We’re good.”

  She nodded once, but her lips were pressed tight. “The seedling might not be where we left it. These places have a way of rearranging themselves according to the Threshkin’s mercurial whims. Be ready for… anything.”

  Right. Because this was what counted as Tuesday night now.

  We crept along the rows. The soil seemed deeper than last time, pulling at my shoes like it wanted me barefoot. Every tomato vine turned its leaves toward us as we passed. A row of sunflowers pivoted like soldiers. Their seeds clicked against each other in a low whisper.

  My pulse drummed louder. “Do they always… stare?”

  “Yes.” Elly’s voice was clipped, focused. “Ignore it. Eyes forward.”

  I didn’t have to ask if she was scared. Her ears—pointed tonight, her glamour too thin to hide them—twitched at every rustle. She looked at home but also hunted.

  And then I saw it.

  The sapling wasn’t a sapling. It was a tree. Not huge—maybe four feet tall, its bark silver-green, its leaves glimmering faintly as though painted with moonlight. But it was far too big to have grown in a week. Its roots curled over the sides of the planter box like claws.

  Clusters of pale blossoms peeked out between the leaves, petals veined with faint red threads that pulsed like tiny capillaries. They gave off a faint sweetness, not floral exactly—more like sugar scorched on metal, the kind of smell that makes your teeth ache. Tiny fruits no bigger than marbles dangled beneath the branches, translucent as jelly and glowing faintly from within. Every so often, one split with a wet pop and released a cloud of luminous spores that drifted upward before vanishing into the night air.

  I swallowed. “Uh. That’s not portable.”

  Elly swore under her breath in a language that tasted of copper. “Jade. She knew.”

  “Of course she did.” I rubbed my temple. “What’s the plan? These little garden spades make me feel inadequate.”

  “Brute force. We yank it, before the Threshkin wakes up all the way.” She flexed her fingers, muttering a quick sigil into her palm. “You cover me.”

  “Cover you with what, this cute thing?” I waved the garden tool around.

  She glanced back, eyes sharp. “With you. You’re the null. If anything grabs me, break it with your Null powers.”

  Great. Nothing like being the magical equivalent of a fire extinguisher.

  Elly vaulted into the bed, boots sinking into damp soil, and gripped the sapling’s trunk. It shuddered under her touch, leaves rustling with a sound like laughter. I kept glancing between her and the scarecrow.

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  The Threshkin’s head twitched. Once. Twice.

  Then it stepped forward toward me, detaching from its sentry post. I brandished the gardening tool before me, waving it in a figure eight that didn’t make me feel any less foolish.

  “Uh, Elly—”

  “Not yet!” she gritted, straining against the roots, jiggling the glowing fruits on the branches. The soil groaned as if alive. “It’s deep!”

  “Is this a good time for ‘That’s what she said?’ jokes?”

  “I did say it!” She grunted, straining against the roots that actively fought to remain in this sylvan soil. “So damn deep!” She cursed.

  “Yeah, so is our grave if that thing keeps—”

  The scarecrow shrieked. A dry, tearing sound like burlap ripping, loud enough to rattle my teeth. As if that screech were a battle bugle, sprites burst from the hedges, wings buzzing, their little claws on their long limbs clutching stones, acorns, whatever they could weaponize.

  One sharp pebble clipped my cheek. Another ricocheted off the planter beside my head. I deflected the next one on the back of the spade, but only out of pure luck. Emboldened by my sudden success, I waved the tool at the nearest cluster of sprites. They responded with a barrage of improvised ammunition that was surprisingly fierce.

  “Elly!” I yelped and ducked.

  “Almost—” She braced her foot, yanking harder. The tree moaned, roots thrashing.

  I felt the sting a second too late. A stalk of sharpened corn lashed across my arm, slicing through hoodie and skin alike. Blood welled, hot and bright.

  And then—

  The sprites froze mid-air. Their glowing eyes locked on the droplets spattering the soil. Even the Threshkin faltered, its crooked grin twitching wider.

  Something inside me buzzed. Not adrenaline. Not fear. My skin prickled, like I was a wire about to spark. My heart hammered, each beat sounding like a proclamation of what I was…

  Null. Null. Null. Null. Null. Null. Null. Null. Null. Null.

  We all felt it. My anti-magic nature.

  I staggered, then cupped the blood pooling in my palm. Without thinking, I flung it.

  The droplets hit the air like sparks from a live wire. They popped, flashed, and expanded in a burst of force that rippled outward. Sprites shrieked and tumbled, wings shorting out. The Threshkin reeled, its chest splitting with a hiss of steam, tearing like an overripe fruit. Even the will-o-wisps above blinked out for half a heartbeat before snapping back.

  Silence. Then chaos.

  “Holy—” Elly gasped, wrenching one final time. With a wet rip, the sapling tore free, roots dangling like veins. “Daniel! Move!”

  I was already running, blood hot against my sleeve. She stumbled beside me, sapling over her shoulder like a medieval banner.

  The garden screamed behind us. Seeds spat from sunflowers like bullets, cracking against the fence. Pebbles pelted my back. A vine snagged my ankle—I kicked free, gasping.

  We crashed through the gate. Elly flung a quick ward over her shoulder, sparks hissing in the dirt as the fence groaned and sealed shut.

  For half a heartbeat, the world was strangely quiet. Then the first rock slammed into the hood of her hatchback.

  Elly threw the hatch open. “Go, go, go!” she shouted, shoving the sapling into the backseat, roots smacking my ear as I dove in after it.

  The windshield pinged with a hail of seeds. A dent blossomed across the roof. Something green and thorny wrapped the sideview mirror until Elly stomped the gas, tearing it free.

  The car fishtailed out of the lot, tires spitting gravel. My legs dangled out the back of the car alongside the tree’s branches, which seemed to be grasping longingly back toward its cozy home in the planter.

  Behind us, the Threshkin lurched to the fence, its arm splintering through the wire. Its stitched mouth opened, a shriek rattling the glass.

  We sped into the night.

  “Daniel?” Elly called back, her knuckles white on the wheel.

  I managed to get myself turned around, reach up, and shut the hatch, only sort of bonking myself on the head while doing so.

  “What are you doing back there?” Her eyes flickered up toward the rearview mirror as I fiddled with the seat release.

  Clumsily, I made my way into the back seat. My sleeve was soaked crimson. The sapling groaned in the trunk, leaves whispering like they knew what we’d done.

  My breath came ragged. “Okay. Okay. That was—”

  “Suicidal? Stupid?” she snapped.

  “I was gonna say effective.” I lifted my bloody hand, still tingling. “Did you see that? It was like—like a grenade.”

  Her eyes flicked to me, her gaze nearly feral, eyes as sharp as her teeth gleamed in the low light. “Do not ever do that again.”

  “I didn’t exactly plan it! It’s not like I had a real weapon to work with or anything. Stupid baby shovel.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her voice cracked, real fear in it. “Your blood isn’t just an encapsulation of you as a null. It’s… it’s fuel. You’re lucky it stunned them instead of binding you to something worse. If they’d expected it, they could’ve trapped you.”

  I slumped back, swallowing. The adrenaline buzz gave way to nausea. “I’m basically a walking biohazard.”

  “Basically.” She gritted her teeth, then hissed something sharp in fae tongue, the dashboard sparking before settling. “But you bought me time. Without you, I couldn’t have pulled the sapling.”

  The car rattled. My stomach turned. “So what now?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Just drove, jaw tight. Finally: “Now we deliver Jade her prize. And then we pray the next task doesn’t get us both killed.”

  The sapling rustled in the back, roots twitching against the upholstery.

  “Poor car.” I groaned. “She’s never paying for detailing, is she?”

  Elly’s laugh was thin and bitter. “Not a chance.”

  We didn’t notice the shadow at the far end of the block. Not until it turned its head as we sped by, watching with its expressionless face. Its silhouette was faint against the streetlamp, its chest cavity yawning open like a post office box waiting for a letter. A faint slip of paper fluttered from the slot before vanishing into nothing.

  By the time I blinked, it was gone.

  But somebody, somewhere, had just logged our transaction. And the game was still playing.