It began with an unusually quiet afternoon in the greenhouse.
Too quiet.
The usual hum of pollen sprites, the burbling of the lily-fountain, and the off-key humming of the pollen ghost in the rafters had vanished. Even Gary was suspiciously silent, which is never a good sign. Normally by this time of day he'd be complaining about humidity or asking for tea.
Then I spotted it. The rarest bloom in my collection: a Starblossom, glowing faintly under a beam of filtered sunlight, petals shimmering like spun glass. It had appeared only three nights ago, blooming unannounced in the far corner of the greenhouse—a miracle of botanical jackpot luck. Its pollen was said to grant visions... or possibly make you hiccup glitter for a week. No one was entirely sure.
And now, I wasn't alone.
Through the glass, I saw shadows moving. Three figures in mismatched cloaks slipped into the greenhouse, their movements careful, predatory. Thieves. And they were after my Starblossom.
"Bramble," I whispered, crouching beside the nearest planter. "Activate Plan Thorn."
Bramble's leaves quivered with excitement. "Finally. I've been rehearsing this for weeks." His fronds shimmied like he was about to walk onto a stage. In my mind, I flashed back to last week's 'training drills'—Bramble directing pufffruits to time their glitter-bursts, vines practicing tripwire lunges on an unsuspecting garden gnome, and a mock heist involving a stolen watering can. He'd even drawn tiny diagrams in the dirt, explaining the 'element of surprise' to a very confused cabbage. Clearly, this was his moment.
The castle plants had been preparing for a day like this ever since the pantry revolt. They'd designed a series of elaborate defenses inspired by every Home Alone trap I'd ever described to them—plus a few that were entirely their own invention.
The thieves crept forward, taking their first step onto the greenhouse floor—and triggered a cascade of pollen spores. Pufffruits burst overhead in glittering explosions, coating the intruders in shimmering dust. They coughed, stumbled... and kept going.
"Release Phase Two!" I hissed.
From above, the hanging vines dropped like snakes, wrapping around the thieves' ankles. They toppled with undignified yelps, landing in a bed of giggle-berries. The berries lived up to their name—the thieves erupted into uncontrollable laughter, rolling helplessly. One of them wheezed out, "Why are they... so funny?" before dissolving into more cackles.
Gary poked his head out from his hanging basket, surveying the scene like a theatre critic at a particularly shoddy dress rehearsal. "Oh dear," he muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "form is terrible, footwork sloppy, and your pollen-dodging technique? Amateur hour." He sipped his tea with exaggerated refinement before adding, "My vote's for Phase Three. It's the dramatic one." "My vote's for Phase Three. It's the dramatic one."
"Fine. Phase Three," I said.
The carnivorous snapvines yawned wide, their leafy maws curling into something like a grin. They lashed gently but firmly around the intruders, pinning them to the floor with surprising tenderness. Bramble gave a satisfied rustle.
Gary descended slightly in his basket, teacup in hand, and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," he said in his most regal tone, "you've trespassed in the domain of the Bloom Witch. Your choices are simple: leave empty-handed... or become fertilizer. Personally, I recommend the first option. Less messy."
The thieves stilled, their eyes darting from Gary to the looming plants. One tried to squirm, only for a snapvine to adjust its grip with the firmness of a mother tucking in a child.
By the time I stepped into view, they were whimpering apologies, still dusted with golden pollen and tangled in vines. One muttered something about never trusting "the guy with the map" again.
I plucked the Starblossom from its stand and tucked it safely into a warded planter. "This bloom stays here," I told them. "And if you ever return... my plants will remember you."
We let them go—mostly because Bramble complained about having to keep them tied up during his afternoon nap, and also because the scene was descending into slapstick chaos. One thief tried to run and skidded on a carpet of stray petals, colliding with the other two like a badly aimed bowling ball. A rogue seed pod bounced off a shelf, ricocheted across the room, and pelted them toward the door. The pollen ghost, ever the dramatic soul, hummed a triumphant victory march as they scrambled away about having to keep them tied up during his afternoon nap. The thieves bolted from the greenhouse so fast they left behind one boot, three lockpicks, and a bag of slightly squashed sandwiches.
As the pollen ghost resumed humming overhead, the Starblossom gleamed softly in its safe planter, its petals catching the last slants of light like a smug little crown jewel. Bramble stood nearby, flexing his vines in victory, while a pufffruit drifted down lazily, clearly proud of its glittery contribution to the chaos.
Another day, another chaos averted—and this one with extra sparkle.
Now my plants had a taste for setting traps, and they were buzzing with ideas for the next encounter. Gary, of course, is already drafting blueprints for an elaborate "welcome tour" that apparently involves a guided tripwire experience, complimentary spore showers, and something he calls the 'Petal Gauntlet.' I'm not sure whether to be proud, worried... or start charging admission.