I think I have a black thumb. I put in plants...they all die. Of course taking my troll's hammer out to the seedlings is probably not that helpful.But I get so impatient. Maybe there is a spell. Or is magical gardening illegal in Sang Sacre?

Or is magical gardening illegal in Sang Sacre?

You're pronouncing "encouraged" with too many Ls, erika.

Speaking of which... I hear Gud is going above and beyond previous years with the unnatural fertilizer. Now, I've been playing fair so far, but a girl can't beat radioactive isotopes without a little help. So I looked up a few spells, and I'm gonna give the peppermint roses a little kick.

I dig my fingers into the soil at the base of my big rosebush, mutter a few words in an arcane tongue, and feel the power seeping through my fingers. The plant rustles, as if a wind is blowing through it. That'd be the magic, working properly for once. I hope.

I stand up, brush the dirt off my fingers, and head inside. This time, I'm going into the Garden Expo with a fair chance.

"No."

"gardening! pretty flowers!"

I wave the gardening catalog that I confiscated from him in front of Clovis' nose. "These are not pretty flowers. These are dangerous, and will not help you in your goal to take over the world."

Pete comes out from his art studio in back. "What are you on about now? What has the Devilbunny done this time?"

"nothing bad. looking at pretty flowers. for jilli! surprise!"

I show Pete the catalog. He raises an eyebrow, looks at Clovis, then looks back at me. "He said 'surprise'. Are you sure he hasn't ordered them already and they'll just turn up in the flowerbox?"

Clovis waggles his ears indignantly. "nooooo. don't have very own credit card to place order with."

I toss the catalog into the recycling bin, then pick up my Devilbunny. "Why don't you leave gardening to people who like it AND won't destroy things in the process? We'll go visit Amy Parker and look at her flowers."

"stop for coffee and sugary treats first?"

"Oh, alright."

I look at Pete, and realize what he's singing under his breath. "Stop it. You'll only encourage him."

" ... feed me, Seymore, feed me all night ... Oh, alright. Clovis, how were you planning on feeding that plant once you got it?"

"ask connie's friend for help."

I shake my head, give Pete a kiss, and head out the door.

Just for fun I've created several more King Tulips in various colours. Actually, more like several hundred. Damned things are addictive, and besides, I want to try something.

I corral the tulips into the center of the yard, then divide them into small groups. The leader of each group gets a small gift tag to carry.

"Okay, kids. Off you go. Don't get lost!"

The flowers head out. They should be able to go for a mile or two before they need to re-root themselves. With luck, they'll still be nice and fresh for their recipients - all the nice folks in Sang Sacre who've helped me out with the business and the evil-fighting and the hunting and the whatnot.

I do hope no-one's familiar tries munching on the bulbs. I'm sure they'd be bad for bears, bunnies and other living and kind-of-living things.

I'm going to experiment with growing my favorite strawberry-and-banana tree. Cause everyone knows they taste better together anyway. Magical gardening has gotten me into trouble in the past, but as long as I stay away from aphrodisiacs this time I should be fine.

Since I seem to have acquired a primarily nocturnal roommate, I got Bob his own email address on the computer--note to self: make him buy his own computer so I have a chance to work without him pouting about catching up on his boards and chatrooms--but now I'm not so sure.

"What are the refrigerated boxes for, Bob?" I ask, staring at the boxes just delivered by a courier.

"Nothing. Just some gardening supplies."

"They've got biological warnings on them, Bob. And what's that sticker that says '100% Willing Donors: Guaranteed!' mean?"

"Well, People for the Ethical Treatment of Edible Sentient Species keeps making a stink about where, well, some people get their food, is all. Something about it not being nice sneaking up on innocent folk out for a walk in the middle of the night and having dinner on them."

I've never really wanted to think about Bob's ... diet and where he acquires it, but somehow I don't think he's the ultra-modern sort to like his food pre-packaged for easy nuking. He's much more the whole foods, free range, "hunt it down yourself" kind.

"So ... do I need to clean out room in the fridge for you?"

He's checking his email and sending out messages saying "Your shipment is ready for delivery, please specify method" and things like that. "Thanks, but no. Like I said, gardening supplies."

Stupid me, I actually have to think for a moment before I realize that he's probably being absolutely serious. "There are going to be electric fences and chicken wire all over the Garden Show again this year, aren't there."

"After what happened to that toddler last year, I wouldn't be surprised."

We pull up to the weed infested empty lot in my fusion powered Matador wagon.

"There it is, the garden plot." I comment to Inga, my assistant.

We get out of the wagon and start unloading the supplies, a metal box with the seedlings, four posts for the sentry system, a sign, a remote control, and two sunglasses. While we're busy unloading, I notice all the people enjoying the outdoors this fine day.

"This weather is really bringing people outside."

Inga looks around. "That and the blackout from starting the car."

"I need to fix that someday." I say as I slam shut the wagon's hatch. "Deploy the sentry system and I'll plant the garden."

Inga goes to each corner of the lot and activates a post. Meanwhile, I walk out to the center of the lot and dump out the contents of the metal box. After Inga activates the last post, I use the remote to set my plants to "assimilate".

The seedlings attack and infect the weeds. My garden of Gudflowers expands like ripples in a pond, only stopped by the invisible barrier defined by the sentry posts. I switch the remote to "display".

The field of flowers begin shifting through a database of bloom types and colors. Red, yellow, purple, white, blue, chrome, rainbow, and a million other shades.

"Impressive. Do you think it'll win?" Asks Inga.

I pick up the sunglasses. I hand one pair to Inga and don the other pair for myself. Then I adjust the remote and flag down a passerby. "Miss, miss could you give me your opinion on this garden?"

The women looks at the shifting patterns of colors and shapes for a couple of seconds. "Well, it's uh... uh...all hail the Gudflower. All power to the Gudflower" She finishes off in a monotone that would make a zombie proud.

"It's in the bag, Inga." I turn off the hypo-display and pound in my Do not sniff the flowers. Extreme danger. sign before getting back in the wagon and returning the castle.

Roses, cliched, or classic? I lean toward the latter view myself, but who know how demented Sang Sacre judges are - or in what way.

I judiciously trim a few leaves from the big white and check for aphids. I find none. This may be because I fertilize with a substance of my own creation which is supposed to give pests horrible dreams - but how do you check something like that?

One of the fat buds has already opened. The bloom is pearly white with a berry-pink center. I generously water the roots, then hold my glass to the single flower. Within a few seconds my glass is half-full.

I swirl the contents of my glass and take a sniff. Flowery. That seems appropriate. There's a bit of a honey scent, some acid undertones. I hesitantly bring the glass to my lips.

Damnation! It's too sweet! This crap is more fit for a high school hen party than a Sang Sacre flower show.

I give the rose bush a moody pat and a few words of encouragement. After all, it's my fault the wine sucks. I look at the Shiraz Red which has yet to bloom. Sigh. Back to the drawing board.

"Honey...a giant, walking tulip just ate the mailman." I turn away from the mail slot, still crouching.

She calls down from her bubble-bath. "Did he have mail for us."

I look out again.

Chomp...chomp...chomp

"Yep. Looks like bills though."

Water splashes and bubbles float down the stairs. She giggles, so I assume she is reading her Interactive Harlequin Romance Firefly books TM again.

"Just as long as it wasn't my Nathan Fillian Pillow Slips TM," she says.

I don't know what to say to that, so I shrug. I let the mail slot close on the gruesome carnage, and retire to the kitchen. Maybe I should whip up some Gina Torres cheesecakes...

"I thought you didn't want him gardening." Phred tossed back the last of his ice tea.

"I got tired of the whining. A whining penguin is one of the most obnoxious sounding things ever. So I told him he could dig his own garden in that little patch over there. There'll be turnips, oh, and those stupid beans he got with my twenty bucks."

"Well, maybe it'll work out. I like turnips."

"Yeah, I figured he couldn't get into too much trouble. What could possibly go wrong with beans?"