Page 10 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
“My grandma.” Locke’s voice went defensive, protective. “It’s my grandma’s room. She’s into… witchy stuff. Crystals and herbs and—it’s a vibe. Doesn’t mean it’s real.”
Ah. So the older magic belonged to his grandmother. The song he’d been following, the beautiful melody woven into this space was hers.
Not all knowledge had been lost. Someone still remembered.
The thought made him feel at ease, just slightly.
Centuries of silence, of being forgotten, of fading in an empty castle only to be summoned by a warlock who didn’t even know what he was.
The absurdity of it was almost funny. Almost.
If it weren’t so desperately sad.
“Perhaps,” he said, raising his hand, “a demonstration.”
Locke watched as three pumpkins materialized in the air.
Appeared out of nothing. Palm-sized, floating, rotating slowly with no strings, no wires, just pumpkins suspended in midair.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
Jack-o’-lantern faces carved themselves into the orange flesh. One grinning, one surprised, one sticking its tongue out. They glowed from within, warm golden light that cast dancing shadows across Grandma’s walls.
The tops popped off like lids.
Three tiny figures emerged.
They had wings. Gossamer, translucent wings that caught the light and threw sparkles across the room. Each one wore aminiature pumpkin on their head. They were the size of Locke’s thumb.
And they were flying.
In Grandma’s bedroom.
In reality.
“Finally.” The first one stretched, adjusting its pumpkin-hat. The carved face was scowling. “Do you know how boring it’s been? Two hundred and fifty-nine years of NOTHING.”
It TALKED.
The thing TALKED.
“My lord,” the second one said, smoothing down a tiny vest. Its pumpkin was carved with a dignified expression. “I must say, this is quite the dramatic summoning. Are you certain we’re presenting ourselves appropriately?”
The third one yanked its pumpkin off entirely and tossed it in the air, catching it while doing a backflip. “Boss! BOSS! We’re back! We’re actually BACK! Did you see how we arrived? So much style!”
They swirled around the room, leaving trails of golden sparkles that smelled like the air before a rainstorm. Real scents. Actual scents coming from FLYING FAIRIES.
Locke’s brain was trying very hard to process and failing spectacularly.
“Look at him,” the scowling one said, perching on the bedpost and crossing its tiny arms. “Doesn’t know the first thing about magic. This is who summoned us?”
The one with the wild grin zoomed straight at Locke’s face, stopping inches from his nose. “We’re SO cute though! Hi! I’m Pip! What’s your name? Do you have snacks? Can we stay? This is the BEST summoning ever!”
Too close. It was too close. Locke could see its tiny face, the way its mouth actually MOVED when it talked, the individual segments of its wings.
“Pip, personal space!” The dignified one fluttered over, shooing the enthusiastic one away. “You’re being terribly rude. Apologize to the young warlock immediately.”
“He’s not a warlock,” the scowling one said, examining Locke like he was a disappointing science project. “He’s a baby. Look at him.”
