Page 29 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
“So we’re stuck in here until rehearsal ends.” Locke ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up in several directions. He looked rumpled and stressed and impossibly young standing there in Jack’s forest.
“Yes.” Jack said it carefully, watching Locke’s face for anger, for blame.
Instead, Locke sighed. Then, to Jack’s surprise, he sat down on the soft moss, leaning back against one of the ancient trees. “Well. At least it’s pretty.”
Jack stood there, frozen. “You’re not angry.”
“I’m getting used to your gestures ending in magical disasters.” Locke paused, wincing slightly. “That sounded meaner than I meant it.”
“No, you’re right. Everything I try goes wrong.” Jack sank down across from him, his robes pooling in the moss. The forest hummed around them, peaceful and ancient. This was his magic, his realm, and Locke was sitting in it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey. You’re trying. That counts for something.”
Those carved features shifted, softening, opening. The carved mouth curved up, the triangular eyes widening slightly. “Does it?”
“Yeah. It does.” Locke looked around at the impossible forest, golden light filtering through amber leaves, the stream singingits quiet song. “And I’m definitely keeping this forest. It’s going in my room.”
Jack went very still. “Truly?”
“Are you kidding? This is the coolest thing ever. Disaster or not.” Locke picked at the moss, fingers trailing through the soft green. He didn’t quite meet Jack’s gaze. “Why are you doing this Jack?”
The question hung between them. Jack could answer. Could tell him about the 259 years alone, about the desperation, about not wanting to go back to that empty castle. About how Locke’s magic made colors vivid again, made him feel solid and real andpresentin a way he hadn’t been in centuries.
But not yet. Not until he got one of these gestures right.
“I won’t tell you until it works out.”
Locke chuckled, the sound soft and fond. But underneath it, something else. Something uncertain.
What did that mean? What did it mean to be courted by a deity? What did a relationship with Jack even look like? Would it last? Could it? Jack was immortal, powerful, literally a god. And Locke was just... Locke. A guy who worked in his grandmother’s candle shop. A guy who couldn’t even hold onto a human boyfriend.
What if Jack got bored? What if Locke wasn’t enough? What if this was just novelty, the first person to summon him in centuries, and once the shine wore off...
Locke pushed the thoughts away. They were trapped in a miniature magical forest. He could spiral about his inadequacy later.
Above them, the clouds finally cleared completely. The crew had gathered around the tiny forest, poking at it, examining it. Someone, Jimmy probably, was gesticulating wildly, no doubt already rewriting the play to include this “amazing special effect.”
Jack and Locke sat in comfortable silence, waiting for everyone to leave, trapped in a piece of the Loam that smelled like autumn and magic and possibilities Locke wasn’t sure he was brave enough to reach for.
Chapter Nine
Thebreak-inhappenedlatethat night.
The front window was shattered, glass scattered across the floor like dangerous snow. The register had been forced open. Empty, thank god, because Grandma had taught him to never leave cash overnight. A few candles were knocked over, some crystals scattered, but the magical inventory behind its warded door remained untouched.
Grandma’s protections held.
Locke spent hours at the police station, giving his statement, filling out forms. By the time he trudged back upstairs to the apartment, exhausted and wrung out, Jack was pacing.
The familiars hovered nearby, staying out of his way. Jack moved in long strides, sharp turns, his robes snapping with each pivot. The carved features were tense, the carved mouth curved into something sharp.
“Boss, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Bramble muttered from his perch on the windowsill.
“Some ill begotten fiend dared to enter this sacred space to take what does not belong to them!” Jack’s voice was tight with fury he could barely contain. He hadn’t been this agitated since... since Locke couldn’t remember. Maybe ever.
“The bad guys are gone now though!” Pip offered hopefully, doing a nervous loop in the air.
Russet adjusted his vest, worried. “My lord, you’re not thinking of doing something... dramatic, are you?”
