Page 4 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
Beautiful, yes. But that wasn’t what made Lord Mabon’s breath catch.
The magic rolling off him in waves. Untrained. Unconscious. Powerful.
Mine. He summoned me. He’s mine.
Locke had been having a pretty normal rehearsal up until the moment a seven-foot-tall man in a pumpkin mask appeared in a cloud of orange smoke.
Normal being relative, considering he’d moved back to Hollow Hill three weeks ago and was still processing living above his grandmother’s shop.
He’d been practicing his summoning speech, the one where his character—the once evil warlock—calls forth the Autumn King to save Halloween from some vague threat Jimmy was still workshopping. Script clutched in hand, he’d just gotten to the good part, really committing to the dramatic gesture, when—
Well.
When that happened.
The smoke. The leaves. The wind from nowhere. And now this guy, this tall, dramatic stranger, standing center stage like he owned the place while Jimmy had what appeared to be a theatrical orgasm.
Special effects. Has to be special effects. Jimmy hired someone without telling us because Jimmy is Like That.
Except Locke had helped set up today. There hadn’t been any smoke machines. Or fans. Or bags of leaves.
And the stranger looked real. Not costume-real. The robes moved as if alive, shifting with a breeze Locke could sense even though they were inside.
Locke lowered his still-raised hand slowly, watching the chaos unfold. Xander looked crushed. Rowan looked deeply skeptical. Jimmy looked like Christmas had come early.
And the pumpkin-headed man...
He turned, and even though Locke couldn’t see his eyes through the carved triangular holes, the weight of that gaze landed on him. Physical. Heavy.
Oh no.
Oh no oh no oh no.
“You.” The voice cut through the chatter, resonant and commanding. The masked figure pointed directly at Locke. “You are the one who summoned me.”
Every eye in the theater turned to Locke.
Great. Love being the center of attention.
Locke blinked. “I... what?” He glanced down at the script in his hand, then back up. “Well yeah... I have to at the end of the play. I summon you and we save Halloween.”
The stranger went still. Unnaturally still.
Why does that make me nervous?
Then he moved.
Three strides closed the distance between them. Locke barely had time to process before strong arms wrapped around him and suddenly he was up, over the man’s shoulder, staring at the floor from an entirely new perspective.
“Whoa, hey—“
The world tilted. His stomach flipped. Locke’s hands grabbed the back of those robes for balance, and oh god, they were soft and warm and real.
“You summoned me,” the man declared, his voice vibrating through Locke’s entire body. “By rights of magic, you’re mine now, little warlock.”
Locke’s brain short-circuited.
Big strong man. Carrying him. Effortlessly. Calling him his. That voice. And oh Gods did he smell good.
