Page 43 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
Rowan leaned forward, eyes gleaming, and poured himself another glass of tea. “Bitch, you better spill the tea. What the fuck does he look like?”
“Beautiful. Ethereal. He’s a freaking elf. Like a real elf. Or fae. He’d call himself fae.”
“Holy shit! You mean like Lord of the Rings? With the pointed ears and everything?”
“Yes. He even has this crown of beautiful vines.”
Rowan grinned, wicked and delighted. “I bet he’s big as a horse.”
They both lost it.
Laughing so hard Locke’s sides hurt, tears streaming down his face for an entirely different reason now. Rowan was cackling, nearly spilling his tea, and it was perfect. Ridiculous and perfect and exactly what Locke needed.
“Oh my god, I’m right, aren’t I? Oh shit. Yes. Okay, yeah, this is a freaking plan. We’re gonna go through the grimoire, and Ineed to learn some of these spells! Who’s next, winter? Winter is coming, bitch.”
They dissolved into laughter again, and Locke felt something click into place.
Rowan made it sound so simple. So obvious. And maybe that’s because it was.
People left home to build lives with the people they loved. That was normal. Expected. He could come back. Every year. See his family. See Rowan. Keep both worlds.
“I really do wanna be with Jack,” Locke said, and the words made it real. Made it true. “I want to know where this is gonna go.”
“Well, the only way you’ll know is if you just simply do it. And if he mistreats you in any way, then I’ll go to that Loam myself and give him a piece of my mind.”
They hugged, and Locke held on tight, grateful beyond words for this person who’d been by his side since kindergarten.
“Jack was upset with me. I want to find him.”
“Yeah, but he said he’s not leaving until midnight, right? And you still gotta run the haunted house. There’s already people outside, last time I checked.”
Locke rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But if you see Jack, please tell him to stop by the haunted house so we can talk.”
He smiled, really smiled, for the first time since Jack left. “I’m gonna see what this whole god thing is all about.”
They both laughed, giddy with possibility.
Chapter Twelve
Dark.
Jack sat in darkness of his own making, wrapped in it like a shroud. The basement of Briar House was already dim, but the giant pumpkin he’d manifested around himself blocked out even that. No carved face. No light. Just smooth melancholic gloom and the weight of his own misery.
He’d teleported here the moment Locke hesitated. The moment he saw that fear in those hazel eyes and realized what it meant.
I’m not enough. Even after everything, I’m not enough to make him come with me.
Two hundred and fifty-nine years of loneliness, and he’d let himself hope. Let himself believe that maybe, finally, someone wanted him. Not Lord Mabon, Harvest God, keeper of ancient traditions. But the being beneath the title.
He’d been a fool.
The familiar bond hummed at the edge of his awareness. Bramble, Russet, and Pip were scattered through the town,watching the final Samhain celebrations. He could see through their eyes if he wanted. Could watch the mortals celebrate the holiday that would send him back to the Loam at midnight.
He didn’t want to watch.
But Bramble’s vision pushed through anyway, insistent. Urgent.
Locke.
