Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Light filtered through the pocket dimension in shades of amber and gold, catching on the autumn leaves that cushioned them like the world’s most extravagant bed.
Locke woke slowly, pleasantly aware of three things: he was tangled up with Jack, he was happily sore in places that reminded him exactly why, and he really, really didn’t want to move.
Ever.
Morning,“ he mumbled against Jack’s chest.
“Same to you.”
Locke stretched, feeling the pull of well-used muscles, and grinned. A leaf fell from his hair. “I can’t believe we fell asleep here.”
“We did.”
The pocket dimension hummed around them, that strange alive quality that made everything feel suspended between dreams and reality.
“Depending on what time it is, people are gonna show up here and we’re gonna have to explain why two naked dudes are laying around in front of a bunch of kids.”
Jack’s hand traced lazy patterns on Locke’s back. “You have nothing to fear. We’re in a pocket dimension. Only the most attuned would be able to sense our presence, but no one will see us.”
“Good, cause I really don’t wanna leave.”
Neither of them moved. Instead, Jack tilted Locke’s chin up and kissed him. A slow and thorough tasting. Different from last night’s desperate hunger. This was softer. Deeper.
Locke melted into it, his heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it had been doing around Jack for weeks now. Except it wasn’t stupid. Not when Jack kissed him so gently.
When they finally broke apart, Locke sighed. “I hate that this is coming to an end.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“I promised Rowan I would work the haunted house today and don’t wanna break my promise to him.”
“I’m not talking about Rowan.” Jack’s voice went quiet. Careful. “I’m talking about us and what we have. It doesn’t have to end. Tonight will be my final night here. Once the clock strikes midnight, I’ll return to the Loam.”
The words hit like cold water to the face. Locke pushed up on his elbow, staring down at Jack. “What? You’re going to leave?”
“I’m an autumn deity, remember? I was only able to come here because of you, and the power of these mortals and their celebrations, along with your constant belief in me, kept me sustained here.
But there are rules I must abide by, and I’m not the only seasonal deity in existence.
Winter will be taking over soon, and so I must depart. ”
“I don’t want you to go. Not after everything we’ve been through together.”
Jack’s hand cupped his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “That’s why I’m asking you to come with me. Join with me entirely as my other half, and together we’ll live forever as gods of the harvest.”
Locke’s breath caught. His brain stuttered to a halt, trying to process what Jack was telling him.
“But what would that mean?” The words came out smaller than he intended. “That I’ll never see my grandma again? Abandon her shop and Pumpkin while she’s away and never see my friends again?”
“You wouldn’t be the only warlock to have ever lived there.
Technically, it’s your ancestral realm.” Jack sat up, his heart full of want and hope.
“But what I wish to offer is more than just living there. I want you bound to me as my consort. As one being. I can share my power with you, and together we will live as gods.”
Consort. Bound together. One being.
It sounded like forever. It sounded like marriage. It sounded like everything Locke had been too afraid to hope for after Corbin destroyed his ability to trust good things.
And that’s what made him freeze.
Because good things didn’t happen to him. People didn’t want to keep him. They got bored, they left, they found someone better, they...
Jack’s face shuttered.
The warmth in his expression iced over, replaced by something Locke had never seen before: hurt. Raw and bleeding and trying desperately to hide itself.
“But I see that doesn’t sound appealing to you.”
“Jack…“
But Jack was already standing, and his head was transforming. The beautiful fae features Locke had kissed and memorized disappeared behind carved pumpkin, the glow of the jack-o’-lantern face dimming to something hollow. Empty.
Defensive.
His clothing materialized around him in a shimmer of autumn magic. Fully dressed and untouchable in the span of a heartbeat.
“I’ll celebrate my last night here and take my leave.” Jack’s voice came out formal. Distant. Like he was speaking to a stranger. “I’ll—I’ll always remember you, Locke Shadehaven.”
The full name hit like a slap. Cold and final.
“Jack… wait…”
But Jack was gone. Teleported away in a swirl of leaves and fading magic, leaving Locke alone on a bed of autumn leaves that suddenly felt cold and ordinary.
The pocket dimension shuddered.
Oh, fuck.
Locke scrambled for his clothes as the walls began to dissolve, that translucent shimmer flickering like a dying lightbulb. His jeans were inside out. His shirt had leaves stuck to it. He could hear voices from the regular maze getting louder. Tourists, families, kids.
He shoved his legs into his jeans, hopping on one foot. The dimension wavered.
Get dressed get dressed get dressed.
His shirt went on backwards. He fixed it, fingers fumbling. The dimension flickered again.
His head was pounding. Jack’s face when he left. That hurt. That resignation. Like he’d expected Locke to reject him all along.
I didn’t mean…I just needed to think—
But he’d hesitated. And Jack had seen it as rejection.
Fuck.
Locke shoved his feet into his shoes just as the pocket dimension dissolved completely. He stumbled out of the maze proper, trying to look casual, picking hay out of his hair.
His heart was pounding. His thoughts were a mess.
The tourists were too loud. Everything felt sharp-edged and wrong in a way that made Locke want to crawl back into that pocket dimension and rewind the last ten minutes.
“What were you doing in there?”
Locke’s head snapped up. Rowan stood by the ticket booth, eyebrows raised, half-smirking like he was ready to tease the hell out of whatever answer Locke gave.
Then Rowan’s eyes landed on his neck (on what was definitely a very obvious hickey) and he blushed. “Never mind.”
But the smirk faded fast. Rowan’s expression shifted to that particular look of concern that Locke had seen a hundred times growing up. The look that said I know you, and something’s wrong.
“Wait a minute.” Rowan stepped closer, searching his face. “What happened? Key, are you okay?”
Key.
Rowan only called him that when he was sad. When they were kids and Locke skinned his knee. When Corbin made him cry. When things were bad and Rowan needed him to know he wasn’t alone. he thought he was so clever back in elementary school when he came up with the nickname.
Locke’s throat closed up.
“Yeah,” he managed, but his voice came out wrong. Thin. Brittle.
“What happened to you in the maze?” Rowan’s concern sharpened into something fiercer. “I’m gonna raise holy hell if anybody hurt you.”
“The only person doing the hurting was me.”
“Is this about Jack?”
Locke nodded.
And then, humiliatingly, he started crying.
Right there in front of the maze. In front of tourists and families and the person manning the ticket booth next to Rowan who was definitely staring. Tears just came, hot and messy and completely beyond his control.
“Hey, can you take over ticket sales?” Rowan was already moving, one hand on Locke’s shoulder, steering him away from the crowd.
“Come on. Let’s go to my house. We can talk freely there.
My parents love Halloween, so they’re out doing their thing.
Probably trying to get people to try Mom’s spooky charcuterie board. ”
Rowan’s house (or more accurately, his parents’ house) sat on the edge of town, a modest country-style home that should have looked normal. Would have looked normal anywhere else. But this was Hollow Hill, and Rowan’s mom had gone full Halloween enthusiast.
Real pumpkins lined the porch, carved into actual art pieces that Jack would probably approve of.
The front lawn sported a fake graveyard complete with weathered headstones.
Paper bats hung from the eaves. A scarecrow slumped in a rocking chair, wearing what looked suspiciously like one of Rowan’s hand-sewn jackets.
Inside, the house smelled like something spicy and rich was baking. the house was comfortable, lived in, and safe and Locke had almost preferred it to the apartment above the shop.
Locke sank into the couch and wiped at his face. His eyes felt puffy. His chest ached.
“I’ve been holding everything in,” he said quietly, “and I don’t even know how much of it you’d believe.”
Rowan sat across from him, patient. Present. “Key, I’ll believe anything at this point. Why the hell not? I already suspected a few things, but I don’t have the whole picture.”
Locke took a breath. Steadied himself.
“Jack is… a supernatural…being. That's the best way i can explain it. He’s a being that I summoned during the play. By accident.”
Silence.
Locke waited for the disbelief. The laughing. The you’ve lost your mind.
“I KNEW IT!” Rowan practically launched forward, pointing at him. “I knew there was something strange about him! I mean, come on! He’s been walking around with a pumpkin mask for damn near an entire month, and I’m quite sure that’s like a real pumpkin and it hasn’t even rotted yet.”
They both laughed, a little hysterical, a little relieved.
“You really believe me?”