Chapter 12
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.
Walking toward Briar House with purpose in his stride. Coming to work his shift at the haunted house like he’d promised Rowan. Like nothing had happened. Like Jack’s heart wasn’t currently manifested as a giant depressed pumpkin in the basement.
Then someone stepped into Bramble’s line of sight. A young man, moving fast, intercepting Locke. Talking urgently. Apologizing.
Jack focused despite himself.
“Who is that?” he asked through the bond.
“I...I don’t know, my lord,” Bramble responded, uncertain. “They’re talking like they know each other.”
“Hey!” Pip chimed in, his voice sharp with recognition. “That’s Corbin. Locke’s former boyfriend or some shit.”
Jack went very still.
The man reached out. Pulled Locke close. And kissed him.
Something in Jack’s chest turned to ice. Then fire. Then nothing at all.
Locke wasn’t pulling away. The kiss lasted seconds but felt like years. Proof of what Jack already knew: Locke had chosen his human life. His human love. His safe, mortal existence over eternity with a forgotten god.
“Bramble.” His voice came out flat. Controlled. “Look away.”
“My lord...”
“Look. Away.”
The vision cut off, leaving Jack alone in the darkness again.
This was better. Cleaner. Locke could have his human life, his shop, his friends, his apparently-not-so-ex boyfriend. And Jack would return to the Loam and the castle and the endless seasons turning without meaning. Just like before.
Except now he’d know what he was missing.
Now he’d know what it felt like to wake up with someone tangled around him. To hear laughter in his kitchen. To be looked at like he mattered.
A thought slithered through his mind, dark and possessive and entirely unbefitting of someone who claimed to love: I could take him anyway. I’m a god. He’s a warlock. I could bring him to the Loam, bind him to me. Make him mine whether he wants it or not.
Jack shoved the thought down hard, disgusted with himself.
He didn’t want a consort who hated him. Didn’t want Locke looking at him with resentment and regret for the rest of eternity. If he couldn’t have Locke’s heart, he didn’t want Locke at all.
Even if it killed him.
“My lord?” Russet’s voice came through the bond, hesitant. “It’s Samhain. Our last night here. Shouldn’t we...do something? Celebrate? One last hurrah before we return to the castle?”
Jack said nothing. What was there to say? What was there to celebrate?
“My lord?” Russet tried again, softer.
Still nothing. Just the darkness and the ache and the counting down of hours until midnight.
Then he felt it. A presence entering Briar House above him. Familiar magic, bright and raw and Locke.
“How DARE he hurt you!” Pip’s fury exploded through the bond. “Who wouldn’t want to come live in our palace? It’s the most beautiful of all the seasons!”
“Pip, don’t—“
But Pip was already gone, already confronting Locke, loyal and protective and about to make everything worse.
Locke wiped his mouth hard, like he could scrub away the memory of Corbin’s lips on his.
“I can’t believe that fucker tried to kiss me,” he muttered. “Idiot.”
Driving all night to Hollow Hill. Showing up with apologies and promises and “I’ve changed, baby, please.” And then just grabbing him and kissing him like he had any right.
Locke had shoved him off so hard Corbin stumbled. Told him exactly where he could shove his apologies. Told him to get the hell out of Hollow Hill and never come back.
The look on Corbin’s face had been satisfying. Shocked. Like he’d actually expected Locke to just fall back into his arms.
But Locke had he loved who loved him back waiting for him. Someone he’d been an idiot to hesitate with this morning.
He pushed into Briar House, ready to find Jack and fix this.
“YOU!”
Pip flew at him. “He doesn’t wanna see you!”
Locke’s heart jumped. “Where’s Jack? Is he here?”
“Get out of here! You don’t deserve him! Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done? He’s down there sulking because of YOU!”
Locke stepped forward. “Down where?”
Pip slapped both paws over his mouth. “Mmph!”
Bramble and Russet materialized, both facepalming in perfect synchronization.
“Where is Jack?” Locke demanded. “Tell me!”
“We can’t...” Bramble started.
“He doesn’t want to see anyone,” Russet finished.
“I don’t care. Where. Is. He?”
Pip crossed his arms, muzzle still covered. “We’re not telling you!”
Locke closed his eyes. Took a breath.
He could feel it. That pull he’d felt since the first night in the maze. That connection between them, warlock to deity, deeper than magic. Jack’s presence like gravity, like the moon pulling the tide.
Below him. Somewhere dark. Close.
“The basement,” Locke said, opening his eyes. “He’s in the basement.”
He moved toward the basement door.
“Stop!” Bramble blocked his path.
“You can’t go down there!” Russet flanked him on the other side.
“We won’t let you hurt him again!” Pip planted himself in front of the door, tiny but determined.
“Get out of my way.”
“No!”
Locke raised his hand, hating this but not seeing another choice. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’re not giving me a choice. Ghosty!”
The air shimmered. Ghosty materialized, translucent and grinning, baggy flannel shirt and backwards baseball cap very much frozen in 1995.
Locke could feel the bond through the magic, even felt that this little ghost child could read pieces of his mind.
it didn't matter, he needed all the help he could get and he hoped the ghost could help.
“Yo! What’s up, dude? Man, it’s been forever! What do you need? If it's another pity party then you can stuff it!”
“I need you to get them out of my way. I need to get to the basement. Don’t hurt them, just...move them.”
Ghosty cracked his knuckles. “You got it, boss man.”
The familiars shifted into fighting stances.
“We really don’t want to do this,” Bramble said quietly.
“Then don’t,” Locke pleaded. “Just let me through.”
“Can’t do that,” Russet said, flames already flickering at his paws. “We serve Lord Mabon first.”
Pip launched himself at Locke, earth magic sending tremors through the floorboards. Locke stumbled. Ghosty reacted instantly, yanking a decorative suit of armor from the corner and sending it sliding between Pip and Locke.
“Dude, personal space!” Ghosty called out.
Bramble’s vines erupted from the walls, reaching for Locke’s ankles. Ghosty ripped a painting off the wall and used it as a shield, the canvas shredding as thorns punched through.
“Hey, that was probably expensive!” Ghosty complained, tossing the ruined frame aside.
Locke dodged left, heading for the door. Russet shot a warning fireball that scorched the floor in front of him. Too close. Locke jumped back.
“I said don’t hurt him!” Bramble snapped at Russet.
“I’m not! I’m just stopping him!”
Ghosty grabbed a fake skeleton prop and hurled it at Russet, who batted it away with his tail. The bones clattered across the floor. Pip used the distraction to send a chunk of floor tile flying at Locke’s head. Ghosty caught it mid-air, momentum reversing, sending it back.
“Yo, this is not cool!” Ghosty dove in front of Locke, arms spread wide. “The dude just wants to talk to his boyfriend and be all kissy face at him!”
“He hurt Lord Mabon!” Pip shot back, earth rippling under Ghosty’s feet. But Ghosty was already floating, incorporeal when he needed to be.
The fight escalated. Bramble’s vines tried to trap Locke in a cage of thorns.
Ghosty ripped open a ceiling panel, dropping insulation and wiring that tangled the vines instead.
Russet’s flames licked higher, catching on decorations.
Pip created fissures in the floor, trying to cut off paths to the basement door.
Locke kept moving, dodging, pushing forward. He was close. So close to the door.
Russet panicked. Saw Locke’s hand reaching for the doorknob. Did the math wrong on distance and power and desperation.
Threw a fireball.
Too much. Too fast. Too strong.
Heading straight for Locke’s chest.
“STOP!”
Jack’s voice boomed through the house, shaking the walls, rattling windows. The fireball dissipated mid-air, snuffed out like a candle. Everything froze. The familiars went rigid, ears back, tails tucked.
“Do NOT hurt him!”
The command echoed. Absolute. Protective. Leaving no room for argument.
Locke didn’t wait. He grabbed the basement door, yanked it open, and ran down the stairs.
“Dude, you’re welcome!” Ghosty called after him.
The basement was dark. Cold. The kind of dark that felt intentional.
Locke reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, letting his eyes adjust. Slowly, shapes emerged from shadow. Storage boxes. Old equipment. And in the corner, massive and ominous, a giant pumpkin.
No carved face. No jack-o’-lantern grin. Just smooth, gloomy darkness made physical.
But Locke could feel Jack inside it. Feel his presence like a heartbeat.
He walked toward it slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.
“Jack? I know you’re in there.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for hesitating. For making you think I didn’t want you.”
The pumpkin didn’t respond.
“I was scared. I’ve been scared this whole time. Scared of not being good enough for you. Scared of leaving my family behind. Scared of...of losing myself. Of this being too good to be true.”
Locke got closer. Placed his hand on the smooth surface. It was warm. Alive.
“But I was overthinking it. Making it more complicated than it needs to be. Rowan helped me see that. We can figure it out.” His voice grew stronger.
More certain. “All I know is that I want to be with you. That’s enough.
Everything else? We’ll figure it out together.
I’m sorry I didn’t trust that. Trust you. Trust us.”
Locke’s forehead rested against the pumpkin. His eyes closed.
“I love you, Jack. I don’t want to be without you. Living with you, waking up to you every day...I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”
The pumpkin began to dissolve. Not breaking or shattering, just melting away like shadow at sunrise. And there was Jack, emerging from the darkness.
Not in his pumpkin-headed form. His true self. Fae. White-gold hair catching what little light filtered down. Golden skin and pointed ears and eyes like autumn itself. Beautiful and vulnerable and so, so careful.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” Jack’s voice was quiet. Guarded. “What you’re pledging?”
“Yes. I know what I want.”
Jack stepped closer but stopped just out of reach. “What about your former lover? I saw you together. He kissed you.” His voice dropped, went dangerous. “I would turn that fool into a toad for daring to touch what’s mine... if you are mine…”
Locke laughed, short and genuine. “You don’t have to do that. Though that would be funny. But you don’t have to. Because I choose you, Jack. He kissed me, and it was disgusting. I pushed him off. I wanted nothing to do with him. I don’t give a damn where he is or where he’s going.”
“You’re certain?” Jack closed the distance a little more. Hope flickered in his expression, cautious but growing. “Truly certain?”
Locke reached for him, closing the final gap between them. “To hell with this haunted house. I don’t care if you use magic to turn all these animatronics alive and the people just run out screaming. I want to take you home. And together, we’ll figure everything else out.”
Jack’s hands cupped his face. Gentle and reverent.
They kissed.
It tasted like a homecoming. Like every doubt and fear dissolving into certainty. Sweet and desperate and perfect.
“Ugh! Ew! Dude, gross!” Ghosty’s voice cut through the moment. “Send me back, I don’t wanna see this lovey-dovey crap!”
They ignored him completely. Kept kissing. Kept holding each other like they’d never let go again.
“This is so not rad...” Ghosty faded out, still complaining.
Above them, they could hear the familiars celebrating. Pip’s excited yipping. Bramble’s relieved laughter. Russet’s delighted crackling.
But down here, in the darkness that was slowly filling with light, it was just the two of them.
Together.
Finally.