Chapter 1
Chapter One
The veil tore and Lord Mabon stumbled through.
He was here. Actually here.
Lord Mabon took a breath, and it filled his lungs with startling clarity. He could feel things. The weight of his robes. The solidity of the ground. The magic thrumming through his veins.
He blinked, taking in his surroundings.
A theater?
Not even a proper theater. Some converted community space with folding chairs and a backdrop that looked like enthusiastic children had painted it. Jack-o’-lanterns lined the stage. Plastic ones, garish and battery-powered. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Two hundred and fifty-nine years of waiting, and he’d been summoned to this?
Of course. Of course this is what I get.
He’d imagined this moment countless times from his scrying pool in the Loam. A proper ceremony. Offerings of harvest fruits. Someone who understood who he was.
Instead: plastic decorations and folding chairs.
But he was HERE. Solid and real, no longer fading in that empty castle. That was what mattered.
Wind whipped around, his wind, carrying the scent of wet forest and sweet apples. Leaves swirled up from the stage floor in a spiral, caught in the vortex of his arrival. Orange smoke billowed, thick and dramatic, and the lights flickered overhead.
Well. If he was going to arrive in this mortal embarrassment of a venue, he might as well make an entrance.
Lord Mabon straightened to his full height, letting his power settle into this form.
The pumpkin materialized over his head, carved with a face shifting with his mood.
Right now, it settled into imperious authority: sharp triangular eyes, a crescent mouth curved in regal disdain.
His robes billowed around him, sage green and burnt orange.
He surveyed the mortals before him, waiting for their awe. Their reverence. Their—
“Jesus Christ, who turned on the fan?” someone shouted from the side of the stage.
Lord Mabon’s carved expression didn’t change, but something inside him went still.
“We’re not at that part yet!” another voice yelled. “Johnny, I swear to God—“
A woman with a clipboard stared at the dissipating orange haze, looking more annoyed than impressed. “Where did we even get a smoke machine?”
Lord Mabon stood there, smoke still curling around his feet, leaves settling gently to the stage floor. Not a single person looked at him with anything resembling worship. Not fear. Not reverence. Not even curiosity.
259 years, and they thought he was a stage trick.
He tried again, letting his voice boom with divine authority. “Who has summoned the King of the Equinox? Who calls forth Lord Mabon, Guardian of the Harvest, Master of—“
“Holy shit, who IS this guy?” A man in grease-stained jeans and a flannel shirt strode forward, eyes wide with excitement. “Did someone call in a ringer?”
A ringer? What in the name of—
“I thought Xander was playing the harvest god?” A young woman with dark skin and a skeptical expression crossed her arms, studying Lord Mabon the way one might examine a particularly confusing piece of furniture.
“Is this part of the blocking?” An uncertain voice from the back. “I don’t think—“
“Wait, WAIT!” The man in flannel stood vibrating with an energy Lord Mabon could only describe as madness. “This is PERFECT! The commitment! The presence!” He gestured at Lord Mabon wildly. “You, pumpkin guy, you’ve got the part!”
Lord Mabon stared at him through his carved eyes, trying to process this mad man’s logic. “I... what?”
“The costuming alone!” The man circled him now, taking in every detail. “Where did you even get that pumpkin head? It looks so real. And the robes! The dramatic entrance!” He made an exaggerated chef’s kiss gesture. “Chef’s kiss.”
Is this fool complimenting my divine manifestation. Like it’s a Halloween costume?!
“Hold on, Jimmy...” A tall, muscular young man with perfect hair stepped forward, confusion plain on his face. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. I even took time off of leg day for this!”
Jimmy barely glanced at him. “Xander, buddy, I love you but look at this guy.” He gestured at Lord Mabon again. “He’s got gravitas. He showed up IN character. He probably has the whole part memorized already!”
I’ve existed longer than this entire town. I am NOT a character.
Lord Mabon drew himself up, trying to salvage some dignity. “I have existed since the first harvest—“
Wrong. Too formal, even for him.
He tried again. “I am not here to perform in your mortal theater—“
“See? PERFECT delivery!” Jimmy clapped his hands together, delighted. “That’s the energy we need! Ancient, powerful, a little bit scary. I don’t know who you are but you’re in. Rehearsal every Tuesday and Thursday, performance is Halloween night. Don’t be late.”
Lord Mabon opened his mouth to protest, to explain he was an actual deity who had been actually summoned and this was all a terrible—
That’s when he caught the scent.
It cut through the chaos, subtle but unmistakable. Raw magic, untapped and powerful, mixed with anxiety and confusion and underneath it all, that delicious scent of old magic coming at him like the crisp bite of October air.
Lord Mabon’s entire focus shifted. His carved eyes narrowed.
This was what had called him. This magic, unconscious and wild, soaking into the air.
Lord Mabon turned, following the scent to its source. A young man with long wavy blond hair and eyes a mixture of green and gold.
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.
This is not the time for your size difference kink to activate.
“Okay, I love a big strong man like anyone else but could you please put me down!”
“brILLIANT!” Jimmy’s voice boomed from somewhere behind them. “The chemistry! The boldness! I may make a few changes to the end because of this!”
Jimmy, I swear to God.
“Did we approve this blocking?” someone asked.
“Who cares? It’s WORKING!”
The pumpkin-headed man started walking. Carrying Locke toward the back exit.
This is fine. Method acting. This is fine.
“So, uh, this is going great,” Locke said, bouncing slightly with each step. His face was approximately level with the guy’s lower back, which was not a dignified position for anyone. “Really committed to the role. But maybe we could workshop this part where you’re... you know... kidnapping me?”
No response. Just more walking.
Okay, so not stopping. Cool. Cool cool cool.
Locke’s nervous rambling kicked into high gear. “I’m just gonna… I’m gonna keep talking because that’s what I do when I’m nervous, which I am, because a very tall person in a pumpkin mask just threw me over their shoulder and is carrying me out of the theater.”
For a moment he thought this a bit. Jimmy loved weird theater exercises so perhaps this was one of them?
“Is this method acting? Because I gotta say, it’s very method. Daniel Day-Lewis level commitment. Respect.” He paused. “But seriously, you can’t carry me off to Gods knows where!”
Still no response.
The evening air hit them as they exited the building. Cool, crisp, October air with the scent of fallen leaves and someone’s backyard fire pit.
And his captor just kept walking, following some invisible path only he could see, carrying Locke as if he weighed nothing.
This is not fine. This is the opposite of fine.
Locke was being kidnapped by a very committed actor in a pumpkin mask and everything was fine.
He was going to have words with Jimmy about this later.
Assuming he survived whatever this was.