Page 95 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

And still, he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

23

ARK

Agentle hand shook him. He awakened to a pair of green eyes watching him in the dim light.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time,” she murmured, a small smile on her lips.

Ark rubbed his eyes, voice still thick with sleep. “Raisin bun?”

Her laughter was soft, almost conspiratorial. The faint scent of mint clung to her skin. “No bun, sadly. But I can promise a magnificent breakfast at the bakery.”

He pushed back the blanket and sat up. “I’ll get ready.”

When he stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed and still fighting the fog of early morning, he found her in the kitchen waiting with a steaming mug in her hands. She held it out to him. The aroma reached him before anything else—vanilla, honey, and warm milk, threaded through with the lightest dusting of cinnamon.

“No caffeine,” she said. “Just enough comfort to make you forget it’s barely past four.”

Ark took the mug, fingers grazing hers. The warmth bled into his palms as he brought it to his lips. One sip, and the fatigue receded just enough for him to smile. They stood there for a moment, the quiet of the house wrapping around them like a soft quilt. Not rushing yet. Just warmth, companionable silence, and the slow drip of light returning to the world outside.

Then came a knock—sharp, rhythmic, followed by the unmistakable click of his outer ward confirming a familiar signature.

“Caius,” Ark said, setting down his mug.

“And Rhodes,” Cassia added. “I hear stomping.”

He chuckled. “He does tend to arrive like a box of firecrackers.”

Cassia tucked a stray curl behind her ear and opened the door, a cheerful smile already in place. Cold morning air spilled in, and there they stood on the porch. Caius was immaculate as always—charcoal suit pressed, white shirt crisp, his long flaxen hair gleaming like he’d stepped out of a midday portrait rather than the small hours of the morning.

Rhodes, by contrast, looked like he’d wrestled his coat halfway out the door. Curls tousled, eyes still glazed, he blinked once—slowly—as if debating whether this counted as morning. A grin tugged at his mouth when his gaze landed on Cassia.

“Thank you both for coming,” she said, stepping aside to let them in. “And so early too.”

Caius inclined his head. “If Ark hasn’t mentioned, we’re no strangers to ungodly hours. Four AM is practically civilized.”

Rhodes yawned into his elbow. “Speak for yourself. I’m here solely for the promise of baked goods and the slim chance of a nap on someone’s couch.”

Cassia laughed. “No promises on the couch, but breakfast will be ready at the bakery in”—she glanced at her watch—“about forty-five minutes.”

Rhodes brightened. He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles with theatrical flourish. “Miss Aura, you’re an angel among witches.”

Ark watched from the doorway, arms crossed. Cassia had pulled her hair to one side, and the edge of her blouse’s shawl collar had shifted—just enough to reveal the small black curl of the bond mark at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It was dark against her creamy skin, still fresh enough to hold the memory of his mouth on her pulse.

Neither of his friends looked at her neck. If they’d noticed, they had chosen not to comment.

Caius scanned the space—the warm-toned wood floors, the worn trim around the doorways, the gentle hush that hung over everything. The kitchen opened into the dining room in one seamless sweep of space, and the air still carried the faint scent of herbs from last night’s supper.

“Lovely home,” he said, “with peaceful Memory Magic.” He turned to Cassia with a rare smile. “No cleansing required. It’s holding strong.”

Cassia gave a small nod, her voice soft. “My parents bought this place when they left Angelene. It wasn’t much then. They saved for years to make it theirs.”

Ark watched her. When people lived well inside a house, it changed the air. Good living brought forth good energy—it softened the walls, settled into the floorboards, lingered in corners where laughter had been. Places like that were precious. Powerful. Auspicious.

And increasingly difficult to find.

Young couples—especially those just starting a family—didn’t want to spend years nurturing the right energy in a home. They wanted one that already had soul. A place steeped in warmth, in Joy, in the quiet echo of Love well-lived. Such homes anchored happiness, strengthened the bonds of their residents, and brought good fortune for generations.