Chapter 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.
Cassia’s house—this quiet, worn-in, cozy house—was that kind of a place.
Rhodes let out a low whistle. “This has more soul than half the estates we’ve cleansed. Don’t ever let it go.”
Cassia chuckled. “Not planning on it.”
“Good,” Ark quipped before he could stop himself.
She looked up. Their eyes met, and a current seemed to pass between them.
Cassia glanced away first. “I have to start preparing for the day. Come to the bakery after you’re done. I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”
Ark gave a small nod. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they behave.”
“Why do you always make it sound as if we’re savages?” Rhodes muttered behind him.
Cassia left with a wave. Ark watched her cross the garden path toward the white picket gate, breath puffing in the cold, red curls bouncing around her shoulders with every step. The back of his neck prickled—the bond letting him know that the distance between himself and Cassia was increasing.
A soft thump snatched his attention.
Anuck had appeared, silent as smoke, leaping onto the bench near the door. His black fur gleamed under the porch light. He sat still, his yellow eyes moving from Caius to Rhodes, then back again. Unhurried, taking them in.
“Who’s this?” Caius asked, his tone neutral, though his gaze had already narrowed.
“Cassia’s cat,” Ark replied. “Anuck.”
Rhodes kept his distance, squinting. “Are we sure it’s a cat?”
Anuck didn’t move. He just kept watching, tail curled around his paws, blinking slowly.
“Well,” Ark murmured, folding his arms, “Cassia is certain. But I get the feeling there’s a story behind those whiskers.”
They stood in silence, the three of them, watching. Anuck remained still, his gaze never leaving them.
Rhodes finally exhaled. “Yeah. That’s not a cat.”
Ark rubbed the back of his neck. “Cassia does seem to attract a certain type of . . . mysterious guardian.”
Caius was already moving toward the kitchen, but he paused at the archway. His tone shifted—sharper now. “Speaking of guardians, when you were injured, I went to the orphanage to fetch Miss Aura.”
Ark fell in behind him, Rhodes trailing close.
“You said the threshold repelled you,” Caius continued, glancing over his shoulder. “That you couldn’t pass through.”
Ark nodded once. “It pushed me back. Hard. Like the house didn’t want me there.”
Caius turned to face them. “The same thing happened to me.”
Ark stilled. “You too?”
“I didn’t sense any sigils. No visible wards either. But something was there, and it made its intent very clear.”
“Coincidence?” Ark muttered. “Unlikely.”
Caius folded his arms and looked at Rhodes. “What did you find when you went to pick up herbs?”
Rhodes shrugged. “Nothing unusual. I walked right in.”
No one spoke.
“Just as I thought,” Caius murmured, rubbing his chin. “It’s only warded against purebloods. Rank doesn’t matter.”
Ark’s brow furrowed. “You and I couldn’t enter without an invitation because we’re purebloods?”
Caius nodded. “And Starlight has always opened its doors to those Meredith casts aside.”
Rhodes grunted. “So whatever’s there is protective and selective at the same time.”
Ark said nothing. But something tugged at the edge of his thoughts as he glanced toward the window, where the light had begun to change.
Fifty years since the last renovation. The age Cassia’s mother would have been.
Was it a coincidence, or something more? He exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against the wall. The house was quiet beneath his hand—peaceful, waiting. He couldn’t make sense of it.
“We’ll focus on securing this place first,” he decided .
Caius patted his pockets then muttered, “Drat.” He looked around the room, then at Ark. “I seem to have left my chalk behind. Does Miss Aura have any?”
Ark scanned the room. A narrow cabinet caught his eye—tucked beside the hearth, painted with fading ivy motifs, the kind of thing people stuffed with stationery and forgotten correspondence. He crossed to it and pulled the doors open—
—and stilled.
Inside sat two framed photographs. A woman with Cassia’s cheekbones and firelight hair, smiling at something just out of frame.
Beside her, a younger Cassia—maybe six—grinned with a missing tooth, arms wrapped around her mother’s waist. The other showed a man with laugh lines around his eyes, standing in a garden.
He realized at once: it wasn’t a cabinet. It was an altar.
Soft, magical candlelight flickered on either side—everlasting flames, steady and warm. In front of the frames sat a small, carefully shaped loaf of bread. Crusted, golden, speckled with seeds and nuts, its ridged pattern forming a leaf.
He wasn’t a bread connoisseur, but he’d seen enough harvest displays to recognize this was indeed a harvest loaf.
He turned. A glass cabinet behind him held a tarnished trophy, half-hidden behind a silk flower arrangement.
First Place—Little Mineola Winter Harvest Loaf Competition.
His chest went tight. It all seemed to make sense now. Joy and Love, and . . . Grief, woven into the bones of the house like threads in a tapestry.
“Did you find the chalk?” Caius called from the kitchen.
Ark blinked, cleared his throat. “Not here. Let me keep looking.”
He closed the cabinet doors slowly, careful not to make a sound, and stepped back.
By the time they finished warding both the house and the bakery, the morning had ripened into a proper breakfast hour. The Witching Flour was still closed to the public, but the air was already thick with the mouthwatering scents of food.