Page 67 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“It’s always that kind of fight,” Rhodes countered. “Some people only understand one language.”

When Caius spoke, his voice was quiet. “We’ve known each other for twenty-five years.” His gaze drifted back to the preserved flowers. “Not once have I seen you like this.”

Ark didn’t answer. His gaze lifted, as if the answer might be written somewhere on the ceiling. “Maybe I’m just tired of silence that doesn’t mean peace.”

He caught Rhodes and Caius exchanging a look—a whole conversation passing between them in a glance.

“So,” Rhodes said, sounding choked, as though holding back a grin, “when’s the wedding?”

Ark rolled his eyes. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m just saying,” Rhodes said, “tailoring a proper suit takes time.”

“Especially matching ones—for Rhodes and myself,” Caius added, a palm on his chest. “We do so love a coordinated palette.”

Ark gave them a look that should have been withering but landed somewhere closer to resigned. He flexed his bandaged hand—the dull throb a grounding anchor he welcomed. Anything to pull his mind from a Kitchen Witch who’d been occupying his mind far too much lately.

He needed to move. To act. To channel this restless, unfamiliar energy into something resembling normalcy.

“What do we have on our schedule today?” he asked.

Rhodes reached for the black leather agenda on the corner of the desk. “A house cleansing this afternoon. Human District townhome.”

“A straightforward job,” Caius clarified, his eyes still on Ark. “The kind of problem we know how to solve.”

“Are you still up for it?” Rhodes asked.

“Yes,” Ark said without hesitation and stood.

He needed the distraction. He needed to feel useful in a way that didn’t involve waiting for a flower to tell him everything would be alright.

Still, he looked back at his desk to check—one last time.

The house on Greystone Row, as it turned out, was an excellent distraction. It didn’t look cursed—not at first glance. It was too prim for that, with its polished white shutters, ivy curling neatly around the eaves, a glossy ‘For Sale’ sign planted in the garden. But Ark could feel the wrongness before the fence even creaked open.

“Charming,” Caius said dryly, peering up at the narrow windows. “If you like your real estate mildly possessed.”

Ark didn’t answer. He stood in the yard, letting the late morning sun cut shadows across his face. The corrupted energy of the house was palpable to anyone sensitive to it, but at least it was contained within the walls.

Rhodes pulled his gloves on. “This is also a retrieval job, not just cleansing. We’re picking up a dormant artifact.”

“And the real estate agent doesn’t mind us taking it?”

“He’s human. He just wants to sell the house without any cursed heirlooms ruining the deal. Neither he, nor any potential buyer, is eager to keep a possessed mirror in the attic.”

Ark nodded. Such an arrangement wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes Aegis & Ash took on cleansing jobs at no charge, provided the property held a magical artifact worth retrieving. Most of the time, those relics were corrupted, or as the humans liked to call them, cursed. More often than not, owners and agents were all too happy to part with them in exchange for a clean, saleable house.

Over the years, Aegis & Ash had acquired more than a few legendary artifacts that way—objects thought to be lost to time, quietly reclaimed from attics, cellars, and forgotten vaults under the guise of ‘junk removal.’

“Right,” Ark sighed. “Let’s get to it.”

Inside, the house was much colder than it should’ve been, even for winter. A thin sheen of frost shimmered on the inner windows, and the air smelled faintly metallic, like singed copper, or old iron.

“Attic,” Ark said, already looking at the staircase. “That’s where it’s anchored.”

They moved without a word. Ark led the climb, Caius beside him. Rhodes brought up the rear.

“I don’t sense any previous attempts at cleansing,” Caius murmured, his silver-tipped stylus at the ready. “Do you?”