Page 7 of Blood Caged

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The maker’s bond hums with approval, but it does little to ease the knot in my stomach. What have I just agreed to? And what kind of danger could possibly have Maxwell this frightened?

As I watch him collect himself, preparing to leave, I feel a surge of protectiveness. Whatever this is, whatever danger we’re facing, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my maker safe. Even if it means compromising my own principles.

I’ll find a way to live with myself afterward.

3

Chapter 3

Mia

Istretch languidly assunlight streams through my bedroom window, feeling the familiar tingle of magic awakening in my veins. My apartment greets me with the soft rustling of enchanted plants and the gentle hum of magical artifacts.

Home, sweet home.

Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floor, I make my way to the center of my living room. It’s time for my morning ritual. Sinking onto the floor, and sitting cross-legged, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, feeling the energy of the earth beneath me. With practiced movements, I begin to weave intricate patterns in the air, my fingers leaving trails of shimmering light.

“Elements of air, fire, water, and earth,” I chant, my voice vibrating with power. “I call upon your strength to center my magic and align my spirit.”

A warm breeze swirls around me, carrying the scent of roses from my balcony garden. Tiny flames dance at my fingertips, and I feel the comforting weight of the elements surrounding me. I feel my magic surge, powerful and controlled.

With a satisfied smile, I rise and make my way to the kitchen.

Breakfast time.

I flick my wrist, and the refrigerator door swings open. Eggs float gracefully through the air, landing gently on the counter beside me. Another gesture and a pan settles itself on the stove, a soft blue flame igniting beneath it.

As I crack the eggs, I hum a little tune. The coffee maker across the room springs to life at the sound of my voice. I love that little enchantment – music-activated appliances are so convenient.

“Now, for thepiece de resistance,” I murmur, reaching for my favorite mug. I sprinkle a pinch of ground cinnamon into the bottom, followed by a few drops of vanilla extract. As the rich aroma of coffee fills the air, I whisper an incantation, infusing the brew with a touch of magic that will make it absolutely perfect.

I finish my breakfast, savoring the last sip of my magically enhanced coffee. With a wave of my hand, the dishes float to the sink and begin washing themselves. It’s a simple spell, but one I never tire of using.

My mind drifts back to yesterday’s argument with Rowan at the Jumping Bean. Guilt gnaws at me. I was too harsh, too impatient with her struggles. It’s not fair to compare her magical journey to mine or Kara’s.

“Time to make this right,” I mutter, reaching for my phone.

I dial Rowan’s number, listening to it ring. Once, twice, three times. No answer. It goes to voicemail.

“Hey, Ro, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Just wanted to chat about yesterday. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

I hang up, frowning. It’s not like Rowan to ignore calls, especially from family. Maybe she’s just busy.

Or avoiding you.

The thought stings more than I’d like to admit. I decide to send a text:

Hey, sis, sorry about yesterday. I was out of line. Can we talk? Love you.

I stare at the screen, waiting for those three dots to appear, indicating she’s typing a response. Nothing. The message shows as delivered but not read.

Sighing, I set the phone down. “Well, that went well,” I say to the empty room.

I try to distract myself by tidying up, but my thoughts keep circling back to Rowan. I should have been more supportive, more understanding. It’s not easy being the odd one out in a family of powerful witches.

“I’ll try again later,” I resolve, glancing at the clock. “Maybe she just needs some space.”

But the uneasy feeling in my gut persists. Something doesn’t feel right, and I can’t shake the sense that I’ve left an important matter unresolved.

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