Once Upon a Curse for True Love, page 3
Was she cold? Should he offer her a blanket?
He was about to ask her when she opened her pouty mouth and blabbered, “So what, I’m supposed to sit here while you accuse me of murder with zero evidence?”
He mentally slapped himself. Focus, Malatesta. She’s a suspect, not a date.
“I wouldn’t say zero evidence.” He tapped the folder in front of him. “Your magical signature was laced over the kill spell.”
“That’s impossible,” she gasped.
Donatello leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The movement brought him closer to her—close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume underneath the more clinical smell of the interrogation room. Ever so distracting, that witch.
“Look, Miss Swan, I don’t particularly enjoy dragging witches out of their homes in the middle of the night. But when a high-profile magical hacker ends up dead and another hacker’s cursed email sits in his inbox, I have little choice.”
She stared at him, brow furrowing. “I still don’t understand how I could’ve offed someone when I never left my house.”
“Unfortunately for your alibi, given the way Arcanet was murdered, physical presence wasn’t required.”
A flash of confusion crossed her face. “Why? How was he killed?”
Instead of answering, Donatello flipped over the email printout, sliding it across the table to her. “Did you send Arcanet a cursed email earlier this evening?”
Andromeda glanced down at the sheet of paper, then back up at him. Her expression cycled rapidly through confusion, realization, and then, to his surprise, relief. Her lips twitched, and before he could process what was happening, she burst into laughter.
“Oh, thank the fairies!” She slumped back in her chair, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “Is that what this is about? That email?”
A flare of indignation rose in Donatello at her reaction. A man was dead, and she was laughing like he’d told her the punchline to a knock-knock joke.
He gritted his teeth, voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Yes, Miss Swan, your signature code being found embedded in a cursed email sent to a wizard who ended up having his consciousness sucked up into his computer while his physical body remained lifeless slumped over his desk, is why you’re here.” He enunciated each word with precision. “I fail to see the humor in the situation.”
The laughter died on her lips as the full implication of his words sank in. Her face paled, cheeks draining of color fast enough that Donatello thought she might faint.
“Wait… what?” She shook her head. “That’s not how my curse works. It’s not possible.”
“So you admit to sending him a cursed email?” Donatello pressed, seizing on her inadvertent confession.
“I… yes, but… not a deadly curse. It was a prank. Totally harmless.”
“A cursed email, harmless?”
“Yes! It was a stupid joke after our argument on the forum.” Her hand drifted up to her bun and tugged it free, sending a tousled wave of blonde hair falling around her shoulders. The motion had her lift her arms and arch her back, the sweatshirt tightening over her chest. A chest that was now right in his face. Donatello clenched his jaw and fixated pointedly on the wall behind her. “The curse activated when he opened the email, but all it did was change ‘I’ to ‘I’m a dickhead’ whenever he typed.”
Donatello stared at her. Of the all defenses he’d imagined, this hadn’t made the list.
“You hexed Arcanet to call himself a dickhead.”
“Yes! That’s all it did!” Andromeda finger-combed her disheveled hair, leaving it even more wildly attractive in its disarray. Then her shoulders slumped with genuine relief. “It was petty, but he was being such an ass about open-source encryption.”
A flicker passed through her eyes, her mouth tensing a fraction too late to hide it. Donatello had interrogated enough suspects to recognize when someone was holding back information.
“Are you sure that’s all the curse did?” he asked quietly.
She shifted in her seat. “Well…”
“Miss Swan.” His voice hardened. “Now is not the time for selective disclosure.”
She blew out a puff of air. “Fine. It also might’ve projected ‘my penis is small’ on his screen whenever he used the hashlib function.”
Donatello had to fight the twitch in his mouth. Besides being a knockout, the witch had a sense of humor, he’d give her that. She grimaced after confessing, a slight flush rising to her cheeks, and he had to suppress a full smile. For a murder suspect, she was proving to be entertaining. And hex it all, she was gorgeous even in disheveled loungewear with her hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes.
“It was a dumb prank,” she insisted. “If I wanted to send him a murderous curse, I would’ve covered my tracks, not slapped my signature at the bottom and used my IP address. I don’t leave fingerprints—not unless I mean to. But I made sure he knew it came from me. And even if something went wrong with my spell… it couldn’t have killed him.” Her voice cracked on the last words.
Donatello wanted to believe her. Which was why he needed to step back and let the evidence speak for itself.
He stood, gathering the folder. “I’ll need to verify your claims with our tech team. They’re analyzing the remains of the curse.”
“How long will that take?” Those whiskey eyes searched his face. Pleadingly? Defiantly?
“As long as necessary.” He forced his tone to remain neutral. “In the meantime, you’ll stay here.”
He was nearly at the door when she called him back.
“Detective? Could I… mmm… have something hot to drink? It’s freezing in here.”
Donatello turned, and his gaze automatically dropped to her chest again. That flimsy sweatshirt did little to hide how the cold was affecting her. Curves. Peaks. Sharp outlines he was trying very hard not to notice.
Yeah, she could have something hot to drink—and a damn fur coat while they were at it. Something thick enough to let him finish this interrogation without losing his mind.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter five
Arresting Looks
ANDROMEDA
Andromeda stared at her reflection in the one-way mirror. The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room made her look even more exhausted than she felt. Five minutes had passed since Detective Hot-and-Hostile had left. She wondered if he’d come back with that tea and what would happen next. If this was how her freedom ended: arrested for murder in melting mascara and ice cream-stained pajamas. If she had to get a mugshot, the Fates could’ve at least granted her a touch of glam. But no, raccoon eyes it was.
The door creaked open, and Andromeda straightened, expecting Malatesta’s broad shoulders and judgmental scowl. Instead, a young officer poked her head in.
“Miss Swan? I brought you a moonlight tea and a blanket.” The woman stepped inside, balancing a steaming mug in one hand and a folded gray blanket in the other.
Andromeda blinked in surprise. “Oh. Thanks.”
The officer placed the mug in front of her and draped the blanket over Andromeda’s shoulders.
Andromeda wrapped the fleece tighter around herself, grateful for its warmth even as she grappled with the unexpected development that Hot-and-Hostile wasn’t also heartless.
The officer retreated to the door. “Someone will be with you soon.”
Soon was a relative term. The tea had long gone cold, and Andromeda had counted the ceiling tiles three times before the door opened again.
Sarah Michelle charged in, her dark bob disheveled and her eyes red from lack of sleep. She didn’t say a word, crossed the room in three quick strides, and pulled Andromeda into a fierce hug.
“Are you okay?” Her friend grabbed Andromeda’s shoulders and scanned her face.
“I’m fine,” she wobbled. Andromeda hadn’t realized how scared she’d been until this moment, with her friend’s arms around her. “Just cold. And confused. And hungry.”
Sarah Michelle’s expression darkened. “I’m going to hex Malatesta with something vicious.”
“I’d pay to watch that.” Andromeda managed a weak smile. “But I’d rather go home. Am I free to go? Or am I still being charged with cursing dead a guy I’ve never even met in person?”
“The murder charges have been dropped. That’s why they let me in. We can go.”
“What? Just like that?” Andromeda’s knees buckled with relief. “But Detective Douche seemed so convinced—”
“Turns out, your stupid little prank email didn’t kill Arcanet.” Sarah Michelle half perched on the table. “The tech department analyzed the code and confirmed your curse was the prank you described.”
“Told him,” Andromeda huffed.
“Yeah, once Malatesta realized you were innocent, he moved pretty fast to get you released.”
“How gracious of him,” Andromeda rolled her eyes, but something warm flickered in her chest. “So I’m off the hook?”
Sarah Michelle’s expression turned apologetic. “No. You sent a cursed email, Andy. It’s a misdemeanor, but still against the law.”
“So now what?” Andromeda groaned.
“You’ll get a summons at the Department of Magical Justice in the next few days.” Sarah Michelle squeezed her shoulder. “But it’ll be okay, a fine or community service. Nothing serious.”
“Great. Just what I needed.” Andromeda stood, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Can we go now? Or do I need to sign something? Leave a blood sample? Promise my firstborn to the Department?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Sarah Michelle led her toward the door. “I’ll borrow a cruiser and drive us.”
As they stepped out of the station. Andromeda inhaled deeply, the night air tasted like freedom. She filled her lungs with the salty-sweet scent of Salem past midnight, so different from the sterile tang of the interrogation room.
“Better keep your coding above board from now on. This was too close, Andy,” Sarah Michelle said as they climbed into a nondescript black sedan.
Andromeda buckled her seatbelt and shot her friend a look. “Didn’t hear you complain when my coding cracked Lorcan’s best friend’s murder last year.”
Sarah Michelle started the car. “That was different.”
“How? Because it helped your boyfriend?”
“Because you were acting in an official role as a consultant for SMPD and had a layer of protection!” Sarah Michelle snapped, then softened her tone. “This is going on your record.”
Shelly was right, but Andromeda wasn’t about to admit it. “Fine. I’ll be more careful,” she conceded. “But I’m not giving up what I do.”
“No need, but from now on, don’t bend the rules in ways that land you in an interrogation room, okay?” Sarah Michelle navigated the empty streets of Salem. “I had a heart attack when I saw Malatesta dragging you in.”
“Speaking of which…” Andromeda tried to sound casual. “What’s his deal anyway? Last year, you didn’t tell me he was so…”
Sarah Michelle shot her a sideways glance. “So?”
“You know.” Andromeda waved a hand. “Tall, dark, and scowling. With the muscles. And the voice.”
A slow smile spread across Sarah Michelle’s face. “Are you hot for the detective who arrested you?”
“What? No!” Andromeda sank lower in her seat. “I was just saying he’s fit. For a jinxweasel.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah Michelle’s smile widened. “Well, for what it’s worth, he’s single. And he asked a lot of questions about you after the tech report came in.”
“About my coding skills, I’m sure.”
“Among other things.”
Andromeda didn’t take the bait to ask what else. She turned to stare out the window at the familiar streets sliding by. Despite her exhaustion, a strange energy hummed under her skin—part relief, part lingering fear, and part something else she wasn’t ready to examine.
By the time they pulled up to their house, Andromeda was swaying with fatigue. Inside, the house was as they’d left it—movie paused on the TV, empty ice cream carton on the coffee table, pillows scattered. A few extra debris, perhaps, but the normality of it was so comforting that Andromeda could have cried.
“Andromeda!” Quill squeaked from the windowsill where he’d been keeping watch. The hedgehog scurried across the room as fast as his short legs could carry him. “Thank the ancient ones! Those barbarians didn’t mistreat you, did they? I was prepared to mount a legal defense of unprecedented scope!”
Despite everything, Andromeda laughed. “I’m okay, Quill. Just tired.”
“You look dreadful,” he observed, his small eyes narrowing. “And you smell of that institutional disinfectant they use. Revolting. You should bathe immediately.”
“Always the charmer,” Andromeda bent to scoop him up. “But you’re right. I need a shower.”
“Do you want to talk, something to eat?” Sarah Michelle offered, already heading toward the kitchen.
“Thanks, but I’m beat.” Andromeda stifled a yawn. “Rain check?”
“Of course. Sleep well, Andy.”
In the bathroom, Andromeda set Quill on the counter and turned the water as hot as she could stand it. She stripped off her stained clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor despite Quill’s disapproving clicks.
“Those should be burned,” he declared. “They’ve been contaminated by the vulgar essence of false accusations.”
“It’ll wash off. No need for an exorcism.”
Andromeda stepped under the scalding spray of water. She stood there for a long time, letting the heat soak into her muscles and wash away the memory of the cold interrogation room. She closed her eyes, ready to forget the events of the night. But they kept assaulting her—the shattered door, the handcuffs, the piercing gaze of Detective Malatesta…
Clean and wrapped in her fluffiest robe, Andromeda padded to her bedroom with Quill in her arms.
“We should file a complaint,” he muttered. “The forcible entry alone constitutes a violation of at least three magical statutes, not to mention the emotional distress—”
“Quill,” Andromeda interrupted gently, “can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m dead on my feet.”
The hedgehog huffed but relented. “Very well. I bid you goodnight.”
“Yeah you, too.” She pulled on the oversized t-shirt she always reached for when life got too weird, and crawled into bed.
Quill climbed onto the pillow beside her, at a safe distance not to stab her in her sleep, and settled into a comfortable ball next to her head.
As Andromeda drifted off, her mind swirled in a drowsy mix—the hearing she’d have to face, the death of a local hacking legend, and, despite her best efforts to banish him, the image of a certain dark-eyed cop who’d sent her tea and a blanket even as he accused her of murder.
Her last conscious thought before sleep claimed her was that Detective Cocky-and-Chivalrous wasn’t done with her.
And strangest thing of all, some tiny part of her was looking forward to their next encounter.
***
The doorbell’s insistent chime drilled into Andromeda’s sleepy brain like a jackhammer cracking concrete. The noise dragged her from blessed unconsciousness into the painful reality of morning. She yanked the pillow over her head with a groan, certain she couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. But from the nightstand, the digital clock’s red numbers informed her it was 11:23 AM. That couldn’t be right.
The doorbell rang again, sounding more impatient than before.
“Quill,” she mumbled into her mattress. “Get the door.”
“I weigh less than a pound and cannot reach the doorknob,” came the hedgehog’s prim reply from somewhere near her feet. “Besides, I am not your butler.”
Andromeda groaned and flung the pillow aside. Her body felt like it had been run through a press—every muscle ached from the tension of last night’s interrogation. She’d gladly splay in bed all day.
But the doorbell’s third ring held a borderline aggression. Their buzzer was enchanted to mirror the mood of visitors, and whoever stood outside sounded one unanswered chime away from resorting to other methods of entry. Given her recent experience with law enforcement and doors, she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Coming!” she yelled, her voice scraping against her dry throat as she stumbled out of bed. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and her mouth tasted like she’d been gargling toadstool infusion.
“You look frightful,” Quill observed helpfully as she staggered past him into the hallway.
“Thanks for the update,” she muttered, pausing in the living room. The house was quiet, the morning light filtering through the curtains and dust motes dancing in the beams.
Nox lay curled in a ferret ball on the windowsill, his whiskers twitching at her approach. “If you’re looking for Sarah Michelle, she left for work hours ago.” He stretched languidly.
“Why didn’t she wake me?” Andromeda ran her fingers through her tangled hair in a futile attempt to look less like she’d been electrocuted in her bed.
“She said, and I quote, ‘Let the poor thing sleep. She’s been through hell.’ She also wanted me to tell you—”
The doorbell rang for the fourth time, cutting off whatever message Sarah Michelle had left.
“Mother of gargoyles,” Andromeda hissed, padding barefoot to the front door. She peered through the peephole, and her stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.
Detective Testy-and-Tempting stood on her doorstep, irritatingly alert and too good-looking in the late-morning light. Unlike her, he appeared to have gotten a full night’s sleep, a shower, and a healthy breakfast too. He wore black jeans and a charcoal button-down that stretched across his broad frame, the top two buttons undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin, with a stylish leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. His midnight hair was tousled, and even through the distorted lens of the peephole, she could see the shadow of stubble outlining his strong jaw.
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