“I know you’re there,” he called through the door, his voice traveling from Andromeda’s ears to parts of her body that had become over-responsive to him.

  “That’s creepy,” she replied, resting her forehead on the cool, cracked wood before turning the lock.

  She opened the door, and there he was in full, non-fish-eye-lens glory. Hex, it was unfair how stunning he was in daylight. His eyes were even darker than she remembered, deep brown with flecks of gold catching the sunlight. The stubble she’d glimpsed through the peephole framed his ever-smirking pillow lips. And he smelled great.

  And here she was, standing before him in ratty pajamas. Again.

  “Morning, Miss Swan.” His gaze traveled from her tangled blonde hair to her bare toes and back up with deliberate, appreciative slowness—like he was admiring fine art rather than a rumpled witch in pajamas.

  The slow perusal sent a wave of heat flowing through her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Andromeda folded her arms over her chest, painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra and that the morning air had certain effects on the female anatomy.

  His eyes lingered a moment too long below her chin before returning to her face, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that suggested he’d noticed her defensive posture and found it amusing. That half grin also made a dimple pop on his left cheek, making him instantly more attractive. Andromeda shoved that thought into a box labeled “Not Today.”

  “I’m impressed.” She leaned on the doorframe with forced casualness. “You rang the bell instead of blasting the door off its hinges. Such restraint.”

  “Thought you could use a gentler touch this morning.” His voice rasped and scraped like it had teeth and knew where to sink them. Even the way he’d said “gentler touch” suggested the opposite—he struck her as a man who’d shove her against the wall and hold her there until she stopped pretending not to want it.

  She cleared her throat, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “What do you want?” she asked, proud that her voice held steady. “Come to arrest me for something else I didn’t do?”

  “Actually…” He slipped his hands into his pockets in a gesture that broadened his already impressive shoulders. “I came to ask for your help.”

  Andromeda stared at him. “My help?” she repeated flatly.

  “Yes.”

  “On what?”

  “The tech team finished analyzing the code embedded in Arcanet’s system. But our experts can’t figure out what curse pulled his mind into his computer. It’s sophisticated dark magic that made his body shut down without his consciousness to sustain it.”

  “That’s…” Andromeda paused, professional interest temporarily overriding her irritation. “That’s not possible. It’s theoretical magic at best.”

  “And yet, we have a dead body and his soul trapped in a server. Our tech analysts are good, but they’re out of their depth.” Detective Malatesta’s dark eyes held hers, all traces of smugness gone. “We need someone more skilled.”

  “Someone like me,” Andromeda concluded. “It takes a hacker to catch a hacker killer.”

  “Precisely.”

  She laughed, the sound short and disbelieving. “Let me get this straight. You break into my home, wrongfully arrest me, accuse me of murder, keep me in that arctic wasteland you call an interrogation room for hours—and now you want me to help you? The absolute gall.”

  “If someone has figured out how to digitize consciousness, do you understand what that means? What they could do with that technology?”

  “Yeah, I get it,” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot. But I’m also not your personal tech consultant. The answer is no.”

  “The department would compensate you for your time, of course.”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  “Your voluntary cooperation might earn you some leniency from the judge handling your hearing.”

  “I’ll take my chances with the justice system.”

  “Are you sure?” He tilted his head, taking a single step forward. “Judges have bad days. Who knows what might happen in court…”

  “Are you threatening me now?”

  “Just stating facts. Helping with this investigation would send the right message.”

  “Wow. Your people skills are truly remarkable, detective.”

  Malatesta sighed, running a hand through his dark hair in a gesture that shouldn’t have been as compelling as it was. “Look, you’re the best person for the job, and a dangerous killer is out there with tech that crosses every ethical line.”

  Despite the genuine concern in his voice, Andromeda’s sympathy reserves were running low after last night. “I believe ‘no’ is a complete sentence, Detective Malatesta. Goodbye.”

  She started to close the door, but he held up a hand. “Wait.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a business card. “If you change your mind.” He offered it to her.

  “I won’t.”

  He shrugged, annoyingly confident. “Never say never, Miss Swan.”

  He flipped the card between his fingers.

  Andromeda took it just to get rid of him, careful not to let their hands touch. The text was simple: Detective Donatello Malatesta, Salem Magical Police Department, followed by a phone number.

  He took a step back, giving her a slight bow of his head that was somewhere between courteous and mockingly formal. “Have a good day, Miss Swan.”

  “You too, detective,” she replied automatically, hoping she pulled off the same polite disdain.

  Malatesta turned to leave, the fit of his jeans making it difficult to look anywhere else but at his backside as he descended the steps of her porch. It was, objectively speaking, a very nice behind—firm and rounded in the right places, the denim molding to it like it had been custom-tailored.

  Horrified to realize she was checking out the man who’d unjustly arrested her, she slammed the door, cutting off her view of his posterior. Leaning against the cracked wood, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart.

  “Well, that wasn’t dramatic,” Quill observed from his perch on the side table.

  “Shut up, Quill,” she groaned, sliding down the door until she was sitting on the floor, the business card still clutched in her hand.

  Chapter Six

  Detective Dickhead

  ANDROMEDA

  She was about to toss the card in the trash when a rapid knocking interrupted her brooding. What else did he want? She stood up from the floor, ready to curse the detective black and blue if he didn’t leave her door alone.

  But as the noise continued, she realized it wasn’t a knock. It sounded more like thumping.

  She yanked the door open and… no one was there. Someone cleared their throat, the sound coming from the ground. Andromeda lowered her gaze.

  A jackalope courier stood on her welcome mat, his fluffy, rabbit-like body groomed to perfection, antlers polished to a shine. He wore a miniature postal uniform, complete with a tiny cap perched between his antlers. Tucked beneath one fuzzy arm was a parchment envelope embossed with a seal that shimmered ominously.

  Andromeda squealed. A jackalope! A real-life, giant-eared, cotton-tailed, floppy-footed jackalope. He wiggled his nose at her from the front step. “Jackalope Express for Miss Andromeda Swan,” he announced in a squeaky, professional voice. “Special delivery from the Department of Magical Justice.” He extended the envelope with an air of self-importance.

  “Gargoyles, you’re adorable!” Andromeda squealed, dropping to her knees. All thoughts of Malatesta and his infuriating dimples vanished. “Are you the cutest little delivery boy or what?”

  The jackalope’s nose twitched with undisguised glee at her reaction. “Thank you, miss. We pride ourselves on professional presentation at Jackalope Express.”

  Behind her, Quill made a disgusted noise. “Oh, for the love of worms. It’s a glorified postal rabbit. Can we get on with it?”

  “Hush, Quill,” Andromeda scolded. “He’s not a rabbit. He’s a jackalope. With a uniform.” She reached for the envelope but paused. “Would you like something to drink or eat? Do we have any carrots, Quill?”

  “How would I know? I don’t inventory your refrigerator,” the hedgehog sniffed.

  “You’re such a ray of sunshine,” Andromeda muttered. “Hang on,” she told the jackalope, who waited patiently, whiskers twitching.

  She darted to the kitchen, rummaged through the vegetable drawer, and returned with a fresh carrot. “Here you go. Sorry about my familiar. He was born without a joy gland.”

  The jackalope accepted the vegetable with a small bow. “Most appreciated, miss. My route is long today.”

  “I object to the baseless accusation that I lack joy,” Quill protested, waddling forward to peer at the furry postal bunny with suspicious little eyes. “I reserve my enthusiasm for things worthy of it. Like fine literature. Or properly brewed tea. Not hopping vermin who deliver bad news.”

  Nox slunk into the room. “Jealous much, Quill?” He snickered. “No one’s ever offered you a carrot, uh?”

  “I do not eat carrots,” Quill huffed.

  The jackalope crunched on his snack, unfazed. “If you don’t mind, miss,” he said between bites, “I need your signature to confirm receipt.”

  He produced a tiny pad and pen from his postal pouch. Andromeda signed, delighted by the miniature stylus between her fingers.

  “Thank you, Miss Swan. Have a magical day.” With a wink and a final crunch of carrot, the jackalope hopped down the porch steps and disappeared around the corner with impressive speed.

  Andromeda sat on the couch with the envelope, the DMJ seal glowing against the cream-colored paper. Her stomach twisted as she broke the wax, and the missive unfolded itself in her palms.

  DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL JUSTICE

  SUMMONS FOR HEARING

  RE: Violation of Magical Communication Act, Section 12.3

  DEFENDANT: Andromeda Swan

  You are hereby summoned to appear before Judge Templeton at the Department of Magical Justice, TODAY at 3:30 PM to answer charges regarding the unauthorized use of curse-embedded electronic communication.

  Failure to appear will result in a warrant for your arrest and immediate suspension of magical privileges.

  “Today?” Andromeda yelped, nearly dropping the missive. “I have less than”—she checked her watch—“three hours! Shelly told me I’d have a few days!”

  “Let me see that,” Quill demanded, scrambling up the cushion next to her.

  “Hex, do I need a lawyer? What do I wear? What do I say?”

  “Calm yourself.” Quill puffed his chest. “I am a certified member of the Board of Animagical Solicitors. Graduated with the highest honors.”

  “I know, but Shelly said it’d be a fine at most. This seems more serious.”

  “Regardless, I am qualified to represent you in court. And given the circumstances, you should be grateful. Most magical attorneys would charge exorbitant fees, but I’ll do it for free.”

  “You are so magnanimous.”

  “I only crave the satisfaction of seeing justice served,” Quill replied loftily. Then added, “And would also love a Mealworms ice cream from Enchanted Scoops on the way home.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Nox commented.

  Andromeda ignored the bickering familiars and rushed to her bedroom, flinging open the closet doors. Her usual wardrobe of comfortable jeans, graphic tees, and oversized sweaters was laughably unfit for court.

  “Pick something conservative and respectful,” Quill suggested, having followed her into the bedroom. “Court is not the place for your ‘hacker chic’ aesthetic.”

  Andromeda shot him a glare. “I wear comfortable clothes for sitting at a computer all day.”

  If Quill had eyebrows, he’d be raising them now.

  “Fine.” She dug deeper into her closet, past the everyday wear, to the section she labeled ‘grown-up.’ The stuff she wore when meeting corporate clients.

  She settled on black tailored trousers and a cream-colored knitted sweater. After a quick shower, she emerged from the bathroom transformed. Her wild blonde waves were tamed into a sleek bun, her makeup understated but polished.

  “Will I do?” She turned to Quill for inspection.

  The hedgehog assessed her. “It’ll have to. Now, sit down. We have ninety-three minutes to prepare your defense.”

  ***

  The DMJ loomed before Andromeda like a Victorian headmistress—all imposing columns and judgmental bricks. She straightened her cream sweater, while Quill, packed in a magically enlarged compartment in her bag, gave an encouraging little sniff, which for him was basically a motivational speech. With a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves, she pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the cool marble hallway.

  “Remember,” Quill whispered, “Address the judge as ‘Your Honor.’ And no sarcasm.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Andromeda hissed as she followed the signs to Courtroom C.

  The room was smaller than she’d expected. Three neat rows of wooden benches lined the back, thankfully empty. At the front, a raised dais with the judge’s bench presided over a table on either side, right for the prosecution and left for the defense.

  While being the same size, the table on the right was dwarfed by the two men sitting behind it: Detective Cocky and an equally tall and dark wizard who Andromeda recognized as the Chief Inquisitor, Riley King—her roommate’s boss and Malatesta’s too. Andromeda hoped the chief was here to keep his rabid dog on a tight leash and not to earn her a harsher punishment.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Malatesta turned his head. Their eyes met across the courtroom, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile—smug enough to make her worry. He was up to something.

  “All rise!” A disembodied voice boomed before Andromeda could decide whether to flip Malatesta off or just ignore him. “The Honorable Judge Templeton presiding.”

  A side door opened and a woman with snow-white hair pulled back in a severe bun swept in. At first glance, she could’ve passed for everyone’s favorite grandma—the one who bakes bone-chip cookies and hands out broomstick brownies. But the glint of steel in her gaze gave her away as the type of grandmother who’d have you scrubbing cauldrons until your fingers fell off if you broke her rules.

  “Be seated,” Judge Templeton commanded, settling into her high-backed chair and adjusting her black robes. She peered over half-moon glasses at the papers before her. “Andromeda Swan versus the Magical Commonwealth of Massachusetts for a violation of the Magical Communication Act, Section 12.3.”

  Andromeda slid into her seat at the defense table, feeling alone without Sarah Michelle beside her. But after keeping her best friend up for half of the night, she’d preferred not to drag her to court mid-shift. And given that Sarah Michelle’s boss was present and on the opposing side, that had been the right call.

  Judge Templeton’s piercing gaze fixed on Andromeda. “Miss Swan, you stand accused of sending a cursed electronic communication. How do you plead?”

  Quill gave an imperceptible nod. They’d agreed it was better to show remorse, accept responsibility, and hope for leniency.

  Andromeda stood up. “Guilty, Your Honor.”

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Malatesta’s smirk widening into a dangerous grin. He sat like he owned the room. Like he’d already won.

  Andromeda didn’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. He could hex off.

  “Very well.” Judge Templeton’s expression revealed nothing. “The court accepts your guilty plea. Normally, this type of misdemeanor would result in a simple fine.”

  Andromeda allowed herself a small breath of relief.

  “However,” the judge continued, shuffling papers, “the prosecution has requested a harsher punishment, citing the particular nature of your offense and its relevance to an ongoing investigation. Detective Malatesta, you have the floor.”

  That broom-witted, ego-puffed, toad-brained bastard.

  Andromeda glared at him as Malatesta unfolded himself from his chair with an offensive grace. Before he spoke, he turned his head toward Andromeda, their eyes locked, and the jinxweasel had the gall to wink at her. As if they were sharing some private joke, not litigating a proceeding that could upend her life.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” he began, his deep voice rolling through the courtroom. “The defendant’s actions represent a troubling trend in magical cyber security violations. Her curse, while technically harmless, demonstrates a sophisticated understanding of magical code injection that, if applied differently, could have devastating consequences.”

  Andromeda’s jaw dropped. Was he seriously painting her childish prank like cyber terrorism?

  “Miss Swan bypassed the victim’s antimalware security wards exploiting weaknesses in the magical firewall, proving an ability to nullify sophisticated protections. She then embedded a curse that altered the system functionality without consent.” Malatesta paused for maximum dramatic effect. “This type of digital cursing, if taken to its extreme, could disrupt critical magical infrastructure, interfere with emergency communication spells, or even compromise the darknet itself.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Quill squeaked, rising to his tiny hedgehog feet. “The prosecution is catastrophizing a simple prank into a doomsday scenario. Next, he’ll claim my client could have caused the apocalypse with her keyboard.”

  “The familiar has a point, detective.” The judge’s lips thinned. “Perhaps you could stick to the facts of this hearing rather than hypothetical worst-case scenarios.”

  Malatesta dipped his head in acknowledgment but kept the arrogant pout on his stupidly symmetrical face. “Of course, Your Honor. The specific curse Miss Swan deployed was also… crass in nature.”

  “How so?” Judge Templeton leaned forward.

  “The wording is outlined in the case files, Your Honor.” He sidestepped the question.

 

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