Page 11 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Eleven

Curry and Conspiracies

LORCAN

Lorcan stood on the doorstep, the rich aroma of steamy takeout wafting from the bags in his hands. His finger hovered over the doorbell, anticipation tingling through him at the thought of seeing Sarah Michelle again. He pressed the button, a chime echoing inside.

The door swung open, but instead of Sarah Michelle’s striking blue-black bob, Lorcan came face-to-face with a tall blonde in yoga pants. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and her whiskey-colored eyes scanned him up and down, both curious and suspicious.

“So, you’re the one blackmailing my roommate.” She leaned against the doorframe, eyeing him. “Ballsy.”

Her tone was sharp, but Lorcan caught a hint of amusement in her eyes. He flashed his most disarming smile to charm his way past this unexpected gatekeeper.

“Blackmail is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as championing a collaboration between myself and the SMPD.” He lifted the takeout bags, the scent of spices intensifying. “I also bear samosas.”

The blonde’s eyebrows rose as she uncrossed her arms and stepped aside. “Well, my morals aren’t so strong that they can’t be bought with samosas.” The witch smirked. “Come on in, Casanova.”

Lorcan entered the cozy living room, the hardwood floors creaking under his feet.

The space was a charming blend of modern and magical, with floating candles illuminating the original mantel and spell books nestled on bookshelves among sleek electronics.

A faint scent of incense and sage hung in the air, mingling with the spice of the takeout.

No sooner had he set foot inside than a blur of silver fur darted across the room.

A ferret, his sleek body elongated like a furry slinky, scurried toward him with surprising speed.

His whiskers twitched as he circled Lorcan’s feet, beady eyes fixed on him with an intensity comical for such a small creature.

“I could smell his Black stench from miles away,” the ferret snarled, his tiny pink nose wrinkling in disgust.

Lorcan blinked, taken aback by the hostile familiar—Sarah Michelle’s, no doubt. But he recovered quickly, his trademark smirk sliding into place. “Lorcan. Enchanted to meet you, too,” he drawled, bowing with a flourish that was equal parts mocking and graceful.

The ferret’s whiskers bristled, and he rose up on his hind legs, jabbing a tiny paw in Lorcan’s direction.

“Listen, pretty boy,” the mustelid squeaked.

“Dial down the charm-o-meter. You’re here to work on a case, not audition for ‘Wizard’s Most Eligible Bachelor.

’ Keep those bedroom eyes in check, or I’ll personally shred your fancy shoes. ”

Lorcan glanced down at his Italian leather loafers, then back at the ferret, amused despite the threats.

Andromeda chuckled, shaking her head at the ferret’s antics.

“Easy, Nox. No need to go guard dog on us.” She turned to Lorcan, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just overly protective of Shelly.

Thinks he’s her knight in shining armor, minus the armor, plus a lot of fur that he leaves everywhere. ”

Nox huffed, his tiny chest puffing out. “Someone has to look out for her,” he muttered, casting a final suspicious glance at Lorcan before scampering off to sulk under an end table.

“Come on.” Andromeda gestured for Lorcan to follow her. “Let’s head to the kitchen before Nox makes good on his shoe-shredding threat. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Andromeda led Lorcan through the living room, past a collection of crystals that hummed with magical energy and a bookshelf lined with tomes on everything from advanced potion-making to Hedgehog Care for the Modern Witch.

The kitchen was a warm, inviting space with copper pots hanging from the ceiling and herbs drying in bundles along the windowsill.

As they entered, Lorcan’s gaze was drawn to a small, spiky ball perched atop a cushioned stool at the kitchen island. The hedgehog swiveled his head toward them, his button-black eyes twinkling with intelligence.

“Good evening, Mr. Black,” the familiar greeted in a surprisingly posh British accent. “I trust you’ve brought sustenance of the highest caliber?”

“Uh, yes. Samosas and curry from Spellbound Spices. Is that acceptable?”

The hedgehog’s nose twitched. “Indeed.”

Lorcan and Andromeda began unpacking the fragrant containers, their mouths watering at the smell of the golden samosas and rich, colorful curries. Nox, unable to resist the tempting aromas, crept back into the room, his earlier hostility forgotten in the face of potential treats.

As Lorcan reached for the last takeout box, the kitchen door swung open.

Sarah Michelle stepped in, a vision of cozy comfort in leggings and an oversized sweater that looked soft enough to nap in.

Her damp hair clung to her forehead and cheeks in messy tendrils, giving her an air of disheveled beauty that made Lorcan’s breath catch in his throat.

Sarah Michelle’s eyes widened at finding him in her kitchen.

She smoothed down her tousled locks. Her usually sleek bob looked like post-sweaty-sex hair.

Lorcan’s imagination went into overdrive.

He pictured those same damp tendrils plastered to her forehead, her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.

Eyelids half-closed, lips parted, whispering his name in breathless surrender.

“Pick up your jaw,” Andromeda whispered behind him, jolting Lorcan from his reverie.

He shook his head, wanting at the same time to dispel the vision but also to keep it with him forever.

“You’re early,” Sarah Michelle remarked with a guarded edge in her voice he craved to erase.

The detective fully entered the room and promptly sat at the kitchen table as far away from him as possible.

After they’d gotten a few bites down, the witch broke the silence. “So, what big discovery did you make to explain Manor String?” Her tone was all business, but she fidgeted with her fork.

He swallowed a mouthful of samosa before answering. “It goes back to when Elijah and I first met. We were working construction for this absolute troll of a boss.”

Sarah Michelle’s eyebrows rose questioningly.

“We came up with this code,” Lorcan continued, leaning forward. “Anagrams to insult the guy in the company chat without getting caught.”

A pang of nostalgia assaulted him about those early days with Elijah. They had been full of laughter and shared dreams. How had things gone so wrong?

Sarah Michelle started to open her mouth, a scathing comment surely on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped, perhaps catching the shadow in Lorcan’s expression.

“After the police unsealed the offices of Cornerstone, I searched Elijah’s files and noticed the name.” He paused, turning more introspective. “He’d written ‘Manor String’ in a few places in my office. Not immediately noticeable, but the thing you’d catch if you were searching for something.”

“Where exactly?”

“It was clever, really. Scrawled in the margins of old blueprints, in notepads, and even hidden in the metadata of some of our digital files. Like breadcrumbs, waiting to be found.”

The kitchen fell silent as they individually processed the new info and its implications.

Andromeda voiced what they were thinking. “Did Elijah know he was about to be killed?”

Lorcan’s gaze turned distant, eyes clouded with thoughts as he considered the question.

“Elijah had secrets,” he muttered, as if speaking to himself.

“Probably deep, awful ones. Secrets that could destroy a career, a life, a marriage?” His shoulders sagged.

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering if I knew him at all. ”

Sarah Michelle’s gaze was fixed on him, her expression inscrutable. “Manor String. What does it mean?”

He was grateful for the detachment in her voice.

One of them had to keep their cool and focus on the practical aspects of the investigation.

Besides, his brain coped better with the loss of his best friend when he was trying to solve his murder.

If he let himself think too much about Elijah being gone, Lorcan might break apart at the seams.

He reached into his pocket, producing a small yellow Post-it note. “It’s an anagram for Morning Star,” he explained, sliding the note across the table. “And those little asterisks Elijah doodled? They’re actually eight-point stars. You can see it better in this memo, where he drew the actual star.”

Her messy bob fell forward as she examined the drawing. “Morning Star? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not sure,” he admitted. “I always assumed Elijah knew nothing about magic. But I’ve seen such a star only in one place before.”

“Where?” Andromeda asked.

“On a wizarding house in Salem where a white eight-point star is painted on the highest turret.”

Realization dawned on Sarah Michelle’s face, her eyes widening as she pieced together whose house he was talking about. “You can’t seriously expect me to go interrogate my boss’s mother about a murder case?” she exclaimed, equally disbelieving and indignant.

“Do you have better ideas?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.