Page 1 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter One

Mugshots on Movie Night

ANDROMEDA

On a cool October night, in the small town of Salem, Massachusetts, where witches lived in disguise among humans, Andromeda and her roommate were snuggled up on their cozy couch, engrossed in a rom-com.

“Do they think this is a realistic portrait of modern guys?” Andromeda passed the half-eaten carton of midnight ice cream to Sarah Michelle to adjust her messy bun with sticky fingers. “The abs, the sensitivity, the huge romantic gestures. No real man has the complete package.”

“Well, actually, Lorcan…” Shelly’s face took on that faraway expression she wore whenever her boyfriend came up.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah… Tall, Blond, and Magical is perfect. But you lucked out. Snatched the last decent wizard on the planet.” She pointed at the TV. “Men like that don’t exist.”

“And the moron girl doesn’t even want him,” Sarah Michelle groaned, shaking her head. Her dark bob shone blacker than usual against the pale yellow of her hoodie. “Why is she conflicted between him and the loser best friend?”

“There wouldn’t be a movie otherwise?”

Outside their large arched window, Salem breathed with the vibrant energy of fall.

Leaves rustled in the wind. Glowing jack-o’-lanterns lit up the night.

And the Atlantic’s salty tang filled the streets.

Andromeda loved these chilly October evenings when humans were distracted by pumpkins, and magic tingled, unbothered, through the shadows.

She especially enjoyed having a friend to snark with when the men in movies—and in life—had the emotional range of a spoon.

A pang of nostalgia assaulted Andromeda.

Her roommate was right next to her, and she was already missing the witch.

Since Sarah Michelle had gotten into a serious relationship, their nights together had become few and far between.

Most evenings, Shelly stayed at Lorcan’s place, which made tonight even more special.

Quill, Andromeda’s snobbish hedgehog familiar, declared that true romance was dead and had been buried next to modern men’s sense of style. The pronouncement earned a scoff from Nox, Shelly’s ferret, who darted across the windowsill and landed on the coffee table.

Quill scowled but continued undeterred, “I suppose this drivel has some merit in demonstrating how low women’s expectations have sunk.”

Andromeda snorted. “Sorry the entertainment is not classy enough for you.”

Quill bristled. “I did not expect fine art. But surely they could have produced something less banal. Is originality dead, too?”

“Oh, come on. It’s cute.” Nox circled around Quill. “And anyway, aren’t you supposed to be a fan of the classics? Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. They’re stealing from Shakespeare.” The ferret jumped onto Sarah Michelle’s knee looking for ear scratches, which he promptly got.

“If this were the Bard, the boy would’ve killed her by now—or they’d both be dead in a crypt somewhere.” Quill sighed.

“Right, Shakespeare’s men were such catches,” Sarah Michelle shot back, fending off Nox’s attempts to dive into the ice cream carton. “Let’s romanticize the guy who strangled his wife because another man dropped a handkerchief.”

Quill made a huffy noise that earned him a pillow to the face from Nox. The soft projectile bounced off his quills, leaving him unharmed. But the hedgehog cast the ferret a dirty look as he climbed atop the couch armrest, muttering, “They are not called throw pillows literally.”

Sarah Michelle narrowed her eyes at the fallen pillow. “Is that a new one?”

“Mmm… what?” Andromeda played dumb.

“Don’t worry, Andy, you’re still my favorite roommate.” Shelly blew her a kiss. “Even with your pillow obsession and spare electronics hoarding issues.”

Andromeda smiled, bittersweet. It was only a matter of time before Sarah Michelle moved in with her boyfriend. And then it’d be just Andromeda and her familiar.

Quill was still watching the TV with disdainful interest. “I’m about to faint from the insipidness.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. She was doomed to spend her evenings with a pint-sized moralist who thought himself a Victorian gentleman stuck in a hedgehog’s body.

As the movie progressed, the couple on-screen finally leaned in for an overdue first kiss.

The music swelled dramatically. The guy cupped the woman’s face, delivering solid eye contact, while everyone in the room held their breath—even Quill, despite all his protesting.

The lead was about to close that last inch when the front door blew open with a deafening crash.

Quill got so startled he tumbled off the couch, landing on his back while Andromeda clutched the remote like a weapon.

Her gaze bounced from the struggling hedgehog to the shattered remains of their front door, and then to the hunk of a man standing on the threshold.

Tall, broad, and dark-haired, he was wearing full black SMPD tactical gear and stood in the wreckage of their doorway, backlit by the streetlights like an action hero out of a different kind of movie.

Andromeda’s mouth fell open as she hid behind the backrest and studied the man in uniform.

Under the stunner-proof jacket, his stretch shirt hugged his broad shoulders so tightly it left no doubts about the strength coiled beneath it.

Polished boots, badge shining like a new coin, and not a speck of lint on him.

The only messy thing about him was the mop of dark hair.

Even his stubble was orderly. It shadowed a jawline that could cut glass, sharpening the angles of his face.

Dark eyebrows framed intense eyes that were now widened on Sarah Michelle—in recognition? Were they colleagues?

No, a friend of Sarah wouldn’t have dismantled their living room.

Wooden shards lay scattered across the entryway.

Quill was still on his back, tiny legs flailing, making indignant huffing noises as he tried to right himself.

Meanwhile, the movie kept playing, the cheesy soundtrack creating a jarringly romantic backdrop for the destruction.

For one wild, delirious moment, Andromeda thought Sarah Michelle had arranged for a stripper to surprise her.

An early birthday present, perhaps? Or a roommate appreciation gesture?

But then logic kicked in. The man wasn’t carrying a boombox.

No cheesy music cued up. And his expression lacked the practiced seductive grin of someone about to shed his clothes for money.

Stripper or not, Andromeda couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Stunned in place like a deer in headlights.

Sarah Michelle had no such holdbacks. Her roommate leaped from the couch, sending Nox sailing through the air with an offended squeak as she squared up to the man. The ferret landed on a pile of cushions, turning to glare at his witch with bristling fur.

“Callidora,” the intruder drawled, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through Andromeda’s chest. “What a surprise.”

Sarah Michelle crossed her arms, her expression morphing from chill movie-night companion to stern, don’t-mess-with-me officer.

Gone was her friend who’d been laughing at awful dialog.

In her place stood Detective Callidora of the Salem Magical Police Department, radiating authority despite wearing fluffy slippers and an oversized hoodie.

“Malatesta,” Sarah Michelle replied, the name falling from her lips like a curse. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Andromeda recognized the name from a homicide she had consulted on last year—the messy murder of Lorcan’s best friend.

When Sarah had been taken off the case after a very public display of magic, she’d started secretly collaborating with the detective reassigned to the investigation—a.k.a.

the beefcake who’d just barged into their living room.

How had Sarah Michelle failed to mention that her colleague could’ve walked straight off a “Hot Cops of Massachusetts” calendar shoot?

Andromeda mentally scrolled through every SMPD story Sarah Michelle had shared, trying to recall if “devastatingly handsome detective who could bench-press cars for fun” had ever been brought up.

It hadn’t been. Either Sarah Michelle was keeping secrets, or she genuinely didn’t think this Adonis among men was worth acknowledging.

“I’m working, obviously,” he replied, eyes still locked with Sarah Michelle’s in an alpha-staring contest.

“If you needed support on a case, a call or a knock would’ve sufficed. Or did you get too excited and blow the door off before you could help yourself?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I go slow when I can enjoy it.” No one had the right to make crude innuendo sound that toe-curling. “But tonight, I didn’t have time for foreplay.”

Andromeda’s gaze bounced between them as if she were watching an intense tennis match, the hairs on her arms standing up.

“So you decided property damage was the answer?” Sarah Michelle gestured at the doorframe, which now could double as avant-garde carpentry. “We have wards, you know. You’re lucky you weren’t turned into a toad.”

He flashed a world-class jerk smirk. “I took care of your cute little wards before blowing off the door.”

But the damage didn’t stop at the door. The blast had knocked over the small table where they kept their keys and mail, scattering envelopes across the floor.

A framed photo of them at last year’s Winter Solstice celebration lay cracked on the ground, and the vervain candles Sarah Michelle always kept lit had toppled from their holders, leaving waxy smears on the hardwood, but thankfully not burning anything.

“Again, why did you blow my door?”

He didn’t reply. The detective’s dark gaze shifted from Sarah Michelle, scanning the room until it landed on Andromeda.

After the way he’d wrecked their sturdy front door, she could’ve lived without the attention.

But as they locked eyes for the first time, Andromeda felt pinned in place.

Spellbound. His eyes were mesmerizing. The darkest brown that seemed to contain entire universes of intensity as they assessed her with the calculation of a predator.

Heat bloomed across her cheeks as her pulse thrummed in places she’d rather not acknowledge.

Places that had no business responding to a man who’d blown up her front door.

Places that should remain dignified and guarded in the face of law enforcement, even if said law enforcement was a walking thirst trap.

And of course, the hottest man to ever violate her civil rights had to do so while she was as fashionable as a swamp hag in ratty leggings, an oversized, threadbare sweatshirt with ice cream stains, and with her wild blonde hair piled haphazardly on top of her head.

The detective frowned as if he too was taken aback by the intensity of the eye contact. His strong jaw set into a harder line, and something like confusion flickered across his features before his scowl deepened.

Andromeda silently wondered if it was too late to transfigure herself into a potted plant.

Or convince the earth to swallow her whole and leave nothing but her scrunchie behind.

Disappear through a portal? Any escape route would do as long as it meant not having to sit in front of the unfairly handsome detective while he x-rayed her.

“Excuse me.” Sarah Michelle snapped her fingers, breaking the tension as she stepped into his line of sight and blocked his view of Andromeda. “Besides losing your manners, did you also lose your tongue? What in the name of bleeding ghosts are you doing in my house?”

Andromeda mentally high-fived her roommate for stepping in.

“And on what authority did you demolish my front door? I’m pretty sure that’s not standard SMPD procedure.”

Malatesta’s gaze dragged away from Andromeda to face Sarah Michelle head-on. A crooked smirk tugged at his lips, both irritating and weirdly charming.

“My authority?” He chuckled, a dark velvet sound that did strange things to Andromeda’s insides. “Last time I checked, Callidora, I only need to justify SMPD business to my superiors—and that’s not you.”

Sarah Michelle’s body went rigid. “This is my home, not a crime scene, so you don’t get to barge in with no explanation.”

“Call it initiative.” Malatesta shrugged, unapologetic. “And as for justification…” He snapped his fingers, and a scroll materialized out of thin air, unfurling itself complete with gold tassels and the embossed seal of the Department of Magical Justice.

“Search and arrest warrant, signed by Judge Templeton,” Malatesta announced, satisfaction clear in his voice.

The document hovered between them, slowly rotating to show off its official stamps and signatures.

“Which would have been presented more conventionally if your wards hadn’t been set to fry anything magical that crossed your threshold. ”

Sarah Michelle snatched the floating document out of the air. “Our wards are standard-issue, not lethal. Stop being dramatic. Or are you taking back that cocky ‘cute little wards’ line?”

“If the wards were as standard as you claim, they wouldn’t have flared up like they sensed a demon when I tried to ring the bell. Not that it mattered—I got through just fine.”

“They’re sensitive to arrogance. You must’ve triggered a full-body reaction.”

“Anyway.” He ignored the jab. “The warrant isn’t for you, Callidora. I’m here to arrest an Andromeda Swan.” He peeked past Sarah Michelle. “I’m guessing the blonde hiding behind you on the couch?”

The room seemed to tilt sideways, and Andromeda’s stomach dropped as if she’d plunged off a broom at high altitude—something she’d unfortunately experienced in real life. He wanted to arrest her?

A moment ago, she wouldn’t have minded him slapping handcuffs on her—now she’d prefer to return that fantasy for a full refund. Thank you very much.