Page 12 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

License to Hex

ANDROMEDA

The bullpen of Salem’s Magical Police Department buzzed with gossip-thick energy that prickled Andromeda’s skin.

Officers swiveled in chairs as she and Malatesta emerged from the special case room, their gazes hungry for gossip like vampires eyeing fresh veins.

Something was off. The air vibrated with suppressed laughter and shared smirks, creating an atmosphere that reminded Andromeda uncomfortably of high school right before someone got ambushed in the cafeteria.

Whatever it was, Detective Cocky was the target, and judging by the thundercloud brewing on his face, he knew it.

“Ignore them,” Malatesta muttered. “They’re worse than a coven of teenage witches.”

His hand ghosted behind her lower back as they navigated between desks, never touching her, but close enough that the heat radiating from his palm reached her. It was—not unpleasant.

They were halfway across the bullpen when Sarah Michelle materialized in front of them. Her dark hair shone under the fluorescent lights, but not as bright as the shit-eating grin plastered on her face. Had someone slipped a cheering potion into her coffee?

“Malatesta,” Sarah Michelle purred, her eyes dancing with unholy delight. “News is the hearing went well.”

Well? Was her roommate nuts? Andromeda blinked in confusion. She’d been sentenced to community service instead of paying a fine and forced to work with the most infuriating man in law enforcement. In what universe did that qualify as “going well?”

Even more baffling, was Malatesta’s reaction. His entire body tensed beside her. He exhaled, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “For hex’s sake, Callidora, not you, too.”

What did he have to be so prickly about? He’d won.

“Seven sharp tomorrow morning, be ready,” he snapped, jabbing a finger toward Andromeda with such intensity she took a step back. His eyes, those dark pools that absorbed light, held an edge of wariness. “I’ll pick you up.”

Before she could fire off a cutting response about his bedside manner, Malatesta stormed off, his broad shoulders rigid with tension, leaving a wake of snickering officers in his path.

“What was that about?” Andromeda demanded once he was out of earshot. “And why are you grinning like you just won the Magical Lottery?”

Sarah Michelle’s smile was incandescent. “My shift ended. Need a ride home?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Andromeda narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting like they’ve been huffing laughing gas?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Sarah Michelle promised, already heading for the exit.

Andromeda followed, acutely aware of the eyes tracking their departure, the whispers, and poorly concealed chuckles. Whatever was happening, it clearly involved both her and Malatesta, and she wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or concerned.

Once they were sheltered in Sarah Michelle’s sensible sedan—a vehicle so lacking in personality that Andromeda wondered if it had been specifically enchanted to be forgettable—her roommate finally broke.

“So,” Sarah Michelle said as she pulled away from the curb. “You know how court sessions are recorded via Mistprint for official records?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, normally those recordings are sealed.” Sarah Michelle’s grin turned downright devious. “But someone in the clerk’s office owed Officer Belmont a favor, and, well… let’s say the highlights of your hearing have become popular around the station.”

Andromeda frowned. “How?”

“Someone isolated the part where Malatesta had to repeat the exact wording of your curse. So now there’s a Mistprint projection of Salem’s most arrogant detective solemnly declaring, and I quote, ‘I’m a dickhead. My penis is small.’”

Andromeda burst out laughing, the sound exploding from her with such force that she had to brace herself over the dashboard. “You’re joking,” she gasped between fits of giggles. “Please tell me you’re not joking.”

“I am serious,” Sarah Michelle assured her, far too pleased with herself. “It’s been playing on a loop in the break room all afternoon.”

Andromeda wiped small tears off, her stomach aching from laughter. “Oh hex, no wonder he had murder in his eyes.”

“I may or may not have programmed it as his personalized ringtone on my phone,” Sarah Michelle continued, turning onto their street.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. Want to hear it?”

“Yes—wait, no.” Andromeda bit her lower lip, an unexpected twinge of sympathy tempering her amusement. “I feel bad for him now.”

Sarah Michelle gaped at her as she pulled into their driveway. “For Malatesta? The same man who kicked down our door and dragged you to the station in handcuffs?”

“I know, I know.” Andromeda leaned back against the headrest, surprised by her conflicted emotions. “It’s just… public humiliation is a special kind of hex. And…”

Sarah Michelle killed the engine to turn toward Andromeda, her expression suspicious. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” Andromeda kept her voice neutral.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Andy. You have your ‘I’ve done something devious and I’m thoroughly pleased with myself’ face on.”

Andromeda shrugged, fighting a smile. “Not me.”

“Andy.” Sarah Michelle’s tone had shifted from amused to concerned. “Please tell me you didn’t curse your parole officer.”

“I’m not a convict,” Andromeda protested. “So I don’t have a parole officer.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“That’s a deeply depressing perspective.”

“Andy, I’m serious. If he catches you messing with him, it’s your second strike. Judge Templeton isn’t fond of serial offenders.”

“No proof, no crime.”

Her roommate didn’t seem convinced. Sarah Michelle rolled her eyes but dropped the subject as they headed inside. The conversation shifted to dinner plans and the latest episodes of their favorite show, the topic of Malatesta and potential curses shelved for the moment.

Later, as Andromeda prepared for bed, she smiled. The detective thought he was so clever, maneuvering her into working on his case. He had no idea what was coming.

“Sleep tight, detective,” she whispered as she pulled back the covers. “Tomorrow’s going to be downright magical.”

***

The pounding on their door started before seven. He was twenty minutes early. But Andromeda had expected it. She was already halfway through her second cup of coffee and fully clothed.

She took another unhurried sip as the hammering continued. Andromeda was about to get up to answer the door when Quill sniffed, his quills bristling with disapproval. “One does not require the gift of foresight to predict this will not end well. Cursing an officer of the law was reckless.”

“Allegedly cursing,” Andromeda corrected. “And keep your muzzle shut. Plausible deniability, remember?”

Before Andromeda could stand, Sarah Michelle burst out of her bedroom, tying the sash of her robe. Her dark bob was flattened on one side, and her eyes were still puffy with sleep.

“What troll spit is this—” Shelly started, then stopped when another series of poundings rattled the hinges. She shot Andromeda a suspicious frown before heading for the door.

Through the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room, Andromeda had a perfect view of her best friend yanking the door open, revealing Detective Not-So-Cocky-Anymore in all his pissed-off glory.

He stood on their porch wearing dark jeans, the same leather jacket from yesterday, and a black beanie pulled low over his forehead.

His expression was thunderous, hands flexing like he was about to break something—or someone.

“Where is she?” he demanded, brushing past her roommate without so much as a good morning.

“Well, hello to you too, Malatesta,” Sarah Michelle replied dryly. “Please, come in. Make yourself at home. Again.”

But the detective wasn’t listening. His dark gaze had already locked onto Andromeda through the kitchen archway, and he stormed toward her with the determined stride of a furious man on a mission.

Andromeda leaned her elbows on the table, the picture of casual innocence in her amateur sleuth attire—non-ripped jeans and a cozy sweater.

Malatesta stopped inside the kitchen. “Get it back to normal,” he hissed.

Andromeda hid her smirk behind her coffee mug, taking another sip before responding.

“Good morning, Detective Malatesta. You’re early.

” She kept her voice light, friendly even.

Not the tone of a woman who had, hypothetically speaking, cast a curse on a member of the magical law force.

And while she was never going to admit that—she didn’t care for jail time—she also wanted to make sure he knew he’d messed with the wrong witch.

So she riled him up. “Nice hat. Feeling the cold?”

Sarah Michelle entered the kitchen. Her best friend was now wide awake and staring between them. “Malatesta, care to explain why you’re behaving like a total caveman in my kitchen at”—she checked the time on her phone—“six forty-five in the morning?”

“Ask her,” Malatesta growled, jerking his chin toward Andromeda without taking his eyes off her face. “Go ahead, Swan. Tell your roommate what you did.”

Andromeda clutched her imaginary pearls. “Sorry, detective, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Don’t play innocent. I know you did this.”

With a theatrical yank, he tore off the beanie, static electricity sparking through a full head of lilac locks. The shade reminded Andromeda of her favorite lavender body lotion.

It took heroic levels of restraint not to collapse in laughter. Yesterday, she had no idea what color the curse would turn his hair, and despite herself, she found the lilac charming.

“A bit early for costumes, detective, don’t you think?” Andromeda poked. “Halloween isn’t for another two weeks.”

The sound that emerged from Malatesta’s throat could only be described as a growl. An actual human growl. His lilac hair vibrated with the force of his anger, making the pastel shade even more absurdly out of place against his torqued expression.

“I know it was you.” His voice turned dangerously low. “My scalp froze when you touched me yesterday.”

Behind him, Sarah Michelle’s face was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions—lips pressed together not to laugh, and eyes narrowed with what might have been reproach. The result was a constipated expression that made Andromeda’s control of her own laughter wobble dangerously.

She arched a brow and set her mug down with a soft clink, lifting one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug.

“Wow, detective,” she said. “Jumping to conclusions without evidence? That’s sloppy police work. It’s not my fault if you’re having a bad hair day.”

Sarah Michelle coughed into her hand, the sound doing a poor job of disguising a laugh.

“And anyway,” Andromeda continued, “Pastel locks are so in this season. Super on-trend. Very… what would you call it, Shelly? Gen Z?”

“I—” Sarah Michelle started and stopped. “Nuh-uh, I’m not touching this.”

“She’s your roommate,” Malatesta protested.

“Can’t fight your own battles, detective?”

His dark eyes, even more intensely brown against the lilac of his hair, narrowed.

“I fight my battles above board. I don’t use tricks. But you know what?” he said, voice deceptively calm. “This is what I expected from someone who thinks cursing someone’s computer is an appropriate response to professional disputes. At least now I know what kind of witch I’m dealing with.”

“And what kind is that?” Andromeda asked, genuinely curious.

“The kind who never learned that actions have consequences.” He jammed the beanie back over his head, tucking in the stray lilac strands with furious precision. “I’ll wait for you in the car. Move your ass.”

With that parting shot, he turned on his heel and stalked out, the sound of the front door slamming behind him echoed through the house.

“So rude,” Andromeda commented, draining the last of her coffee and setting the mug in the sink. “You’d think someone with such a pretty hair color would have a sunnier disposition.”

Sarah Michelle covered her face with one hand and shook her head, but her shoulders were shaking with laughter. “You’ll get thrown in jail,” she said between muffled snorts. “And I won’t visit you because you’ll have deserved it.”

“Please, he’ll get over it.”

“He’s going to murder you in the car.”

“He’s welcome to try.” Her voice didn’t betray the uncertainty inside her. “I’ll make his eyebrows match.”

Andromeda ducked into the hallway to grab her coat and allowed herself the full-body laugh she’d been suppressing since Malatesta had ripped off his beanie. She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound, shoulders shaking with the effort.

When the laughter subsided, she checked her reflection in the console mirror and composed her features into a serious expression. She had to at least keep up the facade enough to irritate the hex out of Detective Lilac-and-Livid, who, pastel hair or not, remained criminally, inconveniently hot.