Page 14 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Hard Drives and Soft Spots

ANDROMEDA

Andromeda stole another glance at Donatello, her gaze drawn to him like a pixie to witchlight.

The soft black sweater he was wearing made her fingers itch to touch it, to test if it felt as cozy as it appeared.

She wouldn’t mind nuzzling her cheek over the fabric, snuggling into the detective’s muscular arms.

Oh, gargoyles, she was losing the plot. But hard men in soft clothes were irresistible. Malatesta in a cop uniform was toe-curlingly gorgeous, but the casual outfit was worse—less intimidating, more human, and infinitely more dangerous to her peace of mind.

Damn Mr. Law and Order for looking this good in civilian clothes, even with lilac hair tucked beneath a beanie. And he wasn’t acting like a total troll despite the hair.

Famous last words.

“Ever thought about doing something less shady with your talents?” Donatello’s question cut through her thoughts, his deep voice filling the confined space of the car.

Andromeda snorted—still a troll then. Good, she could deal better with him when he was being a jerk. “I considered opening a bar, but then I remembered I mostly hate people.”

He shot her a side look. “No, seriously.”

“Who says I was joking?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Mmm. Call it an intuition.” He slowed the car as traffic thickened ahead of them. “What was your first illegal spell?”

“Define illegal.”

“Anything that involved property damage or changing someone’s anatomy.”

Andromeda tapped her chin mock-pensively. “Oh, then sixth grade. Science lab.”

His dark eyes flicked to her, then back to the road. “Were you brewing love spells?”

“Combustion charms,” she corrected with a grin. “Watching my snotty lab partner’s backpack turn into a miniature volcano was pure satisfaction.”

“Can’t say that answer surprises me.”

He flashed her a smile—the kind that reached his eyes and softened the hard lines of his face—not the sardonic smirk she’d gotten used to. It made him look younger, more approachable. Also more troubling.

“What about you, detective?” she asked, fighting to regain her emotional footing. “Have you always been above board?”

“Never even jaywalked,” he replied without hesitation.

Andromeda gave him an exaggerated once-over. “Pure as a sanctified cauldron.”

“Or very good at plausible deniability.”

The way he was watching her now was nothing short of criminal, and totally deniable.

Her cheeks warmed as his gaze lingered on her, and she resented how easily her body gave her away.

She’d cursed his hair purple, for hex’s sake.

She wasn’t supposed to be melting under his stare like a teenage witch with her first crush.

Thankfully, the rest of the ride passed in relative silence, giving Andromeda time to rebuild her mental shields. When they pulled into the Salem Magical Police Department’s parking lot, she’d gotten the tingles under control.

Donatello power-walked inside, and she had to scramble to keep up as he navigated the bullpen at record speed, avoiding the gazes of his colleagues who snickered at his passing.

Probably still about the Mistprint. And they hadn’t even seen what was under the beanie.

Andromeda wished she’d timed the curse to wash off in a few days, not a few weeks.

But he’d gotten her so mad after court, and she wasn’t the best at controlling her temper.

And anyway, the lilac hair was proving to be a punishment as much for her as it was for him.

He led her down a corridor she hadn’t seen during her previous visit to the station, past a series of doors with increasingly obscure warning symbols etched into the metal. They stopped at the last door, which stood open and bored a simple sign: “Evidence Examination Lab 3.”

“Dr. Oakheart,” Donatello greeted a white-haired witch, who looked up from a complex arrangement of crystals when they entered. “This is Andromeda Swan, our tech consultant.”

The witch adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and gave Andromeda a skeptical glance. “Yes, the hacker.” Her tone was neither approving nor disapproving, merely factual.

“I prefer cybersecurity expert,” Andromeda replied with a pleasant smile.

The older witch’s mouth twitched, and she gestured them toward a workbench. “You’re here for the hard drive.”

“The murder weapon,” Donatello confirmed.

Andromeda followed them to the bench, where a small, ordinary silver hard drive sat within a shimmering containment field. “That’s it? That thing sucked out Arcanet’s consciousness and left his body an empty shell?”

“Underwhelming, isn’t it?” Dr. Oakheart’s eyes gleamed with professional appreciation. “That’s what makes it so brilliant. Hiding potent magic in such a mundane object.”

Even as hard drives went, it was nothing special. A plain device anyone could buy at an electronics store—silver plastic casing, USB connection, and a terabyte of storage.

“How did it work?” Andromeda asked.

“From what we can tell, it activated when connected to the computer and triggered by a signal.” The forensic expert manipulated the containment field, causing it to display an overlay of magical signatures in glowing purple lines.

“See these energy pathways? When plugged in, it would establish a dual connection: one digital and one magical. One transferred data normally, while the other…”

“Created a conduit for the curse,” Andromeda finished, fascination overriding her initial disappointment. “Clever. The victim wouldn’t suspect a thing until it was too late.”

“But the hard drive had to be plugged in when the email was opened.”

Donatello scratched his jaw, and the grating sound echoed deep in Andromeda’s marrow.

“Meaning the killer must’ve had access to Arcanet’s office and be sure the hard drive was in place before they sent the curse.

” He grabbed his phone, called someone, and instructed them to sweep Arcanet’s residence for any hidden surveillance.

His voice took on that authoritative edge that made him instantly more attractive.

He put the phone away and stood with one arm tucked across his torso, the other bent at the elbow, his hand gripping his chin while he thought.

He was every inch the commanding detective despite the ridiculous beanie. “Anything else?”

Dr. Oakheart’s expression turned grave. “Yes. We isolated the usual components for curse imbuing—black salt, wormwood essence, nightshade.” She paused, her weathered hands stilling over the containment field.

“But we also uncovered traces of lich blood used to shadow the magic and make it undetectable.”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

“That’s impossible,” Donatello near-whispered. “The practice has been forbidden for centuries.”

“And yet”—Dr. Oakheart’s finger traced a pattern in the air over the hard drive, causing a section of the containment field to glow an eerie bluish-black—“the science doesn’t lie.”

Liches were powerful wizards skilled in necromancy who sought eternal life through dark rituals, transforming themselves into undead beings.

Unlike mindless zombies, these abominations retained their intelligence and powers—making them among the most dangerous entities in the magical world.

But they were supposed to be creatures of legend, wiped out ages ago.

“Are we talking about fossilized blood?” Andromeda asked hopefully. “From an ancient artifact?”

Dr. Oakheart shook her head, her expression grim. “No, Miss Swan. The blood is fresh.”

Donatello swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “How is that possible? All texts on how to create a lich were burned.”

“Knowledge has a way of surviving, detective,” the forensic witch replied. “Especially forbidden spells. It calls to certain types of practitioners, whispers promises of power and immortality.”

“But still,” Andromeda interjected, “only a handful of wizards would have both the skill and the knowledge necessary.”

“Precisely.” Dr. Oakheart nodded. “We’re looking at a small pool of potential suspects. Old families. Purists. Those with access to ancient grimoires and forbidden texts.”

Andromeda’s brain translated Dr. Oakheart’s words into search parameters. “I could build a program to cross-reference the civil registry with magical habilitation records and online activity. Filter for advanced necromantic capabilities, access to restricted materials, connections to Arcanet…”

Donatello turned to her. “How long would that take?”

“A few hours, maybe less if—I can bypass bureaucratic tape.”

Dr. Oakheart snorted.

“Do it.” Donatello nodded. “I’ll get you access to whatever databases you need.”

The way he trusted her abilities without question sent a strange flutter through Andromeda’s chest, but before she could examine the reaction, Dr. Oakheart cleared her throat.

“One more thing,” the forensic witch said. “We also detected traces of time-sand on the hard drive.”

“That’s a regulated substance,” Donatello noted.

Dr. Oakheart nodded. “The amount used is minimal—not enough to trigger any red flags. But still, anyone purchasing it would need to get a permit specifying the intended use and quantity.”

“Yeah, even small quantities require a permit. I’ll request the purchase records right away.” Donatello typed a message and glanced up at Andromeda. “We’ll cross-reference those with the results from your program.”

He took charge, commanding the room. A man who knew what to do—and didn’t hesitate—was dangerously captivating. Even if that man had once blown off her door and arrested her.

He held her gaze, and heat flashed in his eyes before he masked it with cool professionalism. “Let’s get you to a computer.”

From the way her spine melted, he might as well have said, let’s get you naked.