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

Chapter Two

Illegally Blonde

DONATELLO

In his career as a detective at Salem MPD, Donatello Malatesta had dealt with cursed artifacts, fire-breathing suspects, and once, a pissed-off mermaid with a mean grudge and a sharp harpoon.

None of that had prepared him for kicking in a door and finding two witches in pajamas, high on ice cream and delusionally saccharine TV, flanked by familiars with more attitude than half the department.

The hedgehog finished his dramatic flailing and puffed up like a toy soldier. “This is preposterous! Ms. Swan is a law-abiding witch of impeccable character. I demand to see that warrant.”

Donatello blinked. Was the little guy serious?

“I don’t have time for uptight rodents,” he said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” The pompous hedgehog rose to his full, rather unimpressive height. “I am not a rodent. And I am not uptight!” the familiar squawked, every quill on his back sticking up. “I am merely possessed of proper decorum, something sorely lacking in present company.”

Donatello resisted the impulse to flick his wrist and politely launch the thing into a shoebox.

“He means you,” the other familiar, a ferret, chimed in, climbing on Callidora, his fellow detective and one of Salem MPD’s most competent investigators. The little furball perched on her shoulder. “I kind of agree with the cop on this one, Quill. You make Victorian schoolmarms look chill.”

The power structure between the witches and their creatures was unclear—and frankly, unsettling—but Donatello was already exhausted by the dynamic.

“Enough,” Sarah Michelle snapped, eyes still scanning the warrant. Her frown deepened as she read on. He couldn’t blame her. Callidora’s roommate was neck-high in dragon droppings. “This can’t be right,” she said.

“It is, black on white,” Donatello replied, voice sharpening as he turned back to the blonde. “Andromeda Swan, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

Amidst the increasingly loud protests from everyone, Donatello eyed the witch.

Andromeda Swan. Blonde. Angel faced. Legs for miles. Dresses in a frayed pajama top with zero bra involvement and a pair of nude leggings that hardly counted as clothing. Definitely distracting.

Since she clearly wasn’t coming over, Donatello rounded the couch to shackle her wrists behind her back. He powered through the Miranda warning, eyes locked firmly on her nape to avoid letting his gaze wander somewhere it had no business going.

Donatello kept his voice steady, but his patience was circling the drain. He’d secured the blonde witch—now cuffed and simmering with rage—and yet Callidora was determined to argue every inch of due process like it was a personal vendetta.

As her rapid-fire questions continued, he fought the urge to remind her he outranked her in this investigation, that the warrant in her hands was legitimate, and that her friendship with the suspect didn’t override protocol.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose and debated whether he could still fake a head injury and hand the whole mess off to Chief King.

“Nuh-uh.” Sarah Michelle planted herself between him and the door. “You can’t waltz in here, destroy my property, arrest my roommate, and then stonewall me. What’s the charge?”

“The warrant spells it out,” Donatello replied, keeping his voice level. “Murder in the first degree with malicious use of dark magic.”

“That’s absurd.” Sarah Michelle’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Andy couldn’t kill anyone. She cries when she has to swat a mosquito.”

“I don’t cry,” Andromeda protested. “I feel bad for like, a minute, and move on.”

Donatello ignored the blonde and kept his focus on Callidora. “The evidence says otherwise.”

“What evidence?” Sarah Michelle demanded.

“You know I can’t discuss an active investigation.”

“Detective,” the hedgehog interjected, sounding like a disgruntled English professor despite being approximately six inches tall, “may I remind you that Miss Swan not only has no criminal record but is a recognized contributor to the very institution you represent?”

“Great. Now also the rodent has opinions on procedure.” Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am a hedgehog, sir. Not a rodent.” The creature puffed its quills. “And I demand—”

“You don’t get to demand anything.” Donatello cut him off. “And we’re outta here.”

He clicked his tongue twice—sharp and impatient.

“You’re not herding livestock, Malatesta,” Sarah Michelle bristled. “And she’s been with me all evening. She couldn’t have killed anyone.”

“Your vouching means toad-crap right now, Callidora.” Donatello was losing patience. “Your roommate’s magical signature was traced at a crime scene involving a level-three dark magic homicide. Judge Templeton doesn’t sign midnight warrants for fun.”

“Then let me come with you.” Sarah Michelle’s tone shifted from confrontational to measured. “As a fellow SMPD detective—”

“Who’s technically off duty and emotionally invested,” Donatello interrupted.

“I still have the right to observe.”

Donatello stared at her. She wasn’t wrong. The department regulations allowed for it. But having Callidora breathe down his neck while he booked the blonde was the last thing he wanted.

“Fine,” he relented. “You can ride along to the station. But keep your theories to yourself.”

The ferret chittered excitedly and darted down Callidora’s arm. “Should I grab my coat?”

“No.” Donatello pointed at the creature. “No familiars. Department policy.”

“That’s not a policy,” Sarah Michelle argued.

“It’s my policy. My backseat’s not a petting zoo.”

“Rude.” The ferret snickered.

Donatello ignored the comment and took Andromeda’s elbow, careful to keep his grip firm but not painful as he guided the witch toward the exit.

Up close, she smelled like vanilla and something floral but earthy—lavender maybe.

It was distracting. She was distracting, even in rumpled loungewear, and with that death glare she was directing at him.

“Is this necessary?” she asked, lifting her cuffed hands.

“Standard protocol,” he replied. “But they’re just dampening cuffs. You can still access your magic for basic self-defense if needed.”

“Oh, how thoughtful.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Do I get a complimentary cavity search too, or is that extra?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered before he could stop himself, then regretted it when her eyes widened.

Better get this over with fast. He pushed the witch out of the house.

Sarah Michelle stopped behind them on the porch and raised her hands, whispering an incantation at the splintered ruins of the front door.

Wood fragments floated upward, spinning and knitting together like a complex puzzle solving itself.

Within seconds, the door stood intact again, faint fracture lines marking where it had been repaired.

“It’ll hold for now.” Sarah Michelle ran a hand over the seams. “But we’ll need to replace it. I’m sending the bill to SMPD.”

“Suit yourself.” He’d never admit it, but he hadn’t meant to cause so much damage.

When he’d arrived at the address listed on the warrant and sensed the strength of the wards, his first thought had been that the suspect was barricaded inside, destroying evidence.

Dark magic homicides were rare, and he’d been running on adrenaline since discovering the body four hours ago.

He guided his charge down the porch steps, past the glamour he’d cast to hide the scene from human eyes, to his department-issued black SUV parked at the curb.

The night air was cool against his skin.

Salem after dark pulsed with electricity—a hum of magic that throbbed underneath the quaint New England facade the town presented to tourists.

Tonight, that current felt especially charged—oppressive and tight.

“Watch your head,” he warned as he helped Andromeda into the back seat. She shot him a withering glare but ducked without comment. The familiars had followed them outside, despite his orders. The hedgehog waddled across the sidewalk while the ferret darted around Sarah Michelle’s ankles.

“No,” Donatello repeated firmly, snapping his fingers. “Back inside. Now.”

“This is an outrage,” the pincushion huffed. “I demand to accompany my witch!”

“Demand all you want, but from inside the house,” Donatello replied, closing the rear door once Andromeda was settled. “Unless you’d rather be arrested for obstruction of justice.”

“You can’t arrest a familiar,” Sarah Michelle pointed out, stooping to whisper something to the ferret.

“Try me,” Donatello said. “I’ve had a hell of a night.”

Callidora straightened up, nodding at the two animals. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”

The ferret snickered before scampering back up the walkway. The hedgehog was more reluctant, his tiny face screwed up in self-righteous indignation.

“I am her solicitor, and I have a right to be present.”

“Then you can make your way to the station with your own means of transportation.”

“It’s okay, Quill,” Callidora repeated. “I’ve got this.”

The little beast nodded solemnly before turning with as much dignity as his stubby legs allowed and following the ferret.

“Your roommate has the most pretentious familiar,” Donatello muttered, circling to the driver’s side.

“Takes one to know one,” Sarah Michelle muttered, sliding into the passenger seat.

Donatello started the engine and pulled away from the curb, the streets of Salem semi-deserted. Streetlamps cast pools of amber light on the wet pavement, and the occasional nocturnal pedestrian hurried past, head down against the fall chill.

“So,” Sarah Michelle broke the silence after a few blocks. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t discuss the case now. Not with you. And not in front of her.” He pointed his thumb backward.

“But—”

“No buts. Another word, and you’re out of my car, too, Callidora.”

The cabin fell silent after that. Palpable tension radiated from both women. Sarah Michelle took out her phone and started texting madly to hex knew who.

While the other witch…

He glanced in the rearview mirror, and whiskey-colored eyes glared at him, burning with a combination of anger, fear, and determination that gripped something low in his gut and twisted.

She dropped her gaze first, but the impression of those fierce eyes remained, challenging every assumption he’d made about a quick conviction. So much so that Donatello wondered if he was making a terrible mistake.