Page 20 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Seventeen

Pouts and Pasta

DONATELLO

Donatello watched Andromeda’s lower lip jut out in a challenging pout that made his entire body temperature rise by several uncomfortable degrees.

The woman was a walking hazard—first with those ridiculous librarian glasses perched on her nose, then with the way she’d teased him about playing bad cop, and now this exaggerated pout that made him think of things that had no place in a police station.

A wizard could only take so much before he snapped, and Donatello was dangerously close to the breaking point.

“We should go talk to what’s left of Arcanet,” Andromeda said, mercifully dropping the pout.

The mention of Arcanet—a man who’d had his consciousness sucked out of his body with the blood of an undead wizard zombie—was a bucket of ice water quenching Donatello’s inappropriate inclinations. Nothing like a brutal magical murder to dampen his inconvenient desire.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Let’s see what our binary friend has to say.”

He guided Andromeda back to the secure room where Arcanet was contained. He swiped his key card, and the heavy door slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss.

Inside the room, the cascading alphanumeric characters forming Arcanet’s face continued their endless waterfall pattern, creating the uncanny impression of a man’s head trapped in the screen. The face turned toward them as they entered.

“Creepy as ever,” he muttered.

“It’s fascinating,” Andromeda replied, stepping closer. “Hello again, Arcanet.”

The green characters rearranged, turning into ones. Yes.

“We need to ask you about Patrick Ruescher.” Donatello lifted his tablet and pulled up the security footage. “We have evidence that might implicate him in your murder.”

Zeros filled the screen immediately. No.

“I understand your loyalty,” Donatello continued, “but we have him on video purchasing a rare ingredient used in the spell that killed you.” He turned the tablet, angling it at Arcanet’s digital head and played the recording.

The green characters swirled erratically before settling back into a flowing pattern of zeros.

“Are you sure?” Andromeda asked, her voice gentle.

Ones appeared.

Donatello gestured at the tablet. “What about this video?”

Zeros cascaded down.

Andromeda nudged him with her elbow. “Give him yes or no questions, detective.”

Even her bossy corrections were becoming attractive to him now. Donatello ran a hand down his face, wondering if he was developing a condition where everything about Andromeda Swan became appealing.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Arcanet, do you believe this video accurately shows Patrick Ruescher purchasing time-sand?”

Zeros.

Andromeda leaned forward. “You think it’s been tampered with?”

Ones flowed rapidly down the screen.

“How can you be sure?” Donatello asked.

More ones, but the pattern seemed agitated somehow, the characters flowing faster than before.

“Yes or no questions!” Andromeda reminded him again, exasperation coloring her tone. “We won’t get anywhere with him like this.”

Donatello sighed heavily. This form of communication was painfully limited. “Let’s try the alphabet method again. Arcanet, I’m going to run through the alphabet. Signal with ones when I reach the letter you want.”

They implemented the tedious process until four letters were spelled out: L-O-V-E.

“Love?” Donatello frowned.

“You and Patrick were in love?” Andromeda asked.

Zeros.

“You were in love with him?” Donatello asked.

Zeros again.

“He was in love with you?” Andromeda guessed.

Ones filled the screen.

Donatello scoffed. “Unrequited love is a classic motive.”

Zeros again, more rapidly this time.

Donatello’s frustration mounted. “Maybe you don’t know better!” he snapped. “You’re dead because someone stuck your consciousness into a computer. Even if Patrick was in love with you, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t capable of murder.”

The zeroes pattern moved so quickly it blurred into green light. Even as a semi-consciousness, Arcanet was stubborn as a troll.

“Leave it.” Andromeda patted Donatello’s arm. The warmth of her palm seeped through his sweater, momentarily distracting him from his frustration. “We should give him a break.”

Donatello exhaled. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

In the hallway, Andromeda was again deep in thought.

“Something isn’t adding up,” she said as they walked. “I know what we saw on that video, but Arcanet seems convinced Patrick’s innocent.”

“Arcanet is sure of his assistant’s feelings for him,” Donatello corrected. “That doesn’t mean the intern didn’t do it. If anything, we now have a motive—he was a scorned lover.”

“Patrick couldn’t create a lich.”

“He could have an accomplice. Patrick couldn’t handle the rejection and—”

Andromeda stopped walking, turning to face him. “Can I watch the security footage one more time? Arcanet said it could have been tampered with, and I agree.”

Determination shone in her eyes, and experience had taught him to follow every lead, no matter how improbable. If Andromeda saw something he’d missed, it was worth investigating.

“Sure,” he agreed. “You can use the video analysis room down the hall.”

The room was small but well-equipped, with multiple screens and specialized magical scanning equipment designed to detect alterations in both digital and magical recordings. Donatello projected the footage on the main screen, stepping back as Andromeda took a seat before it.

He stood behind her, trying—and failing—not to notice the loose strand of hair that curled over the side of her neck. It was begging to be tucked away and the freed skin to be kissed.

“There.” Andromeda pointed at the screen. “Look at that.”

Donatello squinted at the video. “At what?”

“The way he moves.” She rewound the tape and played the segment again. “It’s… off. And his eyes—they don’t blink naturally.”

“The security cameras at the emporium are shielded,” Donatello pointed out. “They’re designed to see through enchantments and glamours.”

“A wizard powerful enough to create a lich could trick even shielded cameras,” Andromeda countered, twisting in her chair to look up at him. The movement brought her face uncomfortably close to his, and Donatello took a step back.

He had to focus on the case not on the way her irises caught every hint of light in the room. “That’s a big if. But…” He played the video and scowled. “You’re right, his gait doesn’t match Patrick’s.”

Her eyes lit up. “You should go back to Patrick. Ask him if Arcanet was planning something major that a purist would want to stop.”

It was a good point. “Alright. Keep analyzing that footage. I’ll see what our lovesick intern has to say.”

Twenty minutes later, Donatello returned to the video room, his mind buzzing with new information.

Andromeda looked up from the screens expectantly. “Well?”

“Patrick was reticent at first.” Donatello dropped into the chair next to her.

“Didn’t want to betray Arcanet even now.

But eventually, he confirmed that Arcanet had a major data leak planned—he was going to publish top-secret spell books and classified grimoires online.

Making ancient, restricted knowledge available to anyone with a darknet connection. ”

“That would infuriate a purist like Graves.” Andromeda’s eyes widened behind those librarian glasses. “It’s everything he stands against—magic becoming accessible through technology.”

“Exactly,” Donatello nodded. “Did you discover anything?”

“Yep.” Andromeda cracked her knuckles. “I coded a trace program to overlap footage from all available security cameras near the shop.” She tapped the screen, pulling up a new montage of overlapping video angles, each one labeled with neat, sequential designations.

“I tracked every camera in the block,” she continued, scrolling through the footage.

“And look… ‘supposed Patrick’ vanishes at a blind corner, never reappearing in any other recording. Poof! Gone like magic.”

“Couldn’t he have teleported?”

“Teleporting in broad daylight? On a busy street like that? That’s illegal and hard to pull off with no one noticing or reporting to the Intermixing Department.”

He ran a hand over his stubble. “So your theory is that…”

“Whoever this man was, he dropped his disguise in the blind spot so the trace lost him.”

Donatello rubbed his chin. “You are so smart, it’s scary.”

“Thank you, detective.” Andromeda stood up, gathering her notes with a smirk. “We should pay the archivist a visit. Tomorrow? I’m hungry again.”

“Tomorrow,” Donatello agreed. The day had been long, and confronting a potential lich-creator was not something to undertake while tired. An impulse seized him. “Do you want to grab dinner at my place? I make a mean pasta.”

Surprise flickered across Andromeda’s face, followed by indecision. He hurried to clarify, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. Or think he had the wrong idea.

“No pressure,” he added quickly. “I don’t expect anything to happen. Just dinner. Or we could go out to a restaurant again if you’re more comfortable.”

Andromeda shook her head, sighing dramatically. “You twist my arm, detective. Homemade carbs? Who could resist?”

He had no idea how she made sarcasm sound like foreplay. “Just the carbs? Not the chef?” he teased.

Andromeda rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. “At least pasta doesn’t talk back.”

As they walked out of the station, Donatello mused that if he wanted to invite complications into his life, he might have just welcomed the messiest one of all.

But as he watched Andromeda tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, he had a sinking feeling she was one complication he’d gladly lose sleep over.