Page 27 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

In Case of Undead Break Glass

ANDROMEDA

Andromeda sat powerless in a windowless control room while the people she cared about the most prepared to confront a monster who snacked on souls.

She hunched forward in her chair, eyes fixed on the wall of monitors that displayed grainy feeds from helmet cameras.

Her fingers dug into the cushioned armrests until her knuckles blanched.

“You look like you’re about to vibrate out of that chair, Miss Swan.

” Dr. Oakheart’s voice held gentle amusement as she adjusted the monitor.

The forensic witch’s silver hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun, but her eyes sparkled with the energy of someone half her age.

“Breathe. Your anxiety doesn’t help them. ”

“I’m breathing,” Andromeda muttered. She cracked her neck from side to side, but her gaze remained locked on the screen showing Donatello’s helmet feed.

He was stationed at the eastern perimeter with Sarah Michelle.

Neither moved—postures rigid, shoulders squared as they waited for the raid to begin.

The third person in the room—a senior agent whose name she’d already forgotten—grunted from his position near the communications array. “She shouldn’t even be here. This is a need-to-know operation.”

Dr. Oakheart raised an eyebrow at him. “And who better to help us interpret magical tech interference than the department’s consulting expert? Unless you’ve developed the ability to distinguish between a lich’s shadow magic and standard signal disruption?”

The agent muttered something unintelligible and turned back to his console.

Andromeda threw Dr. Oakheart a grateful look.

They both knew her presence had more to do with Chief King’s reluctant acknowledgment of her role in identifying Graves than any technical expertise she might provide during the raid.

“All teams, check in.” Agent Zane’s voice crackled through the speakers, commanding even through the static. “Alpha team in position.”

“Bravo ready.”

Green confirmation lights lit up beside each team’s location on the tactical map.

The abandoned pharmaceutical facility spread across the displays—a complex of gray buildings surrounded by chain-link fences and overgrown vegetation.

In the center stood the main laboratory, its windows dark and empty, like the eye sockets of a skull.

“Eastern perimeter secure.”

Andromeda’s heart stumbled at hearing Donatello speak in that terse, professional tone, remembering how different his voice had sounded whispering against her skin mere hours ago.

Reports came in from the other SMPD agents—west, north, and south—all confirming secure perimeters.

“Remember your briefing,” Zane admonished. “Hold positions. If Graves attempts to flee, do not—I repeat, do not—engage him. Deploy containment nets only, and call for backup.”

A chorus of acknowledgments followed. And the action began. The special tactical team approached the loading dock in formation, their movements precise and coordinated. The three Nocturnes were at the front, recognizable because they weren’t wearing the night-vision goggles.

They reached the entrance.

“Breaching now,” Agent Zane announced.

The twin doors exploded inward in a controlled blast, the sound drawn out by a containment spell. The strike team swept in, fast and efficient. Their helmet cameras showed concrete floors, rusted equipment, and walls covered in graffiti. Dust motes swirled in the beams of their tactical lights.

Andromeda leaned closer to the screens, her heart pounding in her ears. The shadows in the camera feeds pressed in. Every dark corner a possible hiding place for an unspeakable evil. The tension built with each passing minute as the feds made their way deeper into the facility.

“First floor clear,” Zane reported. “Moving to the second floor.”

The feeds showed the team ascending a wide staircase, weapons at the ready. Andromeda’s mouth went dry. She glanced at the perimeter cams, relieved to see Donatello and Sarah Michelle still in position, watchful and alert, but out of immediate danger.

On the second floor, the feds spread out into a large open space that must have once been the main laboratory. Equipment lay abandoned, covered in dust and cobwebs. Glass beakers and test tubes littered the countertops, some broken, others intact but emptied of liquids long since evaporated.

And then she saw him.

Lionel Graves stood in the center of the lab, so still he might have been a statue. His tweed jacket hung from his frame. His skin had that waxy, grayish tinge even in the helmet camera feeds, and his eyes glowed with an unnatural light.

“Target acquired.” Zane’s voice was steady but tense. “Mr. Graves, you are under arrest for the murder of Magnus Thorn and suspicion of illegal necromantic practices.”

A smile spread across Graves’s face, too wide, too rigid.

When he spoke, his voice had the same unnatural timbre Andromeda remembered from the archives’ stairs.

“How formal, Agent. Did they teach you that speech at the Bureau? Does it help you sleep at night, pretending you’re enforcing laws instead of suppressing magical knowledge that terrifies you? ”

“Stand down,” Zane continued, ignoring the taunt. “You’re surrounded.”

“Am I?” Graves tilted his head, the movement jerky and unnatural. Shadows pooled at his feet, spreading outward like spilled ink. Several agents raised their modified stunner guns.

“Fire!” Zane ordered.

Blue-white energy erupted from the stunners, striking Graves from multiple angles.

He staggered backward, his shadows receding.

Andromeda hoped it’d be that easy, but a manic laugh answered her—a hollow, echoing sound that came from everywhere at once.

The cloud of darkness surged forward with renewed vigor, engulfing the nearest agents in seconds.

Their screams cut through the comm system, making Andromeda flinch.

The blackness spread, consuming the room. One by one, the helmet feeds turned to static as the cameras failed.

“We’re blind!” someone shouted. “Night vision doesn’t work!”

But the audio still worked, broadcasting the sounds of chaos—shouting, the distinctive whine of stunner guns firing, and underneath it all, that terrible laughter.

Then came a wave of screams so agonized that Andromeda had to cover her ears. The sound cut off abruptly, leaving only static and the distant, fading echo of Graves’s screeches.

“Alpha team, report,” the senior agent in the control room demanded.

No one answered him.

“Perimeter teams, be advised,” he continued, voice tightening. “We’ve lost contact with Alpha team. Maintain positions and prepare for a hostile exit.”

Andromeda’s gaze jumped to the external camera feeds. The darkness that had consumed the lab was now seeping out of the building like smoke, curling around windows and doors as it spread across the facility grounds. It moved with purpose as if guided by an invisible hand.

Andromeda’s attention locked onto the feed showing Donatello and Sarah Michelle at the eastern exit.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons raised, faces set in identical expressions of determination.

The black cloud had not yet reached their position, but it was coming, rolling toward them like a tide of night.

Movement caught her eye on another screen. A figure emerged from a side entrance of the facility, moving with unnatural speed despite its stiff-jointed gait.

“Graves!” she gasped, pointing at the monitor. “He’s escaping!”

“Which exit?” the senior agent demanded.

Andromeda’s heart plummeted. “Eastern.”

Directly toward Donatello and Sarah Michelle.

“Eastern perimeter team, be advised,” the agent shouted into his comm. “Target is heading your way. Do not engage. Deploy containment nets only!”

On the screen, Donatello and Sarah Michelle tensed as they received the warning.

They spread out, taking positions on either side of the exit, stunners raised.

The containment net sphere glinted in Sarah Michelle’s left hand as Graves charged through the door at inhuman speed.

In the grainy camera feed, he appeared less human than before—his movements jerky and puppet-like, his face concealed by the growing shadows that swirled around him.

Donatello fired without hesitation, his stunner ray striking Graves in the chest. The lich staggered. Sarah Michelle darted forward, activating the sphere and hurling it toward him.

Andromeda held her breath as the globe arced through the air and landed at Graves’s feet.

But before it could activate, more tendrils erupted from the lich in a violent explosion—a void so deep it consumed light itself.

Not even the sun’s rays could pierce it.

The camera feed from that sector had gone black.

“What’s happening?” Andromeda demanded, gripping the console.

No one had an answer for her.

Crackling static carried Donatello’s voice, taut with controlled fear. “Visual compromised. Target moving. Callidora, circle left!”

“On it!” Sarah Michelle’s reply was followed by the sound of movement.

More stunner fire, the sounds distorted through the speakers. Then a raw, furious bellow that could only have come from Graves.

“I missed!” Shelly’s voice was strained. “The net didn’t deploy!”

“Fall back!” Donatello shouted. “Regroup and—”

His words cut off as a terrible sound filled the comm system—a wrenching, tearing noise that made Andromeda’s muscles lock.

Donatello and Sarah Michelle both screamed in pain.

And then nothing.

Silence.

The feed remained black, the black fog having engulfed the entire eastern sector. On other monitors, the cloud of impenetrable blackness was moving, concentrating on Graves’s position.

“South perimeter, can you confirm visual on the eastern sector?” the agent in the room tried.

“Negative,” came the tense reply. “A massive black cloud is covering everything. We’ve lost visibility.”

The other teams reported the same conditions.

Andromeda sat frozen, unable to breathe or think. The tightness in her chest had transformed into a crushing weight that threatened to collapse her lungs. In the black screen where Donatello and Sarah Michelle’s feed should have been, she saw only her reflection—wide-eyed, pale, terrified.

They were gone. Both of them.

Her roommate, her best friend, the one person she could always count on.

And Donatello—he’d arrested her, infuriated her, made her laugh, and unearthed parts of her she didn’t know existed. She’d left his bed only hours ago, his touch still lingered on her skin. And now she’d never feel it again.

The two most important people in her life both swallowed into the void.

Both dead?

Fear settled in her bones like ice, cold and absolute, numbing her from the inside out. She’d lost them. Andromeda stared at the black screen, waiting for a voice, a flicker, any sign of life.

But there was nothing. Just darkness and silence.