Page 33 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Love in the Time of Bureaucracy

ANDROMEDA

Andromeda stormed into her house, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the picture frames rattle.

Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

The nerve of that impossible man, expecting her to sacrifice her career as if it were nothing more than a hobby!

She flung her bag onto the couch and stomped to the kitchen, yanking open the freezer with such ferocity that several ice cubes leaped to their deaths on the linoleum floor.

Right now, her only comfort came in a carton.

“Your entrance lacks only thunder and lightning to complete the melodrama,” Quill observed from his perch on the kitchen counter, tiny quills bristling with curiosity. “I take it the reunion with Detective Malatesta was less than idyllic?”

Andromeda ignored him, scooping a generous heap of midnight ice cream from the container—dishes were for people whose boyfriends hadn’t given them ultimatums. The magical dessert swirled with constellations of sweetness, tiny stars twinkling in the dark blue base.

She marched back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, feet tucked under her, curling up like a wounded animal.

“Are we not speaking today?” Quill waddled after her with remarkable determination for such tiny legs. “Or has some hex rendered you mute?”

Andromeda had already brought her familiar up to speed on King’s offer that morning when she’d gotten home to check on him and spent a couple of hours on the couch, staring at blank space and wondering what to do.

“He wants me to turn down the job,” Andromeda admitted. She stabbed her spoon into the ice cream with unnecessary violence. “No discussion, no compromise. Just, ‘Sorry, Swan, you can’t take it.’”

Quill climbed onto the coffee table with a series of grunts and huffs that would have been amusing on any other day.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the wobble that threatened to betray her. “He just assumed I’d turn it down. Like his career automatically trumps mine.”

Quill’s tiny face scrunched in sympathy. “I warned you that pursuing romantic relations with your legal supervisor was ill-advised.”

“Not helping, Quill.”

“Merely pointing out that my foresight has once again proven impeccable.” He settled more comfortably on the table, his quills relaxing.

“You’re going with ‘I told you so?’ Seriously?”

“Well, I did.” Quill sniffed. “It doesn’t take a genius to predict getting tangled with a man who once arrested you in your pajamas is a dreadful idea.”

Despite everything, she smiled. “You’re terrible.”

“I prefer discerning.” Quill tilted his head. “What will you do? Take the job?”

Her smile vanished. That was the question circling her mind like a hungry shark—what would she do?

It was the kind of position she’d dreamed of—steady, respected, and a place where her talents would mean something.

No more scraping by on questionable freelance contracts or wondering where next month’s rent would come from.

But Donatello…

Her chest ached at the thought of him. The way his dark eyes softened when they landed on her.

How his hands could be so gentle despite their strength.

The sound of his laughter—rare, but worth every effort to coax it out.

She’d spent years convinced she didn’t need anyone, and then he’d kicked down her door and arrested her, and ended up imprisoning her heart too.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, scooping up more ice cream. “I know I should take it. Taking the job would be the smart choice.”

“But?” Quill prompted.

“But I love him.” She voiced the simple and impossible truth. “And I hate that I have to choose.”

“Why you? He could resign.”

Andromeda’s laugh was hollow. “Yeah, I suggested that. Turns out being a cop is his entire identity. He’d never leave.”

“Then you should reconsider whether someone so rigid deserves your affection.”

Ah. The irony of that statement coming from Quill.

Andromeda polished off the entire ice cream carton.

Then another the next day. And when she ran out of sweets, she moved on to frozen pizzas.

Time blurred as Andromeda sank into a thick fog of misery.

She didn’t shower and left the couch only to go to the bathroom or to grab provisions.

Sarah Michelle was at her boyfriend’s place, leaving Andromeda free to shamelessly wallow in her misery.

On day four, she stared at the ceiling fan’s hypnotic rotation, counting the seventh pizza crust that had joined its brethren on the coffee table.

Her post-breakup hibernation was going swimmingly if one’s definition of success involved unwashed hair and scarce personal hygiene.

A nagging voice in her head reminded her that brilliant hackers didn’t wallow; they re-coded their problems. But this bug in her life’s program wasn’t yielding to any quick fix.

Drowning her sorrows in ice cream only gave her a sugar headache and a collection of sticky spoons scattered across the living room like metallic confetti. The house resembled the aftermath of a frat party attended only by one depressed blonde witch with a penchant for carbs.

Her laptop sat abandoned on the couch, the screen showing a half-composed acceptance email.

The blinking cursor mocked her with its steady rhythm.

Take the job. Don’t take the job. Leave Donatello.

Stay with Detective Douche. The binary choice smacked her like a cosmic prank, especially for someone who made a living finding backdoors.

“There’s always a third option,” she mumbled to herself. “I just haven’t hacked it yet.”

The sound of keys jingling in the lock had her stomach drop.

Sarah Michelle wasn’t supposed to be back until tonight.

Andromeda made a pathetic attempt to gather the nearest takeout containers but abandoned the effort when the door swung open.

What was the point? The evidence of her mental breakdown was too extensive for a thirty-second cleanup.

Not even a spell would’ve been fast enough.

“Hey, I’m ho—” Sarah Michelle’s greeting died on her lips as she took in the disaster zone that had once been their tidy living room.

Andromeda opened her mouth to justify herself, but the words evaporated when she registered her roommate’s appearance. She did a double-take so dramatic it gave her whiplash, still not adjusted to Shelly being a platinum blonde.

“Yeah, takes getting used to.” Sarah’s hand went self-consciously to her hair. “How are you doing?”

Andromeda barked out a laugh that sounded unhinged even to herself. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who had a magical makeover courtesy of the undead.”

Sarah Michelle’s gaze swept over the pizza boxes, ice cream containers, and the blanket nest Andromeda had built.

“I don’t know.” Her best friend picked her way through the debris field. “You look like you went ten rounds with a garbage disposal and lost.”

“Thank you for that assessment, Detective Obvious.” Andromeda tried for a smile and only achieved a grimace. “The house is a biohazard. I know. I just…” She waved at the chaos around her.

Nox scampered down from Sarah Michelle’s shoulder to go greet Quill. And for all his showing of being pestered, Andromeda could tell the hedgehog was happy the ferret was back.

Sarah cleared a spot on the couch and sat down, her expression softening. “What’s going on, Andy? Why aren’t you out banging Malatesta’s brains out?”

Andromeda told her about the offer from SMPD and the consequent fight with Donatello. Asking if she was being too harsh. But before her roommate could voice an opinion, Andromeda added, “You’d leave your job for Lorcan, right? In a heartbeat?”

Andromeda held her breath, waiting for the confirmation that would vindicate her position and soothe the ache in her chest—the burning heat that had taken up residence behind her rib cage since she’d walked out of Donatello’s house.

“No.” Sarah Michelle’s tone was gentle but firm. “Not in a heartbeat.”

The answer was a cold shower. Andromeda pulled her knees to her chest. “But you and Lorcan are perfect together. You’d choose him over anything.”

“Maybe, if I had no other option,” Sarah Michelle clarified. “But it would be the hardest choice of my life, not one I’d be able to consider on the spot, especially if I was blindsided by it.”

Andromeda frowned, twisting a loose thread from her pajama pants around her finger until the tip turned purple. “I thought you’d at least understand.”

“I do.” Sarah Michelle leaned back, her eyes serious.

“But SMPD isn’t any police department, Andy.

We’re the top magical force in the country, even more important than New Orleans.

To serve in Salem is the ultimate career achievement for a detective—it’s the hardest post to get, only for the best of the best.”

She tucked a strand of her newly blonde hair behind her ear. “So when you’re asking Malatesta to give up his position at SMPD, it’s a lot to ask.”

Andromeda groaned, dropping her head back on the couch. “Why couldn’t we live in an unimportant jurisdiction like, say, New York?”

“Then the biggest threat we’d have to face would be cursed bagels and haunted billboards,” Shelly offered.

They shared a look and chuckled at how absurd the humans would find their description of New York as third tier. But magical significance didn’t map onto human population centers.

“Ugh.” Andromeda kicked the tangle of blankets away from her feet. “So should I just… give up on the job offer? Pretend Chief King never dangled the career of my dreams in front of me?” The question tasted bitter on her tongue.

Before replying, Sarah Michelle weaved a cleaning spell to take care of the mess in the living room—a mini-cyclone whirled around the house, doing the opposite of what cyclones do and leaving behind everything clean and tidy.