Page 16 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
Andromeda smiled wickedly.Detective Dickhead was so going to regret this sentencing.
Chapter Seven
Payback is a Witch
DONATELLO
Donatello shouldered his way through the double doors of Salem’s Magical Police Department with a satisfied grin.The hearing had gone as planned—Judge Templeton had gifted him the witch on a silver platter.
His swagger died the moment his boots hit the polished floor of the bullpen and the usual chaos of clattering keyboards and lively chatter fell into a silence so complete he could hear the ancient heating system wheezing through the vents.Every head turned toward him with identical shit-eating grins that made his triumph curdle into suspicion.
“What?”He glanced at the Chief, who stood next to him equally perplexed.
No one answered.Instead, the air in the middle of the room shimmered, condensing into a swirling cloud of silvery mist.Donatello recognized a Mistprint projection starting up, and his stomach dropped to the floor.
The fog coalesced into a translucent, ghostly version of himself standing in Judge Templeton’s courtroom.The misty Donatello cleared his throat, his expression serious and professional—until his mouth opened to say, “I’m a dickhead.”His hologram glitched where the speech had been cut, only to solidify again, and add, “My penis is small.”
Donatello froze, flaring his nostrils.The Mistprint looped, repeating the phrases while the entire department erupted into howls of laughter.
“I’m a dickhead.My penis is small.
“I’m a dickhead.My penis is small.”
All court sessions were recorded via Mistprint and uploaded to the Department’s enchanted cloud server, but how did his colleagues get their hands on it so fast?
“Well,” Chief King murmured beside him, cracking a rare smile.“You wanted to remark how crass the curse was.”
Donatello’s face burned.That decision was now dancing on his ego in steel-toed boots.
“Which one of you comedic geniuses got their hands on a Mistprint?”Donatello called out, forcing his lips into a casual smirk while his dignity got flushed.
Officer Belmont—tech wizard and aspiring court jester—raised his hand with zero shame.“Judge Templeton’s clerk owed me a favor.Promised this was too good not to expedite.”
“You’re hilarious,” Donatello said dryly, walking straight through the Mistprint to get to his office.“My sides are splitting.I might need you to call a magimedic.”
He kept his stride confident, his shoulders relaxed.Years of undercover work had taught him that the best defense against humiliation was to wear it like armor.Besides, if he showed how much it bothered him, they’d only enjoy it more.
His colleagues hooted and clapped as he passed.Detective Reyes mimed measuring something tiny with her thumb and forefinger.Donatello flipped her off without breaking stride, which made her laugh harder.
The Mistprint continued its loop, filling the station with echoes of “I’m a dickhead.My penis is small.”until Chief King raised his hand.
“Alright, keep it short and sweet, guys,” Riley admonished.“The joke’s over.We’ve got actual police work to do, in case anyone’s forgotten.”
The misty apparition dissipated like fog in sunshine, and the normal sounds of the department resumed—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, suspects complaining from the holding cells.But the occasional snicker still followed Donatello as he retreated into his office.
He had to exert all his self-control not to slam the door as he let his smile drop and added the Mistprint prank to the growing list of offenses he had Miss Swan to thank for.
Donatello sank into his chair, pulling at the straps of his chest holster.The office was small but private—a perk of making detective that he’d never appreciated more.The walls were bare except for a map of Salem with colored pins marking active investigations.His desk was cluttered with case files and half-empty coffee cups.A window behind him overlooked a brick wall, which matched his stony mood.
He glanced at his watch.Twenty minutes until Swan was due to report.Plenty of time to second-guess himself about having her assigned to the case.
Yes, they needed her expertise.The department’s tech unit was competent with standard magi-tech, but what had happened to Arcanet was unprecedented.And Swan was the only witch he knew with the right combination of skills in magical coding and hacking who could give them some answers.
But he could’ve recruited other hackers.None as qualified, perhaps, but someone less inclined to challenge every word out of his mouth—and considerably less distracting while doing it.
Donatello groaned.The case was complex enough without adding an inappropriate attraction to the mix.But from the moment he’d kicked in her door, he hadn’t been able to look away.She’d short-circuited his good judgment.
And she deserved to be sentenced to community service instead of a simple fine she wouldn’t remember paying.But somewhere beneath his logical justifications lurked the uncomfortable truth: he also wanted to see her again.
