Page 39 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
“Those who believe in preserving the old ways at any cost.”Blackwood’s mouth tightened into a thin line.“Purists.”
“Such as Lionel Graves?”Donatello suggested.At the archivist’s name, the professor’s expression darkened.“Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“Would he fit the profile of a wizard who might create a lich?”
“Lionel Graves,”—the professor’s voice took on an edge—“is one of the most vociferous advocates for ‘traditional magic’ in New England.He sees any deviation from tradition as a threat to the secrecy and sanctity of traditional rites.He’s vehement about separating magic and technology.And Graves takes it further than most—he’s argued for the complete segregation of magi-tech practices.I’ve debated him several times at academic conferences.His views are… extreme.”
“But could he do it?”Donatello asked.
“As the head archivist at the preservation society?”Blackwood gave a humorless laugh.“He has access to the most comprehensive collection of ancient texts in the country.If the knowledge exists anywhere, it’s there.”
Donatello and Andromeda exchanged a look.Either the professor was shifting the spotlight away from herself and pointing the finger, or Lionel Graves was their new number-one suspect.
“Thank you, Professor.”Donatello rose from his chair.“You’ve been extremely helpful.”
“Detective.”Blackwood stopped him with a raised hand.“If there truly is a lich in Salem, or someone attempting to create one… be careful.The magic involved is ancient and corrupting.It changes people.The legends of old preach that the undead would retain their self in the transformation, but the evil takes root, and eventually overwhelms the host’s intellect.”
Donatello nodded.“We’ll keep that in mind.”
As they left the building, walking across the leaf-strewn campus quad toward the parking lot, Andromeda broke the tension.“She was unnervingly sane for a necromancy professor.”
“I expected more black velvet robes,” Donatello agreed.“A bubbling cauldron.”
“Yeah, not even a ‘Live, Laugh, Lich’ throw pillow, what a shame.”Andromeda’s eyes danced.
“We could make a fortune selling those on Etsy.”
They reached the parking lot grinning like idiots, proud of a theory that wasn’t even confirmed.But everything pointed at Graves as the obvious culprit—motive, means, opportunity.
“Are we going to arrest Graves?”
“We need proof first and a warrant,” Donatello said, reaching for his keys.
“Oh, so we’re not blowing the archives’ doors, guns blazing?”she teased him.
“No.”
He was about to unlock the car when his phone rang.Checking the display, he saw his deputy’s number and answered.
“Malatesta.”
He listened, his smug, case-solved smile wiping itself from his face as the other officer relayed new information.
When he ended the call, he turned to Andromeda with an incredulous snort.“Plot twist.It might’ve been the intern.”
“What?”Andromeda’s brow furrowed adorably behind her black frames.
“Patrick Ruescher.Arcanet’s mentee.His name is on the time-sand purchase list, and his prints were the only ones on the cursed hard drive besides Arcanet’s.They’re bringing him in for questioning now.”
Andromeda leaned against the car.“So it wasn’t the archivist in the library with the candlestick?”
“Nor the beautiful hacker with the keyboard from her bedroom,” he replied without thinking.
Andromeda’s lips popped in a surprised O.“Are you being cheesy now?”
Donatello moved to open the passenger door for her.“Is it working, or should I dial it up to fondue?”
