Page 45 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
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.
Chapter Eighteen
All the Way Bad
ANDROMEDA
Donatello’s house swung somewhere between single-guy chaos and a low-key bachelor aesthetic.The space was clean but not clinical—lived in with the telltale signs of a man who kept things functional but didn’t care what anyone thought.Books were stacked on end tables, a half-folded throw blanket draped over the arm of a nondescript gray couch, and a necromantic law textbook lay splayed open on the coffee table, the book pages marked with colorful sticky notes.Andromeda raised an eyebrow at the contrast between the macabre subject matter and the cheerful neon tabs.
“You coming in?Or are you planning to judge my décor from the hallway all night?”Donatello hung his jacket and baseball cap on the hall rack, letting his lilac hair shine in all its pastel glory.Hex, that black sweater looked as snuggly as ever.
“Just making sure there aren’t any obvious red flags,” she replied, stepping into the house.
“Such as?”
“Collection of glass clowns.Excess taxidermy.A framed shirtless mirror selfie.You know, deal-breakers.”
“Damn.I was about to offer you the limited-edition calendar.”
