Chapter 6
Sunlight pooled in the kitchen, which, Bastian saw as he entered, was rapidly filling with smoke. He threw open the balcony doors and hurried to the stove, where a piece of salmon sizzled in the pan. He took it off the flame and scraped the fish with a spatula.
“Just in time, Whitby. A little citrus twist and this will be beautifully flavorsome.”
“Good morning, Inspector. I trust you slept well?” Whitby greeted from her cat bed as De Luca appeared in the doorway.
Her bed was shaped like a giant disco ball and rested by a wooden dresser in the corner of the room.
A book of spells was propped open on the floor in front of her, and Whitby had spent the past ten minutes muttering to herself while Bastian cooked, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
De Luca looked sternly at the cat, then dismissed her, training his gaze back on Bastian instead.
“Coffee’s on the table,” Bastian said, squeezing lemon on the fish in the pan. “Help yourself.”
The inspector remained silent.
“Cat’s got his tongue,” Whitby muttered, easing herself from the bed and stretching out her front legs, her butt in the air.
“Breakfast is served!” Bastian announced. He twirled in time to the music as Kate Bush played on the stereo. Performing a brief arabesque, he dished the salmon from the pan into a cat bowl by the balcony door. Whitby shot forward to attack the fish, and Bastian smiled as she ate.
“Remarkable how they bounce back,” he said to De Luca, who was still haunting the doorway like a character out of an opera seria. “You would never know the stress she’d been through last night.”
De Luca said nothing. He stared at the dirty pan on the counter, his brow crinkled with what looked like displeasure.
“Please, De Luca,” Bastian said, tying up his hair and taking a sip of pig’s blood through the straw of his Bonnie Tyler flask. “Help yourself to coffee.”
“No, grazie.”
“At least tell him to sit down,” Whitby said between mouthfuls. “He’s putting me off my food.”
“Here, let me take this,” Bastian said, reaching for the cap on De Luca’s head.
The hand caught Bastian’s wrist so fast, Bastian reeled. His grip was surprisingly strong for a human, and Bastian winced as De Luca scraped the raw flesh. He heard the inspector’s heart beat a quick patter, blood racing. He determined to ignore it.
“You’re stuck here for at least another day,” Bastian said softly. “I thought you might like to get comfortable.”
De Luca’s eyes shone blue steel. An unusual color for this part of the Mediterranean, almost otherworldly.
After a moment, he released Bastian’s wrist. His face remained tense as he removed his cap to reveal lightly mussed black hair. His ears were slightly too large, sticking out like antennae from the sides of his head.
“Isn’t that better?” Bastian said. “Make yourself at home. You must ache after sitting in that wooden chair outside my bedroom door all night.”
De Luca’s cheeks colored slightly as he went to stand by the burnt pan on the counter in silence. He seemed to be about to say something, then he glanced around the room instead.
Bastian had to admit it was a good kitchen.
Sunflower yellow walls. Colorful tiles above the oven.
Exposed beams along the ceiling. Cooking utensils gleamed from hooks, and display cabinets were stacked with painted crockery—antique jugs, delicate teacups, large dinner plates, and fish platters adorned with swirling sea-foam motifs.
“It’s a time-share,” Bastian offered, moving through a sunbeam that sliced in through the open balcony doors. A great way to dispel any creature of the night crap. It was crazy how many of the old myths people still believed, even now, when vampires had been part of everyday life for a decade.
“It’s mine every August and September,” he added about the apartment.
A flutter of De Luca’s eyelashes. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”
“I only just bought it. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life,” De Luca said.
“You must like it.”
De Luca shrugged and his elbow nudged the dirty pan.
As his brow crinkled further, he bit his lip and then, with a shake of his head, turned on the water to fill the sink, dropping the pan in to soak.
Bastian watched him wipe the counter with a dishcloth and tried to subdue the impatience humming in his jaw.
His only shot at clearing his name and avoiding the wrath of the vampire council would be to find the real killer, but there was no way De Luca would let him leave the apartment in his present mood.
Sure, Bastian could knock De Luca unconscious or tie him up, but how long before Zappa stopped by to check on him?
Then the hunt would begin all over again.
Bastian couldn’t just run. The inspector was in excellent physical shape, for one. His dark blue polo fit him just right, hugging his broad shoulders and toned biceps and tapering at his narrow waist. He wore charcoal combat trousers that Bastian couldn’t help noticing clung to long, muscular legs.
Eyes up. No ogling.
He just needed to loosen up De Luca. This didn’t work without him.
“Did you always want to be a police officer?” he asked.
De Luca stopped wiping the counter.
Bastian held up his hands. “Just finding a way to pass the time.”
De Luca sniffed, then rolled up his sleeves and started scrubbing the pan. “Sì, I always wanted to be a poliziotto. I should be out there right now, helping people who actually need it.”
“I bet you never thought you’d end up babysitting a vampire,” Bastian said, absentmindedly stroking his neck. “Could you have refused Zappa’s orders? Had me locked up in the Doria Castle? Now that would have been an adventure.”
De Luca said nothing. He scrubbed the pan so hard it was like he blamed the charred fish skin for his misery.
“Let me guess, there’s a promotion opportunity,” Bastian said, “and you wanted to impress your boss.” De Luca’s hand stilled, and Bastian laughed. “I knew it! You think this will fast-track your career. That’s it, isn’t it? Catch the big, bad vampire and you’re rewarded with a fancy new title.”
De Luca set the pan to dry.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said, sponging the counter.
“Do what?”
“Talk,” De Luca said.
“Did you have something else in mind?” Bastian asked. He smiled as he poured hot water into the cafetière on the table. He placed a cup next to the cafetière, then stepped back to lean against the counter.
De Luca dried his hands on a tea towel, expression stern. He looked through the balcony doors, and Bastian caught sight of the sparkling sea beyond the rooftops. He couldn’t smell the sea from this distance, and a sudden, intense pinch of yearning came at his chest.
“A shame to be stuck indoors on a day like this. I had so much planned for our trip. I had my heart set on a boat ride. Sunbathing on the beach. Eating out and hiking the Cinque Terre. And a little holiday romance always keeps things interesting.”
De Luca must not have missed the teasing in his tone, because his cheeks threatened another blush. Then he frowned, looking confused.
“You’re talking like you really did come here for a vacation.”
Bastian gasped. “Well, yes. It’s good to shake up the routine.”
“You actually sunbathe?”
“Factor seventy does the trick for most Brits,” Bastian said with a wink.
“Stop looking at his neck,” Whitby chirped. “Bad manners.”
“Quiet, you.”
De Luca gave the cat an uneasy glance, and Bastian waved a hand. “She has a lot of opinions. You learn to filter them out.”
“At least I have a filter,” Whitby drawled.
De Luca’s lips pressed together, and Bastian decided it was time for some fast-tracking.
“I’m the first vampire you’ve encountered,” he said. De Luca opened his mouth to speak, but Bastian kept going. “Not a question, it’s obvious you’re a vampire virgin. Oh, don’t be embarrassed, love, everybody has their first. I’m honored, really and truly.”
He cleared his throat, retying his hair, which had come loose.
“Okay, here it is, the undead one-oh-one. Yes, I can go out in the sunlight if I wear sun cream and, yes, a stake will kill me, I’m sure you’re delighted to hear, although beheading and fire do the trick, too. Not that I’ve ever tried.”
He paced the floor, thinking out loud. “No, I’m not afraid of crucifixes or holy water, that’s just for the old-school suckers, and no, I don’t sleep in a coffin, because have you ever tried sharing a coffin with an attractive man?
The word is cramped. Hmm, also, I love garlic, I’m a Sagittarius, I live for the queen Kate Bush, dancing is my religion, and I believe that Purple Rain is the greatest film ever made. Anything I’m missing? Whitby?”
“Animal blood,” the cat said.
Bastian clapped his hands. “I almost forgot the most important part! As I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I’m on a strict farm animal diet.
I haven’t touched human blood in five years.
Haven’t taken a single life, if you don’t count the mouse that ate through every wire in the flat last summer.
Which, thankfully, doesn’t count as murder, though you can bet Whitby made me feel wretched about it.
But yes, there it is. That is why this whole sorry affair, if you’ll pardon the pun, well and truly sucks. Because I’m not a killer.”
Standing by the sink, De Luca’s eyes were wide, his mouth pressed closed. It was a lot to take in, Bastian knew, especially for somebody more accustomed to working the beat than worrying about the lack of one.
“If nobody objects,” Whitby said, dragging a paw in circles behind her left ear, “I think I’ll take a bath.” She had finished the salmon and lay in the sun, fur tufting from the heat. Beyond her the sea shimmered and beckoned, and Bastian felt a powerful surge of longing.
“Now,” he said, “knowing that I didn’t kill the girl on the beach, we must also assume that the killer is still out there. And I fully intend to find them and bring them to justice.”
“You have to be joking,” De Luca said.
Bastian’s smile dropped. He leveled the other man with a rigid stare.