Chapter 8
The cat café was cozy, and there were four-legged furballs everywhere.
They perched proudly on the toy-crammed counter, lounged drunkenly in the street-facing window, and sniffed about on the dozen or so tables, to the delight of the handful of patrons who cooed and tsked at them, giggling when the cats either batted them playfully or nuzzled them affectionately.
“I’m in hell,” Whitby said, peering around with a look of disdain. “I’m in actual hell.”
She had never gotten on with other cats.
A mottled tabby approached her, tail kinked with curiosity. Whitby batted it on the nose—“Scram!”—and the cat scurried away, its tail doubling in size.
Bastian chuckled. “Play nice, Whitby.”
“With these empty-headed fools?” Whitby glared at a glossy silver Burmese that meowed and turned circles as a customer teased it with treats. “Have some dignity!”
A scowling waiter came over. He was pale and muscular, black hair falling to his shoulders. He wore a headband with cat ears, which did little to soften his grimace. A cat-shaped tag attached to his shirt read MATTEO.
“You’re not supposed to bring your own cat,” Matteo said in English, glowering at Whitby, then Bastian.
“She’s an emotional support animal,” Bastian said, not adding that Whitby was the animal in need of emotional support.
He crouched down to scratch behind the ear of a pure white cat with a black patch of fur over one eye. The cat hopped up onto his shoulder and Bastian laughed.
“Ahoy there, matey.”
A second cat jumped onto his other shoulder. A third wound around his back.
“Friendly, aren’t they?” he said, then saw three more cats approaching. They padded around him, sniffing and rubbing up against his legs. Bastian lost his balance, toppling backward onto the floor. He lay on his back laughing as the cats tiptoed all over him, mewing and digging their paws in.
“De Luca, you have to try this! It’s like getting a massage from a hundred little angel feet.”
“You’ll suffocate!” Whitby cried. “Cats suffocate their owners all the time!”
“I don’t breathe, dear!” Bastian laughed.
The sound of a throat clearing made him look up at the inspector. De Luca’s jaw was clenched and thrusting forward, his large ears turning pink. His eyes blazed with irritation.
Bastian tried to stifle his giggles as a cat licked his ear.
“Just having a little fun,” he said, sitting up and brushing fur from his shirt as cats skipped away from him. The angry black-haired waiter, Matteo, had disappeared into the kitchen.
“Can I help you?” a second waiter asked, smiling as he came over. He had dyed blond hair, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He looked like he could be in a boy band: attractive in a lean, twinky kind of way.
Despite the smile, Bastian was sure the waiter had been crying recently; his green eyes were bright and glassy, and Bastian could smell the faint trace of salt on his skin.
“Hello, Emilio,” De Luca said. “We’re here about Luna.”
Straight to the point. De Luca could really work on his bedside manner. Great, now I’m wondering what he wears to bed.
The waiter’s smile dropped at De Luca’s words. His eyes shone brighter with the threat of tears. “Oh, right, yeah.”
“We know this is difficult, love,” Bastian said, “but we have a couple of questions, if that’s all right.”
De Luca coughed pointedly and gave Bastian a flinty stare. Bastian closed his mouth and pretended to find one of the cats fascinating.
“Was Luna at work yesterday?” De Luca asked Emilio.
A sniff and a nod. “Sì.”
“Did she seem her usual self?”
“She was fine.”
“Not worried?” De Luca asked. “Nothing on her mind?”
“She was fine, Signore.”
De Luca nodded. “Do you remember what time she left work?”
Emilio’s mouth twisted. “Around seven. That’s when her shift ended.”
Aunt Agata had been correct about that, then.
“Did she ever mention anybody bothering her?” Bastian asked. He received another glare from De Luca.
A tear leaked from the waiter’s left eye. He checked over his shoulder, looking nervous, though Bastian wasn’t sure why.
“Not as far as I know,” Emilio said.
“When she finished her shift yesterday, did you see her with anybody outside the café?” De Luca asked.
A shake of the head as Emilio wiped his face. “No. I was on poop-scoop duty. Sorry, it’s just all so sudden. I can’t believe she’s gone.”
Bastian felt for him. “It must be a terrible shock,” he said. “Just one more question, though, if you don’t mind.” He ignored De Luca’s flared nostrils as he held up the baggy containing the infinity pin. “Have you ever seen this before?”
The change in Emilio was instant. His eyes widened, his grief apparently forgotten as he gave Bastian a look that shimmered with curiosity.
“Are you in love?” the waiter asked.
The question caught Bastian off guard. “In love, love?”
The waiter blinked, appearing embarrassed. He shook his head again, hair flopping.
“Never mind. My mistake. Forget I said anything. Sorry, I need to get back to work. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. Luna was so…she was just…”
The waiter was already making his way across the café, heading for the door marked TOILETTE. The door slammed shut behind him.
“He knows something,” Bastian said, hurrying after the waiter. “He ran because he saw the pin.”
He tried the toilet door, but it was locked.
He shot De Luca a wary glance, unsure how the inspector would react to him using his vampire abilities, then realizing they had bigger fish to fry.
He shoved the door, hard, and it buckled, swinging open just in time for Bastian to see a hatch in the floor close.
Emilio had gone underground.
Literally.