Chapter 9
It didn’t take much to open the hatch and follow.
Bastian sprang down a set of stone stairs, head spinning with questions. Why had Emilio run? Did he know something? Was it out of guilt?
The stairs ended, and Bastian found the skinny blond waiter in the middle of a furnished basement. He was backing away, hands raised, face pale with fear.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” Emilio said.
“Why did you—” Bastian began, but he fell silent as he became aware of the red light filling the space.
The basement was teeming with hearts. They were chalked all over the walls, bright red, cascading over the brickwork.
They hung from the ceiling on thread, dozens of spinning paper cutouts, like this was a Valentine’s Day party.
Except it was summer, and the incongruity of the display felt oddly sinister.
Bastian took in the heart-shaped sofa, the tasseled red lamps, and the many candles sitting in elaborate, sculpted holders.
His bewilderment only grew when he spotted a pin board covered in pictures of famous vampires—Vlad, Carmilla, Tom Cruise—all embellished with love hearts.
And there, a glowing neon sign on the wall.
Bright red tubing looped into the unmistakable shape of an infinity symbol.
“Are you”—Bastian almost couldn’t contain his shock—“Are you an ally, dear?”
An ally could have killed Luna.
Emilio looked sideways, then up at the ceiling, as if searching for an escape. Bastian was pretty sure the only way out of the basement was back up the stairs, and Emilio would have to go through Bastian and De Luca to do that.
The inspector was just behind Bastian, catching his breath after the short chase down the stairs.
“Bastian?” Whitby’s voice trembled from the steps. “Are you dead?”
“For years now, darling.”
“Did that cat just speak?” Emilio asked, shifting nervously on his feet.
“Ignore her,” Bastian told him. “And answer the question. Are you an ally, dear?”
The waiter wrung his hands. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
De Luca stepped forward. “Talk about what?”
“The League!” Emilio blurted, then looked pained, as if speaking the word hurt him.
“What are you talking about?” De Luca grunted. “What league?”
Emilio swallowed. “I’m in love.”
“Who’s in love?” Bastian asked. “You and the dead girl?”
“Luna,” De Luca corrected him.
“Not love,” Emilio said. “Love. L-O-V-E.”
“The League of Vampire Enthusiasts,” Whitby said from her spot at the top of the stairs, despair in her tone.
“League of what?” De Luca’s jaw was tense, hands balled at his sides. He looked out of his comfort zone. Suspicion and unease etched into every inch of his face.
Bastian ignored him, focusing on the waiter. “I thought the League was a British thing.”
Softly, like he shouldn’t be speaking at all, Emilio said, “It was. It is. But we’re here, too. We support vampire rights in Vernazza.” His mouth twisted. “But I’m not supposed to—”
“Support how?” De Luca interrupted.
Emilio blinked at him rapidly and swallowed, turning even paler. He was clearly intimidated by the inspector, and that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. De Luca wanted to take the lead, but if Emilio was a vampire ally, that gave Bastian the advantage.
He stepped between them, pressing a palm to his chest and speaking as if he were treading the boards at the Globe.
“If you truly are an ally to vampires, then, dear Emilio, I thank you from the bottom of my unbeating heart, for I am a vampire.”
“Oh, brother,” Whitby said.
For a second, Bastian worried he had oversold the reveal, but his words appeared to have the desired effect. Emilio’s eyes were round as pennies, fixed on Bastian, and his cheeks flushed pink. He seemed to think for a moment before speaking.
“The League believe vampires deserve respect,” he said.
“The undead deserve the same rights and privileges as everybody else. Vampires are creatures full of passion, knowledge, and history. They have lives, even though they’re unalive, technically.
Also, you know, a lot of the time they’re”—he averted his gaze from Bastian—“pretty hot.”
Bastian almost smiled. The waiter’s heart was racing, but not necessarily because he’d done anything wrong. He seemed harmless. Bastian got the feeling he wasn’t looking at Luna’s killer. Plus, he spied an opening that he could exploit.
He went over and put his arm around Emilio, feeling the waiter shiver, whether from cold or pleasure at proximity to a vampire, he couldn’t be sure.
“You hear that, Inspector?” Bastian said. “I’m hot. You’re not so bad yourself, Emilio. Love the blond. Now, why did you run when you saw the infinity pin?”
Emilio’s cheeks glowed almost as red as the neon sign. “Because I’m not supposed to talk about the League. We’re not ready yet.”
“We?” De Luca asked. “Was Luna part of this, too?”
“Inspector, give the man a minute to think!” Bastian said. He squeezed Emilio’s shoulder. “Are you okay, dear? Perhaps you’d like some water? A little neck rub?”
“I, uh, that would be, uh—”
“Answer the question,” De Luca said.
Emilio swallowed. “I suppose a neck rub would be nice.”
De Luca gritted his teeth. “The question about Luna. Was she in the League?”
“Oh, no. She said she was too busy to join, which is cool. Everybody has their thing.”
“Who else meets here?” De Luca asked.
“Nobody you’d know.” Emilio wore a look of intense curiosity as he peered at Bastian’s hand draped over his shoulder, as if he were attempting to memorize every detail.
“Who else is part of the League?” De Luca asked.
“De Luca, there’s no need to—” Bastian began, but De Luca shouted over him.
“Enough!” He took an angry step toward Emilio. “Your colleague is dead. Murdered. If you know something that might shed light on who her killer is—”
“Calm down, Inspector,” Bastian said, knowing full well that nobody ever calmed down when you told them to. Riling up De Luca was a risk worth taking, though, if it earned Emilio’s trust. “If Emilio knew anything, he’d tell us. Wouldn’t you, Emilio?”
De Luca’s face pinched with fury. He stared at Bastian, mouth half open, as if he couldn’t believe what Bastian was saying.
“I loved Luna,” Emilio said. “I’d help if I could. Really.”
“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you, Emilio?” Bastian said, sensing his moment. He turned to face the waiter. “Now tell me, Emilio, what do you see when you look into my eyes?”
Emilio met his gaze, and Bastian held it with his own.
He didn’t blink. He pushed gently with his vision, inviting Emilio to succumb to his will.
When Emilio’s gaze remained on him, unblinking, Bastian began to sway from side to side, as if rocked by a gentle tide.
Emilio mirrored his movement, his gaze never breaking contact. Wonderful.
“What are you—” De Luca began, but Bastian raised his hand, silencing him.
“Emilio, you’re perfectly safe. Do you feel safe, Emilio?”
“Yes,” Emilio said. His voice held a dreamlike quality.
Bastian smiled. “Good. That’s good, Emilio. Now, you know that we’re here because we want to find the person who killed your colleague. You do know that, don’t you, Emilio?”
“Yes, I know that,” Emilio said.
“Okay. Now, Emilio, can you tell us anything about Luna and Salvador Silvestri?”
The waiter frowned but the connection remained, a thin cord that Bastian sensed like a beam of light passing between their eyes.
“Did you ever see them together?” Bastian pressed. “Was Salvador harassing Luna?”
“I don’t know,” Emilio said. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Bastian pressed his lips together to contain his frustration. Emilio truly didn’t know—if he did, he would have to surrender the information. Bastian decided to try a different tack.
“Did Luna share any worries with you in the days leading up to her death? Perhaps she felt somebody was following her or that somebody had upset her.”
“Matteo was mean to her,” Emilio said. “But Matteo was always mean to her.”
Bastian’s eyebrows rose as he recalled the scowling black-haired waiter who had told him he couldn’t bring his own cat to Micio Micio.
“Luna had issues with the other waiter?” he asked.
Emilio’s eyes looked dry. He hadn’t blinked in over a minute. Bastian knew he was pushing the young man to the limit, but he couldn’t stop now. Emilio was only just beginning to open up.
“Luna broke up with Matteo a few weeks ago,” Emilio said. “They were only together for three months, but things were weird after that. Matteo was angry all the time. He took it out on her.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Drool escaped the corner of Emilio’s mouth, sliding down his chin.
“Emilio,” Bastian pressed. “Is Matteo part of the League? Is he an ally?”
“No. He doesn’t like vampires. He can be sort of an asshole.”
“Do you think he’d hurt Luna?” Bastian asked. “Do you think he’d be capable of killing her?”
Emilio’s stare was dead-eyed. His mouth hung open.
“Emilio—”
“That’s enough,” De Luca said, his voice booming around the basement.
Bastian felt the connection snap. Emilio blinked, shook his head, then looked embarrassed as he wiped drool from his chin.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing, dear,” Bastian said. “Nothing at all. We were just about to leave, isn’t that right, Inspector?”
De Luca’s stare burned hot as cinders. He looked on the verge of saying something to Bastian, then he swore and turned, stomping up the stairs.
“I think he’s upset,” Emilio said, watching him leave.
“Don’t worry about him, darling. Thanks for your help. Keep fighting the good fight.”
He squeezed the waiter’s shoulder, then went after the inspector, picking Whitby up from the stairs on the way.
“You know I hate being carried,” the cat grumbled as they went through the café, cats circling Bastian’s feet. “And you’re playing a dangerous game with the poliziotto. Are you trying to get us locked back up in the apartment?”
“I’m trying to help him find the killer,” Bastian said. “That’s all.”
“You’re provoking him.”
“Hardly! Anyway, he needs to loosen up.”
Whitby’s eyes narrowed. “Just be careful. I don’t trust him. Nobody that young should be that highly strung.”
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