Chapter 11
They lost him.
“How did we lose him?!” Bastian cried, running down the street, turning corner after corner, searching for Emilio’s scent.
“I think I can perform a locator charm,” Whitby said, bounding alongside him. “If you’ll just give me a second—”
“There’s no time for that,” Bastian said.
The waiter was their best shot at clearing Bastian’s name. They had to find him. There were too many other scents, though. Sun cream, pizza, and the bougainvillea. He couldn’t discern Emilio among them.
He rounded a corner and crashed into somebody, only just stopping himself from knocking them off their feet.
“Oh! Hello, dears,” Aunt Agata said, puffing in surprise as she looked between Bastian and De Luca. The inspector had kept pace with Bastian without any trouble. Impressive. Aunt Agata was laden with shopping bags, and her gaze sliced between them, shining with interest.
“Did you see a man go this way?” Bastian asked. “He’s blond and wearing a Micio Micio uniform?”
“Emilio Valentini? Oh yes, I saw him just a moment ago.”
He shouldn’t be surprised that the town’s social butterfly knew exactly to whom he was referring.
“Did you see where he went?” De Luca asked.
Aunt Agata gave him a scornful look like he should know better.
“Of course. He went into the mayor’s office.”
“The mayor’s office?” Whitby asked by Bastian’s feet. “What’s he doing there?”
“Is something wrong?” Aunt Agata asked. “Is this about poor Luna?”
Bastian was already running, throwing a “grazie” over his shoulder.
He didn’t know the way to the mayor’s office, but he was finally able to catch a faint thread of Emilio’s scent on the breeze.
Pastry and cat food. He traced the scent all the way to a smart brick building that overlooked the piazzetta far below.
Bastian stared at the large, black door.
“A strange place for a waiter to go,” Whitby said, trotting to his side. “Who do you think Emilio knows in there?”
“The mayor, presumably,” Bastian said. “Oh hello, Inspector. Good of you to join us.”
De Luca caught his breath. “Aunt Agata isn’t known for her brevity.”
“Do you think the mayor is involved in the League?” Whitby asked.
“That’s impossible, we’d have—” De Luca broke off, blinking rapidly at the cat. He cleared his throat and addressed Bastian instead. “We’d have been informed.”
“Let’s go ask,” Bastian said.
Through the entrance, a white-and-green marble hallway echoed with their footsteps. Columns reached the ceiling, and enormous framed paintings showcased Italian landscapes.
“It’s this way,” De Luca said, leading them into a carpeted room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
Behind a large desk, a redheaded secretary stood in alarm. He said something in Italian that Bastian didn’t catch because he was distracted by Whitby, who was already at the mayor’s door, sniffing and pawing the wood. Bastian had smelled it, too. Pastry and cat food.
Emilio really was in there with the mayor.
“How curious,” Bastian said. He heard the secretary say busy and later in Italian, but they couldn’t come back later. Later for Bastian involved the vampire council. He strode to the door and opened it, going inside.
Emilio stood in the middle of the room, facing an oak desk. Behind the desk stood an attractive, middle-aged woman who wore her dark hair in shoulder-length waves. Her mouth was a red slash, and her shirt collar was starched brilliant white. A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose in his direction.
“Please pardon the intrusion,” Bastian said. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything important.”
Emilio radiated discomfort. His gaze zipped from Bastian to Whitby to the secretary who came in, apologizing rapidly in Italian as De Luca brought up the rear.
The mayor didn’t acknowledge any of them. Her scintillated gaze fixed on Bastian.
“Welcome,” she said in English. “You must be the vampire Emilio was just telling me about. I am Mayor Moretti.”
“Bastian Emerson. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He heard four racing hearts: De Luca, Whitby, the secretary, and Emilio.
But the mayor’s pulse was calm. Controlled. The scent of her perfume filled the office. Chanel.
Sophisticated, Bastian thought. You could tell a lot about a person by the way they smelled, including what was important to them. Going by the scent of Chanel that permeated the ordered office, Bastian got the sense that the mayor took considerable pride in appearances.
“You have a beautiful office,” he said. “Very tasteful.”
“Thank you.”
“Quite different to the basement at Micio Micio.”
A smile. “It is important for people to be given space to express themselves, and Emilio has done wonders with L.O.V.E. He is a brilliant ambassador for our cause.”
Emilio blushed. The mayor dismissed her secretary, who slunk from the room, looking despondent. Whitby pressed against Bastian’s shin, her tail winding around his leg. Protective. Uncertain.
“You know about the League?” De Luca asked the mayor, tone level.
Her smile grew. “Hello, Inspector, it’s good to see you. And yes, I know about the League. I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for Vernazza.” Her gaze switched to Bastian. “Many people in Vernazza are liberal thinkers, but some are not yet ready to embrace modern times.”
“She’s an ally,” Whitby said, tail quivering against Bastian’s shin, and he understood her inference.
An ally could be the killer.
The mayor seemed unfazed by the talking cat.
“If nothing else, it’s good business,” she said. “Undead tourism is booming, and Vernazza has been vampire-free for too long. Now is the perfect time to inject fresh blood into our town.” She winked at Bastian. “If you’ll forgive a terrible pun.”
Bastian smiled obligingly. He found the mayor’s calm surprising. Surely she knew about Luna’s murder. She should also know that a vampire was the prime suspect—the very vampire standing in her office looking fabulous in a pale blue shirt and linen trousers.
“It’s nice to encounter a place where vampires are welcomed,” Bastian said.
“The Red Euro is something we should be taking advantage of. Sweden’s economy boosted exponentially when they started welcoming nonlethal vampires into their cities. In fact, the mortality rate went down, thanks to better communication between humans and vampires.”
“Coincidence,” Whitby said. “Not all vampires are as even-tempered as Bastian.”
Well, quite. As a rule, vampires were messy, loud, and mean.
While Bastian didn’t begrudge the support of allies, he got the impression that few had met a real vampire, and that rankled him.
True acceptance demanded more than hashtags and placards.
There had to be some middle ground. People had to accept vampires as they were, without romanticizing or demonizing them.
It was the only way to achieve meaningful change.
“Where are my manners?” Mayor Moretti asked, crossing to a bureau in the corner. “Could I offer you something to drink?”
“I could take a cosmopolitan,” Bastian said.
De Luca cleared his throat, and Bastian waved a jovial hand at the mayor. “Just joshing, darling. We’ve already been fed and watered.”
“You’re sure? It’s no imposition.”
The mayor shrugged and, as she crossed back to her desk, Bastian noticed a framed picture resting atop the bureau.
It showed the mayor with her arm around a man.
The man’s smile was tight, and he wore an ill-fitting suit that crept up to his ears.
An incongruous pair, Bastian thought, but love took many forms.
“Vampire-human relations are at a tipping point,” the mayor said, back to business. “I believe it is the humans who are the biggest problem. Many simply cannot believe that a vampire could be a useful member of society.”
“Bastian would rather watch Baywatch reruns than kill,” Whitby said.
The mayor’s animated gaze remained on Bastian. “This is such fortuitous timing. We’re throwing a gala tonight at my home, a summer party to celebrate the very best that Vernazza has to offer. Please, I would be honored if you would attend.”
“A gala!” Bastian said. “How wonderful!”
He thrilled at the thought. The costumes! The music! The dancing! It was what he lived for. But…
“You can’t possibly,” Whitby said, right on cue.
No, he couldn’t possibly because—
“I’m afraid I’m under house arrest,” he told the mayor, who looked at him, then around her office, lips curling. The joke wasn’t lost on her.
“Is that so?” she said.
“The commissario believes I am responsible for the death of Luna Esposito.”
“Ah, yes. A tragedy, to be sure. What do you believe, Inspector?”
De Luca ignored Bastian’s fluttering stare, speaking without emotion. “I believe it is in the best interest of the town that we explore all possibilities before drawing our conclusion.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement of my innocence.
The mayor’s gaze lingered on him. Bastian looked, too, because he was trying to figure out if De Luca really meant what he’d said. Did he still suspect Bastian?
Finally, the mayor declared, “It is a masked gala. It would be wonderful to have a vampire in attendance, especially one so easy on the eye. No one needs to know it’s you.
Our guests will be simply thrilled to meet a real, live vampire, so to speak.
And it would certainly go some way toward convincing the more resistant members of our community that they have nothing to fear. ”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” De Luca said.
A muscle in the mayor’s jaw flickered.
“You believe the charge? That Signor Emerson is a killer?”
De Luca swallowed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. The law will decide.”
Mayor Moretti considered him. “Innocent until proven guilty, isn’t that the phrase? And will you just look at him? Put him in a tuxedo and the hearts of the people in Vernazza will soon melt.”
“Why does everybody in this town want to get in your trousers?” Whitby asked.
De Luca frowned. “It could be dangerous, fetishizing a vampire.”
“I don’t know.” Bastian gave him a teasing smile. “Some vampires want to be fetishized.”