Chapter 12
Salvador.
Bastian’s head still pounded with the slow-fading bloodlust. He knew that name was familiar, but he couldn’t think clearly.
The man’s nails dug into the bones of Bastian’s hand, scraping the raw skin around his wrists, and the cold of his touch was shocking because living bodies usually held at least a little warmth, but this man felt almost dead.
But no…
Thump-thump…thump-thump…
Bastian shuddered at the sound of his pulse, hating the flood of saliva in his mouth. His vision flashed red as it zeroed in on the man’s throat, seeing that goblet once more, glittering with rich red fluid—
“No,” he grunted, attempting to wrestle free so that he could run. “I have to go.”
But Salvador leaned closer, and Bastian’s nostrils prickled with the reek of brandy and damp fabric, his ears picking up that insistent thump-thump…thump-thump…
“You must listen to me,” Salvador hissed, spittle flecking Bastian’s lips. “Time is running out.”
Bastian shoved him. Hard.
He’d done it before he was aware he’d moved.
Salvador sailed across the alley, airborne for a moment before his back struck the wall.
He collapsed to the ground like a bag of bones, broken by the impact.
A wave of regret ran through Bastian, snapping him to his senses.
He didn’t enjoy using his full strength on humans, especially ones as frail as this sorry creature.
“Sorry, love,” he said, instinctively reaching out a hand, even though the thought of touching the man made him grimace. “Here, let me help you up.”
Salvador ignored the hand. He leaned back against the bricks, head tilted up at Bastian.
“You’re just like the girl,” he rasped. “Nobody wants to listen.”
The girl.
Luna?
The name clicked. Salvador was the man Aunt Agata saw harassing Luna shortly before she died. The local nuisance who peddles fake fortunes to tourists.
Bastian’s vampire sight sharpened to take in every detail of the man.
The scraggy black suit and beaten-up shoes, the lank black hair that crept over his shoulders.
He was older than Bastian had anticipated, early sixties at least. Salvador’s gaze was shrewd and calculating, and by the looks of it, he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months.
He certainly had the appearance of a person existing on the fringes.
This was the man who had accosted Luna?
Bastian smelled no blood on Salvador’s clothing, though, nor under his filthy nails.
The man could weigh no more than 140 pounds.
Killers were strong. They had to be, if they wanted to achieve their goals.
So far, Salvador had ticked the box marked “creepy,” and Aunt Agata certainly wasn’t a fan, but did that make him a murderer?
And why was he so desperate to talk to Bastian?
“What did you say to Luna last night?” Bastian asked. “You spoke to her right before she died. Why?”
Salvador picked at his nails. “She didn’t listen. I tried to warn her, but she didn’t listen.”
“You knew somebody was going to attack her?”
“I saw it. I see a lot of things. Like the olive lady. She didn’t believe me, either.”
“Olive lady?”
Salvador’s lips drew back. “It’s how I know that you shouldn’t be hanging around with the inspector. He’s hiding the truth from you.”
Bastian frowned. “The truth about what?”
The crooked smile returned. “That information is worth something, no?”
Bastian stared at him, wondering how Salvador knew that he knew the inspector. He must have been watching them; he must have seen Bastian with De Luca earlier that day, and now he was using that knowledge to sow seeds of doubt in Bastian’s mind.
Bastian shook his head. De Luca wasn’t hiding anything. Salvador just wanted Bastian to think he was so that Bastian would pay him.
“What did you see?” Bastian asked. “What was it that you saw that made you think Luna was in danger?”
Salvador ran a purple tongue over dry lips.
“Nobody gets their fortune read for free,” he said.
“I’m not asking to have my fortune read. I’m asking if you know who killed the girl.”
Bloodshot eyes blinked at him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Bastian’s hands curled into fists, and he resisted the urge to grab hold of the man and shake the truth from him. His past self would have done more than shake him. Frustration twisted Bastian’s fingers. A part of him wanted to hit the man. Make him bleed. Make him fear for his life.
No. Be calm. Be the cucumber in the seltzer, damn it.
“What did you mean when you said that time is running out?” Bastian asked through gritted teeth.
“The killer has struck once,” Salvador said. “Soon they will kill again. And again.”
“Why? Why are they doing this?”
Salvador grinned once more, his eyes sunken in his skull.
“That’s the big question, now, isn’t it? I want to help you, Mr. Vampire. But that help comes with a price tag.”
Bastian almost reached for Salvador’s throat.
His head pounded with suppressed anger. It was painful trying to contain it sometimes, especially when he was provoked.
But as he looked down at the so-called fortune-teller, seeing the conniving gleam in the man’s eyes, he realized that all of this was nothing more than an opportunity for Salvador to make a little money.
“Oh yes,” Bastian said, freeing himself from the clutches of anger.
“Very clever, claiming you knew Luna was going to die when she’s not alive to contradict you.
Let me think. You accosted her outside the café, that much we know to be true, but you didn’t warn her, did you?
You were simply doing what you do: attempting to frighten somebody into handing over their hard-earned cash.
And now that she’s dead, you can say whatever you like. Play the hero. Very clever indeed.”
Salvador said nothing.
“You don’t know anything,” Bastian scoffed. “If you did, you would have more to barter with.”
He bent down to give the man a warning glare. “Stay away from the inspector. And stay away from me, too. You really don’t want to see me on a bad day.”
He turned and headed for the street, satisfied that he’d struck one suspect off the list. But Salvador’s voice rang behind him, piercing in its conviction.
“The cat,” he said. “Her blood runs in your veins, doesn’t it?”
Bastian felt like he’d been staked in the back.
Or what he imagined being staked felt like.
He turned to stare at Salvador, unease and anger squirming through him.
But there was no way the man knew anything about Whitby.
Salvador was a charlatan. A liar. You just had to look at him to know that the only person he cared about was himself.
Bastian cared about Whitby. He wouldn’t let her get dragged into Salvador’s game.
He gritted his teeth.
“I won’t warn you again,” he said, and he left the alley.
He paced into the street, attempting to calm down. There was no sign of Whitby or De Luca. They must be searching for him in one of the other streets, and either they had stopped calling his name or they were so far away that he couldn’t hear them any longer.
On the far side of the road, beyond a low wall, the sea sparkled and shimmered. Bastian hadn’t realized how high up he was. From where he stood, he could see the harbor down below. He listened to the sea, focusing on the crashing of the waves and attempting to find his center. His calm.
The bright light stung his eyes, though. He had been out in the daylight for hours now—far longer than usual. It was starting to make his skin prickle and hum.
He put on his shades, which helped. He was about to apply a fresh layer of sun cream—he’d brought it with him, kept safely in his trouser pocket—when a new male voice yelled, “THERE HE IS!”
Bastian cast a wary glance down the street and saw half a dozen men jostling together, staring at him. They were young, scowling, every one of them glaring at him with hatred. At their front stood a pale man with black hair who Bastian immediately recognized.
It was Matteo, the rude waiter from the cat café.
The one who had dated Luna before she dumped him. The commissario’s son.
Suspect number two.
Matteo had removed the cat-ear headband, his black hair tied up.
“Hey, vampire!” he shouted. “Come here a sec. We want to talk to you.”
The other men snickered, and Bastian saw Matteo’s right hand was pressed to his thigh, an object clasped tight in his grip.
A stake.
They all had stakes, Bastian realized. Not the manufactured kind you could buy in certain outlets, but homemade. Whittled chair legs, spoons, and chopsticks. Anything wooden that could be sharpened to a point.
Great, the vigilantes have arrived.
“What a coincidence,” Bastian said to Matteo, “we’ve been looking for you.”
That seemed to throw him. Matteo’s grip tightened around the stake.
“He wants to bite you!” one of his friends said.
“I have better taste than that,” Bastian said. “No, Matteo, I’m more concerned about your relationship with Luna. It ended badly, I hear. Some boys can’t handle that.”
Matteo looked stunned.
“She’s the one who ended it, isn’t she?” Bastian continued. “How unfortunate. Did you see her walking alone on the beach last night? Decided to punish her? Is that what happened, dear?”
Matteo snarled, and Bastian saw darkness in his eyes. Where Salvador’s gaze had been cunning, Matteo’s was different. There was violence there, Bastian was sure of it. He should know.
Matteo stepped forward, and the full glare of the sun bore down on Bastian. He struggled to stand his ground. To not flinch.
“Say that again, vampire, and you’ll be joining her.”
“Does Daddy know you’re out here brandishing weapons at tourists?
” Bastian asked, scanning his surroundings for an escape route.
The sight of the dark alley made him shudder at the thought of Salvador, but perhaps he could navigate a path back past the mayor’s office, if he could find his way there.
Matteo’s cheeks colored. He hadn’t expected Bastian to know his father was the commissario.
“You don’t know anything about me, vampire! Luna deserves justice!”