Chapter 23
“Well, they were fun,” Bastian said.
He tried to suppress a shudder, but it slithered around inside his body like a serpent, making him feel jumpy.
Behind them, the cliff-face was dark; the air, cool. He had taken them to the other side of the church, touching down by the rocks at the water’s edge. They were tucked out of sight of the town, though he heard the trickle of music and voices on the evening air.
“They were going to kill you,” Whitby said. She perched on one of the rocks, her paws resting neatly together. “Their minds were made up.”
“I suppose I am the obvious suspect,” Bastian said. “And I’m sure Commissario Zappa has built a convincing case against me.”
“Just why does the oaf hate you so much? What makes him so certain you’re the killer?”
Bastian smiled sourly. “Never underestimate the power of prejudice, dear.”
He looked up, wondering if he could see the apartment window from where he stood, but the church tower obscured his view. He couldn’t see the apartment, or De Luca.
“I have to go back for him,” he said.
“L’ispettore?”
Bastian nodded. “What if they punish him for my escape? What if they’re hungry?”
“They’re here to uphold the Accords, not flout them,” Whitby said. “I think the inspector is safe, so long as the Obliterati don’t decide to do anything drastic to the town.”
Bastian rubbed his forehead, knowing she was right.
He was just looking for an excuse to reunite with De Luca.
It felt strange without him, which in itself was strange because Bastian and Whitby had spent years as a twosome, and Bastian hadn’t felt like anything was missing.
Now, though, De Luca’s absence was tangible.
Perhaps it was just because Bastian’s life was on the line, but he missed the inspector’s strength and steadfastness, his unwavering dedication to doing the right thing.
Bastian shook himself. He was getting caught up in the romance of it all, and that could prove lethal. He had to use the time he had left wisely; Whitby was depending on him. The thought of her abandoned, alone and mourning, spurred him into motion.
“The real killer is here in Vernazza,” he said, pacing. “This town isn’t big. We still have time to root them out.”
“I still say the mayor is our prime suspect,” Whitby said.
“But what’s her motive?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Bastian’s mouth squinched to one side in thought. “Do you think she’ll target Matteo next? He’s the last Micio Micio employee left.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Her motive must be linked to the cat café in some way. Perhaps she thinks cat cafés are stupid. Which they are. So stupid.”
“Not that you’re taking it personally.”
Whitby’s yellow eyes flashed. “What I want to know is, why is she so in favor of the League?”
“Maybe she thinks vampires are romantic,” Bastian said. Whitby huffed, and he said, “What? We can be.”
His head was full of De Luca again. That laugh. Those ears. The warmth of his touch.
“You’re thinking about the inspector, aren’t you?
” Whitby said, her fur puffed up with annoyance.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Bastian, but instead of swooning over some attractive and unattainable poliziotto, you should be trying to save yourself.
Need I remind you the Obliterati just sentenced you to death? ”
Her words struck him like a dozen tiny stakes.
“I know.” Bastian threw his hands up, pacing faster. “I’m sorry, but he’s in my head, going round and around, like an earworm. The most beautiful, charming earworm.”
“What is it about him that’s got you like this?” Whitby demanded. “It’s like you’re under a spell.”
“He’s…he’s just…” Bastian couldn’t find the words. Finally, his hands dropped to his sides. “He’s a good man.”
That was it.
De Luca was a good man, and the world was in short supply of those. Bastian had tried hard to be good, too, despite his blood-drenched past. It was only when he met Whitby that he had a reason to try harder. To be good for her.
He wondered if that was part of his attraction to De Luca. Bastian wanted De Luca to see good in him, too. He wanted the inspector to look at him with those impossible, truth-divining eyes and tell Bastian he was a good person.
“Only…” Bastian picked at something under his nail. “Salvador said something about the inspector. It’s probably nothing but I can’t get it out of my head, either. He said that De Luca is keeping the truth from us.”
“What do you suppose he meant?”
“Well, De Luca argued with Arianna, and I get the sense he’s been holding back. I just don’t know why.” He wished he could just come out and ask De Luca, but De Luca was gone. Or, more accurately, Bastian was gone. He was the one who had fled.
“What else did Salvador tell you?” Whitby asked.
“Something about time running out and sickness. It didn’t make any sense.”
“If only we knew where the mayor lived,” Whitby said. “We could break in and snoop.”
Mention of the mayor dislodged something in Bastian’s memory.
“The gala,” he said, coming to a standstill. “She invited us to the gala at her house tonight. It’s probably already started.”
The cat growled deep in her throat. “Zappa and the Obliterati will be looking for you. We need to lay low.”
“Pish!” Bastian shook his head. “They won’t be looking for us at a gala, love. We’d have to be mad to show ourselves in public at a time like this, which means it’s exactly what we have to do.”
Whitby’s nose wrinkled. “You really have lost your mind. If the gala is at the mayor’s house, we’ll never sneak in unnoticed.”
“Exactly the opposite. It’ll make it even easier for us to snoop if the place is packed full of people. And we already have an invitation. We’ll walk right in the front door. Besides, what other choice do we have?”
Whitby’s tail lashed and she seemed to be trying to conjure another argument against what was, admittedly, a foolhardy plan, but then her ears flattened and she shook her head. She looked him up and down.
“You can’t go to a gala looking like that.”
Bastian inspected his torn shirt, which Matteo’s gang had tried to rip from his back. The thought of being the shabbiest attendee irked him, but they had bigger problems to be getting on with.
“The mayor will just have to get over it,” he said, starting to walk back toward the town.
“The mayor invited you, a total stranger, to her party when her town is being assailed by a killer,” Whitby muttered as she followed. “You know what that says to me? It says trap.”