Chapter 24
“Signor Emerson, you came! Benvenuto! Welcome!”
The mayor swept forward to kiss Bastian on both cheeks.
They stood just inside a shimmering entrance hall furnished with antique Venetian mirrors and a giant chandelier dripping in quartz.
They had followed the sound of the gala through the streets of Vernazza, and Bastian had been awestruck by the house they arrived at.
It was asymmetrical, the smooth stucco powder blue, while burnished brass lanterns were dotted between the dozen or so windows, all of which had their shutters open to allow light to blaze out.
“You look ravishing, Mayor Moretti,” Bastian said, admiring her sequin-spangled white trouser suit. Her hair had been sculpted into a beehive and she wore a feathered mask over her eyes that sparkled with gemstones.
So it’s that kind of gala.
“Oh, this old thing?” The mayor touched her hair, posing like a catwalk model.
Bastian noticed Whitby rolling her eyes as she scrutinized the mayor, not even attempting to hide her contempt.
The cat’s gaze shifted to the doors at the far side of the hall.
Beyond them, Bastian caught sight of guests in colorful gowns and suits milling about a large ballroom.
He heard a piano and a violin, the murmur of voices, laughter, and the clinking of crystal. The gala was in full swing.
The mayor dropped her hand, growing serious. “I’m so glad you made it, Bastian. I was worried I offended you in my office with the”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“goblet of blood. I really hope you’ll accept my apologies if I caused any trouble.”
“No, no, darling,” Bastian said. “I’m positively mortified by my behavior. You caught me off guard and I could have handled it better. You are a most gracious host, and you have nothing but my utmost respect.”
He watched for her reaction, worrying he had overplayed it, but then the anxiety lifted from the mayor’s brow.
“Grazie mille, you are most kind. It’s an honor to have you in my home.”
“It’s some home.”
The mayor clapped her hands. “My husband will be here any moment; you simply must meet him.”
Bastian remembered the man from the picture in her office.
“That would be lovely. Although, I must apologize for my appearance. It’s been quite a day and I haven’t had an opportunity to change.”
“Not a problem,” the mayor said. “Filip will find a suit for you.”
She gestured at her secretary, who stood to one side.
The man was almost orange with fake tan, and there was a lot of product in his red hair, which was styled in an ice-cream quiff.
His upper lip bristled with a tidy mustache, and his startling green eyes held no shame as they passed up and down Bastian’s body.
Letchy.
But a moment alone with the man would be an opportunity to find out more about the mayor.
“This way,” Filip said. Bastian told Whitby he’d be back in a moment and followed the secretary into a dark, cozy cloakroom.
The sound of the party was muffled by the racks of coats and jackets that lined one wall.
A full-length mirror hung next to a wooden armoire containing an assortment of formal wear.
“This is the best we have,” Filip said, handing Bastian a white shirt and a dark purple suit.
“Perfect, love.” Bastian forced a toothy smile as he took the items. Filip’s fingers grazed his, and he found the man giving him an intense stare.
They stood like that for a moment, the clothes clasped between them, and it seemed Filip wanted to say something.
But then he turned and went to the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection.
“You can change in here,” he said, pouting as he patted his quiff.
Bastian shrugged and removed his shirt, then kicked off his trousers, standing in his briefs. The secretary was still looking in the mirror, but Bastian had no reflection for him to ogle. Not that he minded people looking. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Your accent,” Bastian said, attempting to kickstart a conversation. “You’re British?”
“British Polish,” Filip corrected. “My parents live in Cambridge.”
“What brought you to Vernazza?”
Filip shrugged. “A man. I fell in lust with an Italian. We broke up a month after I moved here, but by then I was obsessed with Vernazza.” He contemplated the mirror. “Must be difficult, not being able to see yourself.”
“You get used to it,” Bastian said, stepping into the suit trousers. They were halfway up his legs when Filip turned. His gaze traveled over Bastian’s bare torso, down to his open fly and his white briefs.
“You certainly don’t seem to have any trouble with your appearance,” Filip said, a fierce glint in his green eyes. The man really was forward.
Bastian considered letting the trousers drop, if it kept Filip talking, then realized he had more dignity than that. He zipped and buttoned the trousers. “That’s very kind of you. And kind of Mayor Moretti to provide a change of clothing. Have you worked for her long?”
Filip looked disappointed at the change of subject and went back to the wardrobe, his long fingers flicking through a selection of masks on a shelf.
“Ever since she was elected,” he said, tone bored.
“And are you an ally, too?”
Filip turned. He held a purple mask in his hands. His smile was almost reptilian.
“Vampires have been misunderstood for so long, it’s time they were treated with the reverence and respect they deserve,” he said. “The mayor understands that.”
“Why does she care?” Bastian asked. “What does she get from welcoming vampires to Vernazza?”
Filip flicked a look at Bastian, his gaze pinched with…desire? Irritation? Bastian couldn’t tell.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like,” Filip murmured, ignoring Bastian’s question. “The strength of being a vampire. The sensations. The taste.”
Bastian buttoned his shirt with fingers that suddenly felt numb. Something about the hungry way Filip spoke made him think about Luna’s throat torn out on the beach, blood glistening like syrup in the sand.
“Have you ever encountered a vampire in Vernazza?” Bastian asked, tying up his hair in a bun.
Filip approached with the mask. “Not here, just in the cities. But they weren’t my type.” He raised the mask to Bastian’s face, slipping the ribbon over his head, fixing the mask in place. He rested a hand on Bastian’s chest, then tilted his head so that his neck was exposed.
“Let me guess,” Bastian said. “I’m your type.”
Filip smiled and trailed fingers over his throat, drawing attention to the vein pumping there.
“It would be my honor,” the man whispered.
Bastian’s throat swelled at the sight of the vein, thick and proud against Filip’s orange skin. He knew how good it would taste, and Filip certainly wanted to be bitten. That was different from killing. Different from feeding on a person against their will.
But he got the sense that Filip wanted more than that. The way he had been talking, it was like he wanted to be turned.
“Please,” Filip whispered, putting a hand to the back of Bastian’s head and guiding his mouth toward his throat. “Just take me.”
Hunger and need cramped Bastian’s stomach. He heard Filip’s pulse, as if it were summoning him. Drawing him in. His lips met Filip’s neck, and the man sighed, pressing his hard limbs into Bastian’s body.
De Luca’s face flashed in his mind.
De Luca smiling at him. Telling him that Bastian had opened his eyes to what a vampire could be.
“You’ve been nothing but open and honest with me, and I’m grateful for that.”
Bastian drew back. Swallowed. Pressed down the hunger, even though it was like an eel fighting up his throat, slippery and solid and demanding blood. Filip opened his eyes, appearing confused. Bastian met his bright green gaze.
Through the haze of bloodlust, he realized that Filip was trusting him to feed without killing, and that trust could be useful in learning more about the mayor.
He had the feeling Filip was holding back.
The man seemed wary of Bastian’s questions, but perhaps his defenses were weakened enough by his desire that Bastian could draw the truth from him.
“Does the mayor want to be a vampire, too?” he asked the secretary, pushing with his vision, feeling his pupils dilate as he encouraged him to open up.
Filip’s hand dropped from Bastian’s head. His brow furrowed.
“She loves vampires,” he said without emotion. “It’s why she brought L.O.V.E. to Vernazza.”
Bastian almost blinked in surprise, but he managed not to. The tenuous connection remained.
“The mayor set up the League in Vernazza?” he asked. “It was her idea?”
She hadn’t mentioned it when they first met. Bastian supposed it was privileged information that she didn’t share with strangers, but Bastian was a vampire. You’d think she would want him to know how dedicated she was to a movement that supported his kind.
“Why?” Bastian pressed, holding Filip’s gaze and pushing, willing him to speak. “What does Mayor Moretti have to gain from welcoming vampires to Vernazza, other than taking advantage of the Red Euro?”
For a moment, he thought Filip might surrender. His lips were parted, his gaze unblinking. Bastian’s neck twinged with tension. He was so close to the truth, he could feel it.
“Does she want to be a vampire?” he pressed. “Is that what’s going on here?”
Filip’s mouth opened and closed. A shadow entered his gaze, and he blinked free from Bastian’s stare. His face hardened as he took a step away from him.
“If we’re done here,” he said, “I’m needed at the gala.” He stopped at the door and added in a cold tone, “If you want to survive in this town, leave the mayor alone.”
He exited the cloakroom.