Page 8 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

Bastian sensed his time was almost up. The judgment was already passed. But that couldn’t be right. It wasn’tfair.

“Take all the samples you want,” he said, leaning forward. “I’ll spit or pee or bleed into any cup you like, if it proves I didn’t kill that girl. And itwillprove that because I didn’t—”

“You will spend the rest of your time in Vernazza in a cell,” Zappa said, his chair screeching back from the table as he stood. “In a couple of days, the vampire council will arrive, and you will answer to them.”

Bastian felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. It almost sounded like—

“You summoned the vampire council?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Zappa’s smile was brittle with triumph. “Scared now, are you?”

Bastian’s mouth opened a fraction, shock clanging throughhim, overwhelming even the pain of the cuffs. Zappa had to be bluffing. There was no way hewasn’t. But the look on his face told him Zappa was deadly serious. Eager, even.

“That’s insane!” Bastian said. “You suspect a vampire of murder and the first thing you do is summon thecouncil?”

“We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding vampire crimes in Vernazza,” Zappa said.

“Zero-tolerance policy!” Bastian emitted an astonished laugh. “My god. Do you know a single thing about the vampire council? If you did, I can only assume you’d be less trigger-happy. Do you know what the councildo?”

Zappa was already at the door.

“Take him to a cell,” he ordered the inspector, preparing to leave.

The younger poliziotto, De Luca, stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Uh, there’s a slight problem, sir.”

“Problem?”

“The key to the cell is missing. Lombardi said he—”

“Lombardi!” Zappa’s hands clenched. Through the open door, Bastian saw a scrawny officer in a rumpled uniform fall out of his chair at Zappa’s shout. Bastian got the sense he’d been dozing on the job.

“Figlio di puttana!” Zappa spat. “Incompetente!”

Lombardi began throwing paper around the desk, presumably in search of the missing key. After a moment, he gave the commissario an apologetic shrug.

“Cretino!”

Zappa rubbed his face and coughed. His hand trembled and Bastian wondered if it was a sign of stress, nicotine withdrawal, or something more serious. All that muscle must be a strain on his heart.

“Ispettore De Luca will escort you back to your apartment,”Zappa told Bastian. “He will remain with you until the council arrive in Vernazza.”

“Commissario, with the greatest respect,” De Luca said, eyes wide, “you can’t expect me to—”

“I expect you to do your job!”

De Luca fell silent. His mouth closed and he nodded, clasping hands behind his back.

Zappa set his bleary gaze on Bastian, bloodshot eyes brimming with hatred.

“Listen to me now, vampire. You are under town arrest. If you try to escape, or run, or kill again, rest assured that De Luca is authorized to terminate you. You so much as look at him funny, and the vampire council will be escorting a pile of dust out of Vernazza.”

He went through the door. “Get this devil out of my station.”

Bastian found himself alone with the inspector. He noted the startled look in the man’s cold blue eyes, as if he’d been struck, unable to comprehend the task he’d been set. His damp upper lip trembled.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now, darling,” Bastian said, raising a pained smile. De Luca didn’t smile back.

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