Page 93 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“I take it back,” Whitby said. “I’m just messing with you.”

“You meant it,” Bastian said, his throat tight with happy tears.

“I’ll deny it. If you mention this to a soul, I’ll deny ever knowing you.”

He patted her gently on the head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

While Whitby licked her shoulder with sudden interest, Bastian cast his gaze around the harbor, unable to believe how far they had come since they first met. Something about their location struck him as odd. It took him a moment to realize why.

“Wow,” he said.

“I’m telling you,” Whitby snapped, “don’t get sentimental on me—”

“No, I mean,wow! Whitby!” Bastian gestured around them. “We’re floating!”

The cat peered over the edge of the boat, and her eyes widened.

The boat had risen into the air. It must have happened so slowly that neither of them noticed until they were twenty feet above the water, rotating midair as if they sat on a turntable.

“What’s happening?” Whitby asked, watching droplets of seawater rise on either side of the boat, falling upward instead of down, shimmering like pearls in the moonlight.

Bastian’s eyes stung once more. “It’s you, dear.”

“Me? But I didn’t…” The cat put her paws on the side of the boat, stretching out in wonder. The lights of Vernazza glittered below them like diamonds strewn across black fabric. Waves crashed against the harbor far below.

Whitby’s golden eyes swiveled in Bastian’s direction.

“I don’t believe it. The block is gone! Bastian, I made magic!I made magic, Bastian!”

He laughed. “I always knew you had it in you.”

Or, at least, he hadhoped, for her sake if nothing else.

Whitby scampered to the stern and whispered in Latin. The boat moved forward, still rising into the night sky, trailing sparkling water drops in its wake. Bastian laughed again, delighting in the cat’s joy as they sailed through the air.

“Just look at that view,” he said.

It really was beautiful. They had picked the perfect place for a holiday.

He realized they were moving out to sea.

“Not too far,” he said. “We need to make it back before sunrise.”

“We’re not going back.”

Bastian scooted forward so that he was right behind her.

“What are you talking about? We have to go back.”

She stared at the horizon, face pointy with determination. “They’ll kill you, Bastian. I told you, I need you. I won’t let them take you from me.”

Bastian felt a wrench in his heart. She was trying to save him.

Fleeing made sense. Everybody in Vernazza thought he was a murderer. There was nothing for him there now. If they went back, he’d be taken by the council.

“You think you can sail this thing all the way home?” he asked.

“It’s worth a try.”