Page 98 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“He was keeping note of his readings,” he said, leaning against the piano, “but it’s all in Italian, and the handwriting is dreadful.” He picked out certain words. “Eternità, vivere per sempre.Eternity…live forever…It sounds like vampire stuff.”

“Why would Salvador be making notes about vampires?”

Bastian raised his gaze from the book. “Plenty of people find us completely fascinating.”

“Modest, too.”

“There’s all sorts of stuff in here,” Bastian said, turning pages, attempting to translate it in pieces. “He talks about caves and snakes and there’s something about a price? I can’t tell what that means but—oh!” Bastian stopped on a page filled with looping symbols—infinitysymbols. He showed the cat.

Whitby squinted in thought. “You think Salvador was in the League?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Though I’m having trouble picturing him in a room with Emilio and Mayor Moretti.”

“It could explain why he’s dead. Perhaps the killer really is targeting members of L.O.V.E., just like we first thought.”

“But Luna wasn’t a member,” Bastian reminded her.

“Maybe the killer didn’t know that. Maybe they assumed she was part of the League because they meet in the Micio Micio basement.”

Bastian tapped his top lip with his thumb. “So we’re back at the ally-hating angle. It doesn’t quite fit, though. It requires too many jumps in logic.” His hand stilled, finger pressed to his chin. “You know what I keep thinking about? Enzo’s blood condition. What if you were right and it’s driving him to drink human blood?”

The cat’s whiskers bristled in thought. “You think he’s a vampire?”

“No, he’s human. I saw him breathing. But what if his condition is causing him tobehavelike a vampire?”

“Don’t forget he’s bedridden.”

Bastian wagged a finger in the air. “Except he wasn’t in his bed last night. Maybe he’s more mobile than De Luca thinks. Maybe Enzo has been quietly slipping out of the house when nobody is looking and he’s drinking healthy people’s blood in order to replenish his own.”

“Sometimes the craziest theory is the correct one,” Whitby said. She tutted. “If I had my bag, I could attempt a divination, at the very least.”

Bastian’s mind was a vortex of conflicting theories. He felt exhausted. The answer had to be right in front of them, so why weren’t they seeing it? He noticed a thin beam of light pushing through a crack in the curtains.

“What is that?”

“It’s morning,” Whitby said.

“Bloody hell.” Bastian hadn’t realized it was so late. Or early. They had been up all night.

“We’re almost out of time,” he said. “Maybe we really could use a magical assist. It’s dangerous, but we might as well attempt to fetch your bag from the apartment. Then we’re going back to Micio Micio.”

“Micio Micio? Why?”

“Because I’m still not convinced this isn’t all about that café, in one way or another.”

33

Bastian landed lightly on the balcony and set Whitby on the railing.

The front door was being guarded by Lombardi, the bumbling poliziotto Bastian recognized from the station, but the balcony was unmonitored. Nobody expected him to float up four stories to the balcony, even if they did know he was a vampire.Amateurs.

Whitby nosed at the balcony doors, which were slightly ajar.

“Wait,” Bastian whispered.

He heard movement inside. Thin curtains prevented him from seeing into the kitchen, but he heard voices and footsteps.

“Who do you think is in there?” Whitby whispered back.