Page 17 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“The inspector has questions but he doesn’t want to ask them,” Bastian said, thinking out loud. “What a fun game! Hmm, you were looking at Whitby, which leads me to believe you’re curious about familiars. Okay, Inspector, familiars come in all forms and, frankly, I’m glad mine is a cat, even if she does go on a bit. I knew a vampire once who had analligatorfor a familiar. Nightmare to control something with that many teeth. Does that answer your question?”

De Luca’s throat had reddened. His eyes shone with irritation.

“Oh!” Bastian cried. “Perhaps you were curious about her attempts at magic? Okay, well, yes, I can confirm that Whitby is attempting to connect with her magical potential. Has been for some time now.”

“She really thinks she can…” De Luca broke off.

“Do magic?” Bastian finished for him. “She does.”

“Why?”

Bastian shrugged lightly. “She has her reasons.”

“I just need to shift this infernal block,” Whitby muttered.

At De Luca’s stare, Bastian explained, “She believes something is blocking her from tapping into her true magical potential, like a stopper in a wine bottle. Ah, this is justperfectwine weather. Are you a red or white man, Inspector?”

De Luca looked away.

So stern, Bastian thought. He was only trying to lighten themood. It helped distract from things he’d prefer not to think about, like the vampire council. And the commissario. Thinking about them felt like tapping a rotten tooth with his tongue, sending a jag of anger through him that he had to keep under control.

“We can’t be outside for long,” Whitby said. “You know what you get like, Bastian, when the sun sickness sets in. Utterly impossible to be around.”

Another nervous flicker from De Luca.

Bastian waved a hand. “It’s nothing, darling, uh, Inspector. She worries too much.”

De Luca cleared his throat and looked behind them a third time.

“Ispettore!” a female voice trilled. “Buongiorno!”

A woman beckoned to them from outside a quaint store with a red awning. De Luca flashed Bastian a stony look that seemed to saybehave, then stiffly went over.

“Buongiorno, Aunt Agata,” De Luca said.

The woman was large and pretty, wearing a floating pink dress and a silk headscarf. She sat in a wicker chair, her small hands moving rhythmically before her, causing silver to flash in the sun. Bastian realized she was knitting. A ball of orange wool rested in her lap, alongside a patchwork creation that could be either a scarf or the beginnings of a sweater.

She said something to De Luca in Italian about Luna. It seemed she was offering him her condolences. The knitting needles flashed in her hands, the sound punctuating their conversation.Clickity-clackity, clickity-clackity.

Bastian frowned. How exactly did De Luca know the dead girl? Were they friends? It would explain his sour mood.

“Grazie mille,” De Luca said.

Aunt Agata’s shrewd gaze fell upon Bastian.

“Welcome to Vernazza,” she said in English. “Aunt Agata knowseverybody in this town, but I don’t recognize you. It must be your first time.”

“It is,” Bastian said. “You speak wonderful English.”

Aunt Agata giggled and paused knitting to wave a hand. “You rogue!”

“Is this your store?” Bastian asked. He ignored De Luca’s fraught gaze as he admired crates filled with apples, bananas, and clementines, plus spinning racks of books, postcards, and paper fans. There was an entire display of little red chilis, which must be a local specialty. The store stood on the corner and leaned alarmingly, as if it were attempting to peer back up the hill behind it.

“It has been for thirty years,” the shopkeeper said. “Everybody comes to Aunt Agata when they need groceries and advice. There’s nothing that can’t be solved with an espresso and a friendly ear.”

“Every town needs a wise woman,” Whitby said in agreement. Aunt Agata looked at her in astonishment, then she erupted with laughter.

“Buon Dio!A talking cat! Will wonders never cease? Now, this is what Aunt Agata loves about life. Surprises around every corner.”