Page 56 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Were you arguing?”

“Just leave it, Bastian.”

Hearing De Luca say his name made Bastian’s stomach spin with delight, but his terse tone dulled the sensation. He wanted to hear that laugh again. That silky, carefree laugh.

Bastian stumbled over a cobble that jutted up from the road.

“Who put that there?”

He peered at the apartments above them, admiring the sunlight as it sparkled against the windows. It looked magical.Vernazzawas magical.

Bastian smiled. Despite the tension with De Luca, he felt…good.

He felt free.

He had a vague sensation that he was supposed to be worried about something, but he couldn’t think what it was. Probably nothing important. He felt like a battery charging in the sun. Powering up. Wanting to move. Wanting todance.

They passed a street corner where Bastian spotted an old piano outside a restaurant. He rushed to it and bent down to tinkle a couple of notes. The sound stirred colors in his mind. A shimmering rainbow that rippled through him.

He began to play Tears for Fears, a jaunty version of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” and the sensation of the keys beneath his fingers was wondrous.

“Isn’t this just the best song?” he said, feeling the music flow through him, the air crackle as the tune charged the atmosphere.

Faintly, he heard Whitby saying his name, but it mustn’t be important, because she sounded far away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice told him he shouldn’t do this, but the voice sounded serious, and Bastian was getting tired of serious. He’d just play one song.

“Bastian,” De Luca said at his shoulder, and there was warning in his tone, but then an elderly man in an apron emerged from the restaurant, and he was beaming.

“Bravo!” he cried, clapping his hands, and Bastian grinned. He sang a couple of lines, feeling the song, bringing it to life, and the restaurateur tapped his foot and kept clapping and cheering.

De Luca said something in Italian, but Bastian couldn’t hear him over the music. He winked at the inspector, flashing his most charming smile while performing an improvised flourish to the song. De Luca’s eyes sparkled, bluer than ever, and even though his brow was pinched, Bastian was sure he wanted him to keep playing.

“Encore! Encore!” the restaurateur cried.

“Well, if you insist,” Bastian said, before laughing at De Luca’sglare and straightening. “Just teasing. I wouldn’t want to be accused of hogging the mic.”

“We need to get you inside,” Whitby said as Bastian felt himself being tugged away from the restaurant. “You’ve been in the sun too long.”

“I’mfine, darling. We need to keep searching for the killer.”

“You’ll be toast before that if you’re not careful, Bastian.”

“No, I just need—” Bastian tripped again. This time he went to his knees.

“Bastian!” Whitby leapt to his side, her whiskers trembling as she looked him over, yellow eyes sharp with worry. “We need to get you back to the apartment. I’m serious, Bastian.”

Bastian watched the cobbles spin and put a hand to his head.

“Yes,” he said. “I think maybe—”

He broke off as he sensed movement. A group of men and women had appeared. They strode purposefully down the middle of the street toward Bastian, Whitby, and De Luca, their faces set in furious scowls.

A groan rose up from the depths of Bastian’s throat.

It was Matteo and his gang.

20

“GET HIM!” Matteo cried.