Page 94 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“Wonderful. Fly us back to London, then. No need to pack. I’m sure you don’t need your bag of spells and supplies. Or your cat bed.”

Whitby’s tail quivered. “They’re replaceable.”

“Of course. And once we’re home, you’ll have to cast an enchantment to lock us in forever, because it’s a sure thing that the Obliterati will find us there.”

“We won’t go home, then. We’ll go to Stockholm. Or Egypt. I hear they like cats there.”

“Fabulous. And when the vampire council eventually catches up with us in another far-flung corner of the world, we’ll accept our time is up.”

“I’ll turn them to dust,” Whitby said.

“You can do that without opposable thumbs?”

“You don’t need thumbs when you have magic.”

“The answer to all life’s problems. Of course.”

Vernazza had shrunk to a speck in the dark and the wind had picked up, ruffling Whitby’s fur. Below them, the sea rose and fell in black waves.

Whitby looked at him. “I know what you’re doing, Bastian, and it’s not going to work. If we stay, you’ll die.”

“And if we leave, I’ll die. The only way to get the council off our back is to find the killer.”

“But—”

Bastian raised a hand. “It’s the only way.”

The cat stared at him, her eyes wide. He could practically see her little cat brain working. Searching for an alternative. Some spell that would save him. After a moment, she growled and leapt forward. Bastian flinched, anticipating a swipe from her claws. Instead, she hopped into his arms and pushed her face into his shoulder. She was trembling.

“It’s going to be okay, Whitby,” he said, stroking between her ears with his forefinger.

“If they kill you, I’ll kill them.”

Bastian smiled. “I’ll take some comfort in that.”

She squirmed free from him, jumping back onto her seat.

“All right, Captain, turn this boat around,” Bastian said. “It’s time to finish this once and for all.”

31

“Now that you can do magic,” Bastian said, “can you cast a spell to find the killer?”

“Of course!” Whitby said. “But first I must summon a lifetime’s supply of fish and—oh!—I’ve always wanted one of those cat treehouses that have running water and cat-sized sofas.”

Bastian gave her a withering look. “That’s very catty of you, dear.”

“I’d shrug if I could,” Whitby said.

Bastian paced. They were on a quiet backstreet, away from the main drag. The town had fallen silent in the predawn hours, its streets eerily empty. Whitby sat on a trash can, whiskers quivering in thought, and Bastian’s own mind raced.

Returning to Vernazza to find the killer had seemed like a fine idea—the only viable idea, really—when they were in the boat, but now they were on dry land and Bastian had no clue where to start.

“There must be something youcando,” he said. “You’re the one with all the magic.”

“Not all. Some. And I’ve only levitated a boat. There’s no way I can do something as complex as solve a murder.”

Bastian pushed his fingers into his hair.