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As I got closer to the kitchen, another scent grew in dominance. Seared flesh.
Enna was lying on the no-longer pristine tiles, which was at least something different from the others. She'd been caught in the midst of frying something, by the look of it, and the deep-frying pot must have tipped over as she'd gone down, splashing across her face and leaving behind huge, watery blisters. Not that she would have had much time to worry about the pain of those - not if the half-eaten mess of her body was anything to go by.
I blew out a breath, and tried to ignore the blood and gore scattered everywhere as I walked past the kitchen counter and into the small dining area. I found the bottom half of her missing left leg there. Her missing arm was in the bathroom. That window was open - and probably provided an entry and exit point for the bakeneko.
I shut it, then walked back into the other room and stood there, waiting. There was nothing but coldness and the smell of death in the room. The part of me that could feel the dead wasn't picking up anything here at all. Like all the other murder scenes, Enna's soul was suspiciously absent.
Which, when combined with what the drunken witness had seen, certainly seemed to confirm that the bakeneko was consuming the souls.
Either that, or my talent had decided to go AWOL for some damn reason.
Ignoring the shiver that traipsed down my spine, I turned around and walked out. Cole bent to pick up the black bag at his feet, then said, "All clear?"
I nodded. "The bathroom window was open, so that was obviously her entry point. I shut it for safety, so you'll find my prints there." I hesitated, then added, "Just be aware that she's on the loose and keep your weapons handy."
"I think one of us will smell her before she gets within biting range."
"Maybe, but be careful anyway." I gave him a grin. "After all, I'd hate to see that pretty face of yours all disfigured."
He snorted softly. "Yeah, right."
He walked past me into the house. I turned and headed back to my car. It only took ten minutes to get to the weirdly named Hot Rabbit restaurant, but it took another ten to find parking. This end of Lygon, with its close proximity to two of the most popular wolf clubs and the resulting accumulation of restaurants and coffee shops, was pretty much on the go twenty-four hours a day - and that made finding somewhere to park difficult no matter what the time.
I climbed out of the car and sucked in a deep breath. A riot of aromas assaulted my senses - cooked meats, fresh breads, and coffee mingled with the scents of men and women. Over it all ran the lushness of sex and desire.
While there were still a lot of humans who came to dine in and visit this area, the closeness of the wolf clubs made it a prime gathering area for nonhumans.
And I loved it. Loved the smells, loved the clubs, even though I'd only been here during the moon heat of late. I missed it, too. Missed the freedom and the fun.
But I missed the caress of someone who cared more. And that was turning out to be a bigger problem than I'd ever imagined it would be.
I turned away from the clubs and headed for the Hot Rabbit.
As it turned out, you couldn't miss the place. The neon pink sign - complete with pink rabbits that leapt across the board at regular intervals - caught the eye even against all the other competing signs, and the babble of voices and music that flowed out of the place literally assaulted the ears.
The article in the paper had obviously done its work well, because there were a whole lot of people inside. It'd be interesting to see if they kept coming back, or if interest died off in a month or so. Lygon Street tended to have a high turnover of human-accepting dance establishments.
I pushed my way inside. The many scents bludgeoned my senses - perfume, aftershave, and humanity mingling with the heady scent of alcohol and the more luscious aroma of coffee. Either one would do me just fine right now.
The place was done out like an old rock-and-roll bar, and actually reminded me a whole lot of the Rocker, which was only the next block over. Like the Rocker, this place had booth seats that lined one wall, and tables and chairs scattered elsewhere. A dance floor dominated the rear of the room, and it was currently packed - though a lot of people seemed to be chatting more than dancing. But unlike the Rocker, this place had no stairs that led up to a more intimate area.
I made my way through the tables, then pushed through the rows of people waiting at the bar to be served. Ignoring the insults flung my way, I flashed my badge at the nearest bartender.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, barely taking his eyes off the concoction he was mixing.
"Need to talk to your boss, Ron Cowden. He around?"
"Table behind the dance floor," he said, and shoved two glasses of shiny green froth across the bar. "Ten bucks," he added to the woman beside me.
I retreated and made my way around the dance floor. The music appeared louder this close to the jukebox, the heavy bass beat pounding through my body and making me want to dance. If this had been a wolf club, I might have. But it would have been only regular-type dancing, not wolf-style.
My hormones might be starved for affection, but my heart still wanted more. And right now, my heart had more will than my hormones.
There were only three tables sitting behind the dance floor, and only one of them occupied. Ron Cowden was even bigger in person than he'd appeared in the photo - a bear of a man with a full bushy beard that was probably meant to make up for the lack of hair up top.
"Ron Cowden?" I said, stopping in front of him and showing him my badge.
He looked me up and down, his gaze barely even lingering on my thigh. Obviously not a leg man.
