I shifted shape to heal the wounds a little more, then grabbed a cloth and cleaned the blood from my arm. After slipping on the spare set of practical black shoes I kept for emergencies, I hopped into the car then drove across to Napier Street. It wasn’t that far from Sparkies, so it took me only five minutes or so to get there.
Even so, Cole and his team beat me there.
I grabbed my gun and climbed out of the car. “What, have you suddenly grown wings or something?”
He grimaced. For the first time since I’d met him, he actually looked tired. His face was drawn, there were bags under his eyes, and his chin covered by stubble—though if gray stubble could look good, then his certainly did.
“There’s only two teams doing the so-called day shift at the moment, and these people you and Kade are chasing are running us off our feet.” He swept a hand through his already tousled gray hair and looked at the dark house in front of us. “We were told to go in with guns, so I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
“Thought I’d better be, just in case. I had a run-in with our bakeneko and managed to stab her, but she dove into the river and got away. If she’s here, she could be hurting and extremely pissed off.”
He frowned. “Cats traditionally don’t like water.”
“Yeah, but traditionally cats can’t change into humans or vary the size of their animal, so I don’t think the usual rules can be applied in this case.” I waved a hand at the house. “I’ll go in first and make sure it’s safe.”
“Try not to destroy too much of the scene,” he said dryly.
I smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.” He hesitated, and amusement briefly lifted the tiredness from his blue eyes. “And may I just say, that’s a lovely lot of leg you’re flashing there.”
I glanced down, and realized that between my tussle with the bakeneko and my shapeshifting, I’d managed to tear my dress from the knee to the top of my thigh. Luckily for everyone, I’d actually worn panties tonight, otherwise all the goods would be on show. I gave him a grin and a curtsy. “Thank you for the rare compliment.”
I walked past him and approached the wrought-iron gate. The house was dark and silent, and I couldn’t smell anything more than human.
Once at the door, I grabbed the handle and twisted it. Locked. A quick thump with the shoulder soon fixed that. Obviously, the real Enna Free hadn’t been too worried about security, because she didn’t even have decent locks, let alone dead bolts.
I opened the door cautiously. The air that rushed out was filled with the richness of jasmine, but underneath it were notes of blood and death.
A clock ticked softly in one of the rooms to the left, but otherwise it was deathly quiet. Literally, in this case. I couldn’t smell cat, couldn’t sense cat, and didn’t think she was here. Just to be sure, I switched to infrared and scanned the rooms for any sign of body heat—large or small.
Nothing.
The bakeneko wasn’t here. Only death.
I flicked back to normal vision and walked inside. Moonlight shone through the skylights above, lending the hallway a muted, ghostly brightness. White must have been the color choice for all fashion-conscious Trollops, because the only splash of color in Enna’s house was the occasional flare of primary color in the large paintings that dominated a good many walls.
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.