"The state of the body does suggest there was a feeding frenzy." Azriel moved around me to squat in front of the head. "Which is not the usual modus operandi for a Wendigo."
I sheathed Amaya, then rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the gathering chill. "What about a Rakshasa?"
He shrugged. "I do not know enough about them to confirm or deny the probability. But given the anger of the ghosts, it is always possible that the creature who did this is merely echoing how the whores all died in that room."
"So they did die in a vampire feeding frenzy?"
His gaze met mine. "You know they did."
"No, I suspected they did. There's a difference."
"As you often say to me, only by a matter of degrees." He reached out and pressed his fingers on either side of the severed head.
"Oh god," I said, the revulsion curling through me suddenly getting stronger. "You're not going to try to capture his last memories, are you?"
He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "You have seen me do this before. Why the distaste now?"
I waved a hand at the remnants. "Because of this—the way he died. I really don't want to see it in all its gory detail."
"Then do not look." His gaze flicked past me, and I knew without looking that he was studying the recording device that hovered just above my right shoulder. He added silently, I do this for you—to help solve this case quickly so that we can get back to more urgent matters—rather than possessing any real interest in knowing the details of this death.
The problem is, the more urgent matter is at a standstill until my father contacts me or Jak comes up with something.
Which does not alter the need to get this task over with just in case either event happens.
I acknowledged the truth of this with a half shrug, and he returned his attention to Green's head. Valdis's sides began to run with blue fire as Azriel closed his eyes. Energy surged, sharp and almost bitter in the small room, and in the space between Azriel's hands pictures began to flow—flickering images that didn't move quite fast enough to blur—meaning the gist of his death, all the blood and gore and body bits flying, was there to see in living color.
I bit my lip, swallowing heavily against the bile that rose in my throat. When the images finally died, I sighed in silent relief. Azriel removed his hands but didn't immediately get up. He bowed his head for a moment and spoke, the words musical and oddly captivating. Saying a prayer for the soul that had already moved on.