#Ken girls ​have you ever been so exhilarated as the first time you heard But…

[loveandthings11]

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Mantan Web Interview

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Hanyō no Yashahime: Matsumoto Sara, Komatsu Mikako, Tadokoro Azusa, the “Three Princesses” Voice Actresses. Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru’s daughters, Keeping in Mind Inheritance

“Hanyō no Yashahime”, the TV anime that follows the activities of the daughters of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru from Takahashi Rumiko-san’s popular manga, “Inuyasha” (Yomiuri TV, Nippon TV, Saturday evenings at 5:30, certain regions excluded). Sesshōmaru’s twin daughters, Towa and Setsuna, and Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, Moroha; the exhilarating story of these “three princesses” as they rampage the setting of the feudal and modern eras. This as well as the secret behind the three princesses’ births are gradually being revealed and the cause of the mysterious event has drawn interest. Matsumoto Sara-san, the role of Towa, Komatsu Mikako-san, the role of Setsuna, and Tadokoro Azusa-san, the role of Moroha, are all part of a generation that became fascinated with the world of Inuyasha when they were young. On top of playing the roles of Sesshōmaru’s and Inuyasha’s daughters, we asked them what sort of hereditary traits they each keep in mind, their thoughts on each other’s acting and the work.

The Charms the Three Princesses Inherited from Their Parents as Well as the Cuteness of 14-Year-Old Girls

[There is a paragraph explaining what Yashahime is and what not. However, we all know it so I skipped it]

— What did you think when you found out that a new story to the Inuyasha world, “Hanyō no Yashahime” was going to be produced?

Matsumoto-san: The shock was huge. That the characters I grew up watching as a child had kids… First, I wondered how they were born (laughs). I wondered what sort of things they inherited.

Tadokoro-san: I was really surprised. “Inuyasha” was a work that was wrapped up very beautifully, so to think there would be a continuation, a new story. I loved the work, so I was overjoyed that the story of Inuyasha was being carried on. Above all, Sesshōmaru had kids, but with who……? I thought (laughs). I was looking at the character designs like I was lapping them up.

Komatsu-san: I was also shocked that it would be a story about Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru’s daughters. As someone who read and watched “Inuyasha”, I felt nostalgic and a lot of excitement and joy that I could touch the Inuyasha world all over again.

— What do you keep in mind as you play the daughters of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru?

Matsumoto-san: In regards to Towa, during the audition, sound director Nagura-san (Yasushi) told me not to be conscious of her father, Sesshōmaru, and “I don’t want you to make her too boyish”. At that moment, my internal plans fell apart and I thought “Oh crap…”. And so, the current Towa is the result of me struggling with nothing on me. Towa gradually gets used to the feudal era, so I was careful not to make her too cool or decisive at the beginning. No matter what experiences she’s had, she’s still a 14-year-old middle schooler, so sometimes you can see a little girliness and I make sure not to forget that that is part of her core.

— Has Towa ever been conscious of her parents?

Matsumoto-san: As the story progresses, I’ve begun to realize that that part is really complicated. I think Inuyasha fans would love it if there was a nuance where you could feel the parents, but unfortunately, Towa doesn’t know her father or mother, so I don’t think about forcibly bringing out that nuance. Concerning the result, I would be happy if they can think that she’s similar to Sesshōmaru or her mother. Unlike Moroha and Setsuna, Towa alone grew up in the modern era, so she gets told by Setsuna and Moroha, who grew up in the feudal era, “You’re too weak” or “Being too soft is no good”, but she tries to accept those views. She’s gentle at her core, so there’s a sense that she has her mother’s blood and I think she’s a child that people will say “She really is just like that person.

— What about you Komatsu-san who plays Setsuna?

Komatsu-san: What I was told during my audition was that she’s Setsuna at her base but sometimes she shows the side of a 14-year-old girl. Also, she will gradually become more affectionate from being with Towa and Moroha, so please show that cuteness is what they said. At the auditioning stage, I couldn’t imagine how Setsuna would show her affection, so I was worried. Getting into the actual recording, starting around episode 2, Nagura-san told me “Remember NariKen-san (Narita Ken who voices Sesshōmaru)” … …

Tadokoro-san: That’s hard… …

Komatsu-san: Setsuna doesn’t really know Sesshōmaru either and her memories are gone, so in that state it’s like she inherited the blood somewhere. I put into my acting the calm and collectedness she inherited from her bloodline as well the calmness she developed from the environment she grew up in and something like the resolve to keep living. I believe this is the shape of the current Setsuna. It’s just that there is still the fact that she’s a 14-years-old, so I think she’s a child that realistically displays the swaying of the heart. There are a lot of scenes where Setsuna falls silent from watching Towa’s way of life before her eyes, so I keep in mind that she’s probably thinking it over first and processing things in her own way as I act.

— What about Tadokoro-san who plays Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, Moroha?

Tadokoro-san: I imagined Inuyasha-san’s unique way of sitting like a dog during the audition. The light footwork that can allow him to move immediately or rather, the constant lively movement of his body like an animal is what I kept in mind. That hasn’t changed even now. Moroha makes a living constantly fighting to earn money and I thought I can’t underestimate her, so I play her thinking that she lived her life speaking in a rough incendiary way to make herself look big. When asked about Moroha’s upbringing, even though she leads an unrewarded life, she’s very bright and cheerful. I think that strong heart and not getting too disappointed resembles her parents.

Characters Whose Voice Actor’s Personality Is Mixed In

— Have you ever been influenced or stimulated by each other’s acting?

Matsumoto-san: The first documents I received was a character design done by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei and a simple correlation diagram, so I wondered what would become of each of the characters when they received a voice and become an animation. However, when recording started and I heard the two’s (Komatsu and Tadokoro) voices, I was like “Ah, I see!”. I had to make sure I didn’t cause trouble for the two of them in anyway…

Komatsu-san and Tadokoro-san: No no…… it’s the same for us (laughs)

Matsumoto-san: There’s so much I can receive from the two of them every episode. For scenes where Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha split up, we record separately from Tadokoro-san, but there’s a lot of things I can get from listening to Tadokoro-san’s voice before I start recording. It’s something like “If they’re having her act like that, then maybe I should do something like this” every time.

Tadokoro-san: During the audition, I auditioned for the roles of the other two besides Moroha, but to be honest, I couldn’t picture their voices even as I acted. When we actually recorded together, it felt as though I saw the answer like “Aah, it can only be this!”. Towa seems unable to fit into either the modern or feudal eras so to say, and she’s a very shaky character so she periodically makes remarks that are off. There, because of (Matsumoto) Sara-san’s straight and honest acting, I can tell that Towa acts on her own beliefs. Towa is a difficult role to play, but you could say Sara-san’s personality is mixed in.

Komatsu-san: Just as Koroazu-chan (Tadokoro-san) said, Sara-chan’s personality comes through. Towa has a sharp appearance and a boyish impression but she’s actually very friendly. She could probably survive in any era. I think it’s because Sara-chan herself is friendly and has strong communication skills.

Matsumoto-san: That makes me happy.

Tadokoro-san: Komatsu-san’s acting of Setsuna too, I think “Sesshōmaru-sama really comes through. Wow!”. I know this because I played Setsuna during the audition but a woman incorporating (the role of Sesshōmaru) Narita-san’s (Ken) acting is very difficult. Komatsu-san expresses Setsuna’s 14-year-old cuteness and her affectionate cuteness while bringing out the strength that she inherited from Sesshōmaru. I think it’s Komatsu-san’s skill that brings out that broadness in Setsuna (laughs).

Komatsu-san: Moroha inherits from Inuyasha and Kagome too. I think this is something that only Koroazu-chan can do. Moroha has Inuyasha’s crudeness and Kagome’s strong heart and suppleness so I think “This is Moroha!”. Koroazu-chan’s lightness and mischievousness come together and make Moroha even cuter. If she becomes a girl that only inherited Inuyasha’s crudeness, I think it would be difficult, but Kagome’s cuteness and strength comes through. Setsuna is able to let Moroha’s foolishness slide. This is “Koroazu magic”.

Matsumoto-san: It’s a wonderful magic.

Tadokoro-san: That makes me happy.

Komatsu-san: Even when I’m acting, I can feel that Setsuna is changing due to being influenced by the other two. To Setsuna, Towa and Moroha are people she loves. Not to mention the three of them are blood relatives. (laughs)

The three princesses that Matsumoto-san, Komatsu-san, and Tadokoro-san play give off charm as the new heroines of the Inuyasha world while inheriting the blood of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru. The three princesses’ comical dialogue, exhilarating battles with demons, and the secrets of their birth that will gradually be revealed. You can’t take your eyes off the story going forward.

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 2 ~The Doctor~

Claire Beauchamp arrived in Inverness, late Friday afternoon after a two-day journey by car from Oxford. She was looking forward to a new life in Scotland and a fresh start. It had been five years since her husband of only two months, Frank Randall died in a car accident, and after finishing her internship recently, she was ready to move on. 

Frank Randall was a University professor, and Claire, a medical student in Oxford when they first met in the pub 7 years ago. Frank was 12 years her senior, but that didn't deter Claire from developing an infatuation. On the other hand, Claire's charm, wit and maturity beyond her years captivated the young professor, and it wasn't long before they fell in love and married. It was a blissful union until Frank died tragically, leaving his young bride to pick up the pieces of her broken dreams. 

Determined and stubborn, young Claire wasn't a person to wallow in grief for too long. Although very much heartbroken, she picked herself up, buried herself in work, and concentrated on finishing her studies. Shortly after Frank died, she sold their Victorian house to pay for her tuition fees, and whatever money was left, was put into her savings. 

Five years forward, Claire claimed her hard-earned M.D. as a Neurosurgeon and completed her obligatory internship. As she took her time deciding her next steps, her best friend Joe Abernathy from medical school had taken up residency in the Northern Royal Infirmary in Inverness. Joe Abernathy wanted her to follow suit.

Widowed and 29 years old, Claire knew she still had her life ahead of her. Uncle Lambert, her guardian since she was orphaned at age 5, suggested she takes his neglected cottage in the outskirts of Inverness if she opted to follow her friend Joe. Her uncle had very little use of it and having no family of his own, Claire knew the cottage will one day belong to her.

Without any further persuasion, Claire decided to move to Inverness and put her hospital residency on hold for a year.   A kind of sabbatical  , she thought. She needed time for the transition without the rigorous demands of working as a Neurosurgeon. To ease the transition, Claire responded to a job opening as a paramedic in Scottish Ambulance Service. The possibility of working indoors as well as outdoors on emergency cases sounded exhilarating and adventurous. Although over-qualified for the job, she knew she needed a change of something....or anything for that matter, without wandering too far from the medical route.

It didn't take long before Claire heard from the Scottish Ambulance Service. They knew she was over-qualified for the position, but they were only too happy to accept her application. Claire was thrilled and immediately made arrangements for the move. She was notified to start work as soon as she arrived.

Claire's first destination in Inverness was St. Agnes Orphanage to see the French mother superior, Mother Hildegarde. She was a life-long friend of Uncle Lambert and the keeper of the cottage's keys. As Claire walked into the Mother Superior's office, she was greeted with open arms and a huge warm smile.

"  Ma chérie  , Claire, come here and let me look at you. It's been ages!" Mother Hildegarde gathered Claire into her arms and embraced her tightly. "  Mon Dieu  , look at you...what a beautiful woman you have become. Mind you, you have always been a beautiful girl."

"Mother Hildegarde, oh it's so lovely to see you. Oh yes, it's been almost 10 years since I was here in bonny Scotland. And it's still bonny as ever. How are you?" Claire smiled warmly, hugging the elderly lady back.

For a woman in her eighties, the Mother Superior had a surprisingly firm grip. "  Très bien, ma chérie  . And how about you? You must be tired and hungry,   non  ? You must stay here for the night. There are still workers at your uncle's cottage right this minute and should be finished by tomorrow. They're doing some finishing touches to make sure the place is secure...you know like making sure the roof has no leak."

Claire laughed, "Oh, so typical of Uncle Lamb. He likes to over-see things, you know. As for food, no thank you. I'm not really hungry, but I'm exhausted, and I can use a good nap."

"Of course,   ma chérie  , this way...allow me to show you your room for the night and oh...here are the keys to the cottage." Claire took the keys and linked her arm with the older woman as they walked out of the office, chatting about Uncle Lamb and life in general.

Twenty minutes later, after a small tour around the shelter, saying hello to some of the orphans and exchanging pleasantries with the younger nuns, she was finally in her room. It was a simple room with a small bed - that was all she needed for now. Claire didn't bother getting the rest of her suitcase from the car but took only a change of clothes for the night. Within 5 minutes of laying her head down, she fell asleep.

Sometime late in the evening, she was roused to a loud bang. She bolted right up and heard panicked voices and running feet outside the corridor.   What the fuck was that?   She grabbed her phone and keys, and clad only in her nightgown, went outside to see what the commotion was. She was approached by a distressed young nun. "Miss Claire, Miss Claire, please help gather the children for evacuation, there's a fire in the west wing." 

"Of course, I'm on it." Without bothering to go back to the bedroom, calmly Claire managed to guide as many children as possible towards the emergency exit. She can hear the sirens and firemen's voices amongst the screams of children and women. 

After guiding the last group of children on her floor to safety, Claire decided to head up to the next storey, not realising the upper level was thick with smoke. As she made it to the top of the steps, she started to choke, and her eyes began to sting. Panic-stricken, Claire looked down and below was a very tall fireman running up the stairs towards her. And before she knew what was happening, she blacked-out.

In the dark recesses of her mind, Claire was aware she was being carried away. She felt the cold air on her face and heard emergency sirens from what seemed like a distance. All she wanted to do was to drift off back to sleep and curl up into the strong, warm arms holding her. It was a comforting sensation to be held and to feel safe. 

Then consciousness got a grasp of her, and realisation seeped in- the orphanage was on fire! Her eyes suddenly flew open only to be met by a pair of the bluest she'd ever seen. Claire blinked twice in an attempt to clear the fogginess in her head, but the man carrying her continued to stare as if she was some sort of alien. She searched his soot-covered face, but he remained inscrutable.

Finding her wits, at last, Claire made a futile attempt to wriggle her way out of the man's tight hold. Clearing her voice, she implored, "Let me down please, let me down...the children in the building..." Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears, but the fireman didn't yield his grip. He was saying something, barely audible in an unfamiliar tongue as he cradled her like a baby. 

Unexpectedly, she was handed over to two men from the emergency unit and to add to her confusion, her rescuer left without saying another word. From the arms of the paramedics, Claire glanced back at the disappearing form of the tall fireman as he made his way back into the smoke-filled building.   Damn, those blue eyes! 

Snapping back to reality, Claire turned her attention to the two paramedics who were trying to ease her down on the wheeled stretcher. "I said let me down right this minute...really, I'm alright." 

"Now miss, please calm down. Just a quick examination. Are ye hurting anywhere?" A young male medic was peering into her eyes with a pen torch. "Aaah ye have bonny eyes" The young man smiled.

"Stop that!" Claire slapped a probing hand away, "I'm a doctor, and really for the hundredth time, I'm alright. If you have a spare uniform to lend, I can help. Are you even listening?" The two men fussing over her stopped, looked at each other, hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

"Ye sure miss, ye can stand?" Claire nodded and stood up to prove that she can stand on her own.

There was no time to mess about.   If the lady wants to help, we need all the extra hands we can get.

"Aye, alright then...right in there, there's a spare uniform." informed the dark-haired young man with a badge, T. Christie engraved on it. He pointed towards the ambulance vehicle for Claire, "You can dress in there, and I'll close the door. We need all the help we can get...we're a wee bit understaff, ye ken."

"Aye, I ken," Claire replied, mimicking his accent, before climbing into the ambulance to change into a more appropriate garb.

For the next hour, Claire tirelessly worked side by side with the emergency staff guiding the children to safety, handing out oxygen masks to those who needed it and helping those who were injured onto the stretcher. Much to her relief, Mother Hildegarde suffered only a mild smoke inhalation and was immediately taken to the hospital. As for the rest, everyone from the orphanage made it to safety with some minor injuries.

Claire had no problem navigating through the frenzied confusion. She was a trained doctor after all and knew the ins and outs of a medical emergency. The other medical workers have given up trying to assist her. It was pretty apparent that she knew what she was doing and worked very well under stress. 

Time flew by quickly, and Claire was surprised when she realised, the frenetic activities around her were winding down. As she gratefully retrieved a bottle of water from one of the medics, Claire saw her rescuer reemerged from the building. Although she couldn't see his face, she recognised him from his height, breadth and the way he walked. He was prominently taller and stood out from the rest of the firemen.

She heard him shout, "All clear!" as he gave thumbs-up to his colleagues. Without much thought, Claire walked towards his direction. She wanted to thank him for rescuing her and his bravery. 

"Erm, excuse me..." she started trying to get the tall man's attention.

To Claire's surprise, he raised his hand, and without looking at her, he stopped her mid-sentence: "Sorry not now, I'm busy..." and walked away.

 The bloody Scot didn't even recognise me!  Fuming, Claire walked the opposite direction.

[dukking02]

Paraskevas: first draft

Allow me to preface this by saying that this is a draft, i plan to completely rewrite this, but i need a second, 3rd, even a 4th opinion of it first. lease tell me what you think and what i could improve 

****************************************

My name is Paraskevas.

     Right now I'm traveling back to the Galli Sanctuary from Egypt. I imagine I should tell you how I got here, so get comfortable, because it's a long story.

     I guess it would be best to begin by saying that I have never felt comfortable in my own skin; I grew up in Athens next to the barracks, and as a child, every day, I would run and play with the other boys. The gods decided to curse me with this female body only to later discover it was my own path towards a blessing. One day I decided to tell my parents that I wanted to be a man. My own parents responded,

 "do you want to end up as one of those Galli freaks? Huh? Do you? Cause if you continue acting like something you're not, that's where you'll end up," 

Among other things. I was 16 when we had that little "talk." 

      The following night my father woke me, and told me to follow him. So I did. My father and I walked out to the city's outskirts, and as we finally stopped a few hours later, he handed me a pack and said two paralyzing words to me "don't return". I was struck with a crushing weight and could not leave the spot I stood. My breath did not leave my chest; it stayed and boiled into a pain that spread through my body. My thoughts raced through my mind, each new idea, each new conclusion tearing into my heart, deeper and deeper until it snapped and could no longer withstand the flood it was holding back. All of it came pouring out in a violent torrent. Still cemented where I stood, I watched as my father turned around and started pacing back the way we had come, leaving me feeling utterly helpless.  A few hours passed, and I stood there not kenning on what I'd do next; I didn't know where I was, I didn't know how to get back home. I imagined at that point, that the place I had come from, the walls that stood for all I ever was, and the warm hearth that I clung to so dearly, was now only a place to be seen in bitter memory. I took a moment, and cleansed my chest of all it's anxiety in a few deep breaths. And so I took my pack, and forced my feet forward, and kept walking like a lost soul,  too weak to even see a goal in sight.

For how long I walked, I do not know. I did not know where I was walking to, nor for what I was looking for. After about two days of sauntering around, I collapsed from hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and heartache. As I began to fall into an exhausting sleep, I remember longing for the chance that I wouldn't wake up. 

     I had many strange and unusual dreams in my sleep, but suddenly they shifted into something new. Becoming clear and vivid. I found myself at the entrance of the most extensive, most ornate temple I had ever seen; the Parthenon paled in comparison to its beauty. The temple had two statues of dogs guarding the entrance, each towering 40 feet. It was here that I realized this was Hecate's temple. Out of nowhere, I heard an unfamiliar voice from behind me. 

      The foreign voice said to me, "my dear child, how lost you are'' it wasn't a question, but a solemn statement. Her voice was sympathetic, filled with emotion. Subsequently, I turned to recognize a tall and beautiful woman. She had an angular face that held an appearance of extreme sorrow and sympathy. The woman wore a dark purple toga made of dozens of layers of the most delicate quality lace I had ever seen, each layer so thin that I could see through it, but combined, it hid her figure shockingly well. Around her waist was a simple braided cord of gold. She then knelt and hugged me. At that point, all I could do was weep into her chest, finally allowing myself to feel everything I have been suppressing my entire life. And then I was filled with the most incredible feeling of maternal love I had ever felt. She then held me at arm's length and said to me, "my child, you no longer need to hide. Will you join my other children?" I simply nodded, unable to speak through the tears. She then smiled, closed her eyes, and placed her lips on my forehead.

     And then I woke. It was still dark, so it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours, but I felt as if I had slept an entire week. I was filled with energy, I sprung up, but I felt something in my pocket when I got up. I reached in and felt a rock; it was warm to the touch, abnormally warm as if her love was still radiating from it. When I pulled it out, I gasped in pure exhilaration. It was a gemstone of the highest quality, approximately 6 inches in diameter. It was a deep purple color and astoundingly clear. It didn't have a single blemish on or in it. Selling this stone could make me more prosperous than the foreign Egyptian kings. But a voice in the back of my head told me that it would be a faulty idea. I then contemplated whether I should sell the gem as a gift from a Goddess. As I whispered to myself, I realized something.

     I was no longer a girl but a boy. My own voice seemed foreign to me. It was deeper and fuller, but I still recognized it as my own. I checked my body and was astounded to see that the goddess Hecate had blessed me with the body I was always meant to have. I was beyond thrilled. I was exuberant. I then felt a sudden compulsion to travel east. Trusting the goddess, I pocketed the gemstone and started making my way east.

    Eventually, I reached the destination the goddess wanted me to reach; A small temple dedicated to Hecate. When I arrived at the door, I decided the best thing to do was knock. As I raised my fist, the door opened before I got the chance. A tall physique with amber skin opened the door. It was impossible to determine their gender. They wore a blank expression on their face, and because of this, they seemed extremely uninterested. They wore a robe of deep red, with white threading. They simply said, "I am Agapi, we have been expecting you. Follow me." So I did.

   After a short time, we arrived at a small workshop with woodworking tools. Agapi shoved me inside and said, "make your tool and fasten your gem to your tool. Once you do, you will be able to open this door. It can be anything, take mine, for example," they then raised a wooden sword with a flawless red gemstone fastened into its pommel. I had barely enough time to get a look before they shoved me inside and locked the door.

     I spent hours in that room, grappling to figure out how to use the tools. Growing frustrated, I said, "screw this," and grabbed a wooden dowel perhaps a foot and a half in length and 5 inches thick and drilled a divot in one end, shoved the gemstone in, and wrapped it in wire to fasten it in place. Unsure what to do next, I then pointed it at the door and said open, not expecting it to work in the slightest. However, surprisingly it did, and the door flung open with a crash.

     This was 3 weeks ago. I'm now in training as a Galli priest. Here we are. I'm traveling back from Alexandria today.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Scent of Murder by Kylie Logan

Jazz Ramsey #1

At the end of this book I felt this book was a bit more like a cozy mystery than anything else. The main character, Jasmine “Jazz” Ramsey is training Luther for his owner before Luther is to be tested and certified to be a Human Remains Detection (HRD) search and rescue dog. Stumbling upon a corpse at the beginning of the book is the introduction to Jazz, Luther and one-time-lover homicide detective Nick Kolesov. The blurb/synopsis of the book lays the groundwork and quite a bit of the backstory for this book and the characters within it.

To me Jazz felt a bit lost and I am not sure if that is due to the death of her father, the loss of Nick as her significant other or something else. I hope to learn more about what motivates Jazz in future books of the series. Nick was someone I could understand as he seemed to be dedicated to his work and because he seemed to care for Jazz. I sometimes wondered if Jazz was into finding out who killed Florie because she was at loose ends and needed a purpose or if she is in fact nosy and likes to solve puzzles.

I enjoyed following the leads that finally revealed who killed Florie. The supporting characters were interesting and no doubt will pop up in future books. I enjoyed the way the book was plotted and written and hope that Jazz’s personality will emerge more in the future.

What I liked:

* the dogs – when they appeared

* the puzzle pieces that at first didn’t seem to have any reason being there and then later made so much sense

* Nick – he seemed a level-headed and nice guy

* Jazz’s brothers

* The information about location

* Finding out that my first thoughts about some “bad” people were unfounded

* Not realizing right away who the murderer was

What I didn’t like:

* Some of Jazz’s less than polite ways of dealing with people she was questioning

* Not finding out what happened to break Nick and Jazz up – was it volatile or just a slow moving away from one another

* Not truly understanding what motivated Jazz

Did I enjoy reading this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press – Minotaur Books for the ARC – This is my honest review.

3-4 Stars

Jacket Copy:

First in a new series from national bestselling author Kylie Logan, The Scent of Murder is a riveting mystery following Jazz Ramsey as she trains cadaver dogs.

The way Jazz Ramsey figures it, life is pretty good. She’s thirty-five years old and owns her own home in one of Cleveland’s most diverse, artsy, and interesting neighborhoods. She has a job she likes as an administrative assistant at an all-girls school, and a volunteer interest she’s passionate about—Jazz is a cadaver dog handler.

Jazz is working with Luther, a cadaver dog in training. Luther is still learning cadaver work, so Jazz is putting him through his paces at an abandoned building that will soon be turned into pricey condos. When Luther signals a find, Jazz is stunned to see the body of a young woman who is dressed in black and wearing the kind of make-up and jewelry that Jazz used to see on the Goth kids back in high school.

She’s even more shocked when she realizes that beneath the tattoos and the piercings and all that pale make up is a familiar face.

The lead detective on the case is an old lover, and the murdered woman is an old student. Jazz finds herself sucked into the case, obsessed with learning the truth.

EXCERPT:

CHAPTER 1

It had rained that after noon and the sidewalks  were still wet. When the last of the eve ning light hit them, the slate squares reflected Jazz Ramsey’s neighborhood— streetlights, and the neon signs that flashed from the win dows of the trendy pubs, and a watery rendering of St. John Cantius church, an urban Monet masterpiece, its tan brick walls and bell tower blurred.

Even though it was officially spring, the wind off Lake Erie was wicked. Jazz bundled her shoulder- length brown hair into a loose ponytail and pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, then hunched further into her North Face jacket. She stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change, and was pleased when Luther sat down at her side even without a command.

“Good dog,” she was sure to tell him at the same time she breathed in the combined smell of damp earth and the discarded bag from Taco Bell crumpled near the curb.

To Luther’s credit, he ignored what ever bits and bites of Mexican cuisine might still be in the bag. But then, he’d been trained to follow diff er ent scents. When the light changed, he trotted along when Jazz crossed the street, his pace as brisk as hers, and the way he pricked his ears and cocked his head, she knew he sensed the exhilaration that vibrated from her hand through his leash. Luther knew it was almost time to get down to business.

Here, College Avenue started its downhill trek into the Cleveland Flats, the city’s once- booming industrial heart. These days, Clevelanders  were more likely to work in health care or IT than in foundries and factories, but one hundred years ago, this was the route thousands of workers took each day from their homes in blue- collar Tremont—it was simply called the South Side then—to the fiery furnaces that produced Amer i ca’s steel.

“ We’re not  going far,” Jazz assured Luther at the same time she noticed the  couple who stumbled out of the Tree house just up ahead made sure to give the massive German shepherd a wide berth. “Just over  here,” she told him once  they’d passed the open door to the bar and the blaring  music that seeped onto the street  wasn’t quite so loud. “Over to the new condos.”

They stopped outside a sturdy brick building nearly ninety years old with solid walls and a slate roof. By the end of summer, Jazz  imagined  there would be gleaming glass in the window frames where  there was plywood now, and win dow boxes, too, no doubt, and cars parked outside that reflected the status- conscious success of the young professionals  she’d heard  were already lined up to buy.

But not tonight.

Tonight the building was empty and dark and she had it all to herself.

It was the perfect place to put Luther through his paces.

Still hanging on to the dog’s leash with one hand, Jazz fished the key from her pocket with the other and silently thanked Ken Zelinsky, the site supervisor, who’d agreed to give her an hour’s time inside the building.

It  wasn’t easy to find urban training sites for a human remains detection dog.

She swung open the door and slanted Luther a look.

“So what do you think?”

Luther sat, his tail thumping out a rhythm of excitement on the front stoop, and before she unhooked his leash, Jazz did a quick run- through of what  she’d learned from his owner. Luther was a  little over two years old, good- natured. He could be as playful as any pup, but he had a serious side, too. Like now, when he had to work.

“He’s a smart dog,” Greg Johnson had insisted when he begged Jazz to help with the final stages of Luther’s training. “He just needs some reinforcement from a  really good handler. That’s you, Jazz.”

It was.

Or at least it used to be.

These days, Jazz was feeling a  little rusty. She was out of practice, not in the mood. It was one of the reasons that,  after hemming and hawing and finding excuse  after excuse,  she’d fi nally agreed to Greg’s request. She needed to shake herself out of her funk, and to her way of thinking,  there was no better way to do that than with a dog. She stepped into the long, narrow entry way of the building with its rows of broken mailboxes along one wall, and shut the front door  behind her. The eerie quiet of years of neglect closed around her along with the smell of dampness and decay, rotted wiring and musty tiles carried by an errant breeze. Feeling her way, she unsnapped the leash from Luther’s collar and gave him the command  she’d devised for all the dogs she worked with  because it was less ghoulish than saying “Find the dead guy!”

“Find Henry!” she told him, and she stepped back and out of Luther’s way.

Like all HRD dogs, Luther was that rare combination— independent enough to go off on his own and loyal enough to owner and handler to need praise. But he  didn’t know Jazz well, and smart dog that he was, he wanted to be certain. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“You know what to do, Luther. You  don’t need Greg  here to tell you.” She swept a hand along her side. “Find Henry!”

In fact, what Jazz hoped the dog would do was clear both the first and second floors in rec ord time and head up to the third floor where that after noon  she’d hidden a  human tooth (a donation from her  mother, Claire, who, at the age of fifty- two, had deci ded she wanted the kind of sparkling smile  she’d seen on so many models and had begun to see an orthodontist).  Human teeth contained enough scent to attract a properly trained dog’s attention. If Luther was on his game— and she hoped he was  because she hated the thought of telling Greg his dog  wasn’t ready for the grueling volunteer work done by dogs and handlers—he would locate the tooth, signal by barking three times, and chomp on the treat she would use as a reward while she secured the scene and made a simulated call to the cops, just as she would do if they made a real find.

“You gonna get a move on or what?” she asked Luther, her voice falling flat against the pitted plaster. “Find Henry!”

In a flash of black and sable, the dog took off down the darkened hallway.

After nearly ten years training and  handling cadaver dogs, Jazz knew the ropes. She  couldn’t give Luther a hint about where to go or what he was looking for so she kept back, letting him work, refusing to influence him by her demeanor or her movements. She heard his claws scramble on the tile floor somewhere in the dark up ahead, flicked on her high- powered flashlight, and followed.

Some dogs, like pointers, are air sniffers. Some, like bloodhounds, keep their noses to the ground. No  matter their breed, cadaver dogs, by virtue of their work, have to be proficient at both. They are trained as trailing dogs to pick up the scent that has fallen from decomposing bodies onto the ground, and as air- scenting dogs as well, so they can detect any smell of decomposition that’s carried on the breeze. By the time she located him in a back room of what had once been a four- room working- class apartment, Luther was hard at work.

His eyes focused and  every inch of his muscular body at the ready, he drew in a breath then hurried back and forth, side to side, through what had once been a kitchen, in an attempt to catch the strongest scent.

Not  here. On the third floor.

Jazz knew better than to say it. Part of an HRD dog’s gift was to eliminate one area so dog and handler could move on to the next. Luther was  doing his job, and he was  doing it well. She had to remember to compliment Greg on his training methods.

Nose to the floor, his ears pricked, Luther cleared the kitchen and headed into the back bedrooms. Jazz kicked a piece of fallen tile out of the way, but she kept her place. She would wait quietly  until the dog emerged from the back rooms and when he headed out into the hallway, she would follow.

At least that was her plan.

Until Luther barked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

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About Kylie Logan

So maybe you already know that I'm not just Kylie Logan, I'm also Casey Daniels and a few other writers, too.  What's it like to have multiple personalities and the pen names to go with them?  Well, I was once lucky enough to interview mystery great Elizabeth Peters for an article in the Cleveland Plain Dealer.  She writes under more than one name, too, and she described the experience perfectly, “If you're only one person,” she said, “you're boring!” And I guess I'd add to that—if you only write one mystery series, you're boring, too!  Or maybe you're just not getting visited as often by the Idea Fairy.  The only way to keep that particular critter quiet is to follow where those ideas lead and to date, they've led me to write three different mystery series under the Kylie name. So who is Kylie?  I'm a fulltime writer who has loved mysteries since I was a kid.  My dad was a Cleveland Police detective, and he introduced me to Sherlock Holmes stories.  He also gave me my first investigating experiences when on his days off, we'd pile into the car and hit the streets to look for stolen cars.  When he retired from the force, Dad became the head of security for the Cleveland Public Library. Crooks and books!  I guess I come by my love for mysteries honestly. I have a degree in English, experience as a journalist and writing teacher, and lots of ideas about interesting ways to kill people. This makes me an excellent guest as cocktail parties, but I've noticed that the hostess doesn't always trust me near the food.  Could that have something to do with the book on poisons sticking out of my purse? I began my career writing historical romance and my book “Devil's Diamond” was nominated for a RITA award as historical of the year by Romance Writers of America.  I've also written contemporary romance, young adult horror (as Zoe Daniels and Connie Laux), and one children's book, “Fright Knight,” in the RL Stine's Ghosts of Fear Street series.  If you click on the “AKA” button at the top of the page, you'll see all my pen names. I enjoy weaving and knitting, exploring old cemeteries, and I am a beekeeper. I can't pass up an antique shop (there might be buttons in there!).  I can't put down a classic book (even if I already know the story!).  And I can't say no to a good bowl of chili.  Lucky for me, my husband is the world's greatest chili maker. When I'm not writing, I'm usually with my family and our two dogs, Ernie, an adorable Airedale, and Oscar, a Jack Russell rescue who came for a short-term stay and ten years later, is still here.  Those of you who have ever lived with/met/had dealings with a Russell will certainly understand how knowing him has increased my propensity for murder.  

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