The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(11)

“I take it you haven’t seen the guy again?”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed, revealing several missing and rotten teeth. “No one wants to come around here now. That’s why I came back. Aside from the garbage collector who comes through once a week, no one’s going to mess with me.”

“Is there anything else you’d care to tell me?”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

“I’m positive.” He lowered his head, rubbed his thumb over the folded bill in his hand, and muttered under his breath, “Crazy ass bitch. I need a f*cking drink.”

And that about summed it up.

Old man would get his drink on, and I’d have to start from square one. I stood and took another look at the area, focusing on the spot where Autumn had been killed. There was an arching spray of darkened brown across the bricks—probably where her throat had been cut—as well as a large, dried up circle of blood on the ground.

I walked over and took a look.

Shit.

Her blood had to have gotten on the murderer. Considering the width of the circle at my feet, she spurted a fountain and the rest dripped down her body. Which begged the question: how in the hell had her killer managed to keep his clothing clean? He couldn’t traipse around covered in blood splatter for the world to see. Did he travel to the location by car? There was no way he could have used public transportation. Bloody attire would have drawn attention.

Then I saw it.

To the human eye, the footprint would have gone unnoticed, but since I’d taken some of Paine’s blood my vision was much stronger. The marking was faint, stamped with blood on concrete. I squinted, turning my head to get the right angle. I could barely make out the label, but when I did it told me several things. The killer could have afforded personal transportation to flee the crime scene. He wouldn’t have an issue when it came to money and visiting as many strip clubs as he liked. Anyone who wore Prada had plenty of dinero to spare.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Not a thing.” I stepped back, glanced at the hobo, and started walking from the alley. The phone in my back pocket buzzed and I pulled it out. As soon as I knew the identity of the caller, I flipped it open. I’d been expecting to hear from him.

“Hey, Goose. What do you have for me?”

Goose had been helping me search for the resting place of Marigold Vesta. I had to find her remains in order to return her to life and end the debt I owed the fallen angel. So far we hadn’t found much—apparently the fallen were protected because their history wasn’t recorded—which meant we had to start with unrelated events and work our way toward our goal. Goose had retrieved what he could using his necromancer research hotline, calling on favors from close associates.


Thankfully one resource was obsessed with the fallen, to the point she’d spent years documenting stories about them. I tried not to snicker when I thought about Mary Agnes Winstead, a woman who was raised Catholic, started seeing dead people and, as a consequence, had become part of a vampire household. Although I’d never had the pleasure of meeting her face to face, Goose warned me she wasn’t completely right in the head. Considering her obsession, I wasn’t surprised.

Mary had sent us dozens of files, most of them dating back a hundred years or more. Thanks to her dedication, Goose and I learned fallen angels descended from Heaven to protect the innocent from the taint of evil. Due to their connection with the Almighty, most people didn’t f*ck with them. Unfortunately, in Marigold’s case, she was baited into a trap, killed, and her soul was forced to Hell. She’d then been given to none other than the King of Hell himself. Although Marigold’s actual name hadn’t been used in the text, it had to be our girl. It was the only story we found with so many similarities.

Not a great way to live out a century.

“She’s on holy ground.”

I stopped walking, wanting to be sure it wasn’t the wind and I had heard him correctly.

“Holy ground?”

“The information is sketchy and doesn’t pertain to Marigold specifically. It mentions monks coming across an unholy battle between an angel and demons. After the angel was killed, the monks fought off the menace and took her body to hallowed ground.”

My heart was beating a fast staccato. “Does it say where?”

“No.” Goose sounded as dejected as I felt upon hearing the news. “But don’t worry, I’m going to keep digging.”

“Thanks.” I started walking again, making my legs move faster to get to The Black Panther Club before my boss arrived. Deena had offered to do inventory but I’d dumbly told her I would take care of it. I figured the work would keep me busy, taking my mind off of Disco, Paine, and everything else I couldn’t control.

“This is good news, you know,” Goose said.

“Without a precise location, it’s not.”

“We have two things going for us, if you’d take your head out of your ass.”

I smiled, knowing he said it to pull me out of my funk. Goose never cursed, not unless he burned himself, stubbed his toe, or got really pissed off. “My head is now out of my ass.” I walked onto a street and cranked my feet into speed walking mode. “Start talking.”

“The record was found in the States. The place we’re looking for is here.”