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

I stood my ground. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“If I let you leave and take him with you, you would return, wouldn’t you?”

Talk about a tough question. Me? I never wanted to step foot inside this shit heap again. Goose? He’d find another way to go at this thing and try to do his job. Not only did he get paid for it, the freaky bastard enjoyed it. No doubt he’d find it a challenge—even if trying to solve the mystery killed his curious ass.

“I take your pause as a yes.”


“I wouldn’t willingly come back here, but I can’t say the same for my partner. I didn’t think you’d appreciate any bull, so I decided not to shit.”


“You’re smarter than you look.” Goose sized me up, and I didn’t like it. Having your best friend look at you in a sexual manner is all kinds of creepy.

I tried to hide my revulsion. “And you are such a charmer.”

“It seems that we are at an impasse.” Goose steepled his fingers. “Unless you are willing to negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” I knew this wouldn’t be good or come out in my favor.

“Remove the blessing that hovers over you. I want your body in place of his.”

“Oh, hell no.” Let that thing inside me? Not in this lifetime.

For the first time since we’d entered the house, I regretted my decision to leave Marigold Vesta’s amulet in my apartment. Goose had given me grief for the last two weeks about the necklace and refused to do any jobs with me if I wore it. Right now the power the amulet granted would be more than welcome.

“Then we continue until one of you dies.”

Goose came at me again. There was no hesitation. He was going to kill me if I let him. He wrapped his hands around my throat and backed me into a wall. His steps allowed me to situate my knee firmly between his legs. It was a damned shame I was about to crush his jewels, but it was better than pulling out the gun or my knives. His eyes rolled back in his head the instant I hit sacred ground, ramming my knee into his balls. He didn’t cry out. He just hunched over and grasped his crotch.

“Sorry, Goose.” I snagged a handful of his hair, balled my fist, and punched him in the face. He didn’t go down right away, so I kept going—pounding into his cheek and jaw—until he was belly down on the ground. Once he was there, I gave him a couple of solid kicks in the side. He pulled himself into the fetal position, and I hated myself for being the cause.

“You f*cking piece of shit.” I buried my fingers in the pouch that was usually used for ammo, found the small vial with the sand that would cost me a year’s worth of rent, and removed it. “I’ve had about enough of this.”

I retrieved my butterfly knife, worked it open and engaged the latch to keep the handles in place, and cut my injured hand. I went too deep into the tissue and muscle, but I was too angry to care. The moment blood started to flow I placed my knife between my teeth and walked around Goose. The lid to the vial opened easily, and I poured the sand with one hand as I continued bleeding profusely from the other. After the new circle was closed, I tossed the empty vial to the floor and took the knife from my mouth.

“I bind you to this circle with my blood and will. You cannot pass.”

Goose stirred and slowly lifted his head. “You’re incapable of such a thing. This entire domain is my prison. I can come and go as I please. You hold no power here.”

“Really?” I almost crossed myself and said a prayer before I bluffed. “Then show me. Haul your ass out of that circle. If you can do it, I’ll make the trade. Me for him.”

Goose started crawling and I held my breath. The sand was directly from The Church of the Holy Sepulchre: the very place Christians claimed Jesus died. It was a hell of a lot stronger than salt and, I was hoping, would get the job done. If not, I was out more than fifteen grand, my pride, and a job.

The moment Goose’s hand came in contact with the sand, he hissed and snatched his fingers away. I wanted to jump up and down and ask the entity who the big shot was now. Too bad I was too f*cking tired. Glancing at my hand, I knew why. The cut needed some serious stitches. You could see the flesh all the way down to the tendon.


I was bleeding all over the place.

After I closed the butterfly knife and slipped it into my pocket, I walked to the bag Goose had deposited next to the cage with a zombie cat—how I’d force the entity to leave the residence for good—and removed a towel. We’d already buried the damned thing and performed all the necessary rituals to return it to life. I would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so f*cked up. I hadn’t liked sacrificing a parakeet to summon the feline from the grave. Goose insisted it was necessary. After all, the spirit had to be caged in something dead to be trapped and unable to move from host to host. I couldn’t care less now.

I opened the cage—smearing blood along the stainless steel bars—and retrieved the hissing feline. It struggled in my arms and clawed at my face until I held my mangled hand to its mouth.

“You now do my bidding, bound to obey me by blood.”

The cat went at my wound like it would have to cream in its former life. I let it enjoy several licks, waiting until it stopped hissing and calmed before I took my palm away. It was difficult, but I managed to keep the cat under my arm and wrap a towel around my hand, stanching the blood flow. I walked back to Goose and hellish thing possessing him. He had his eyes screwed shut, which told me the f*cking thing inside him wasn’t stupid. It knew what I planned to do.