The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(73)
She waited until I took a step back before she started breaking through the mirror, leaving behind Hell to enter my world. White light, more blinding than the sun, flooded the bathroom. Then it was gone, replaced by the form of Marigold Vesta. She seemed out of place in the small room, too powerful to be contained inside.
“I will enter your body and grant you the use of my power until you retain possession of the amulet. However, I cannot stay overlong. If I do, we will begin to merge permanently. It’s dangerous business, joining spirits. Afterward, you’re on your own. Don’t make me regret this decision. Do what you must and focus your attention on returning me to my true form.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Then how about I sweeten the pot? Give you more of an incentive to survive and find me sooner rather than later?”
“It can’t hurt,” I said, even if the fallen angel’s small promises wouldn’t necessarily help.
“If you revive me, you’ll never have to fear anyone or anything again. I offer you my protection. No one will dare harm you, I give you my word.”
“Why would you do that?” It didn’t make any sense. I owed her, not the other way around. Sure, she wanted out of Hell. But no one extended a gift like she was offering without expecting something in return.
“Because you are a victim, someone who has endured more than anyone should. I was sent to your dimension to protect those who cannot protect themselves. During my captivity, many lives have been tainted. This is my atonement for my absence, for their suffering as a penalty for my stupidity. You will no longer fear looking over your shoulder, for you will have an angel resting upon it.” Her eyes gleamed, the violet becoming vivid and bright. “Those who have hurt you this eve are one of many. They should reside only in Hell, where they were meant to be.”
“You do realize that once we do this, vampires the world over will be searching for me. If I can pull it off, I’m going to become vampire and half-demon enemy number one.”
“Then find me, Rhiannon Murphy. Return me to my true form. Demons cower when an angel spreads its wings.”
This was it, no going back. “Let’s do this.”
When she lifted her hand toward my face, I didn’t move. Her fingertip touched my forehead and it felt as though she entered my body at the point of contact. Power—raw, blissful, encompassing—rushed through me. It was like the surge of lightning I felt when I called on the amulet, but different. This was something that wasn’t outside of me, but spread from within—deep from within.
Marigold slowly dissipated, becoming a part of me. Unlike the time before when I was possessed—during an attempt to talk to a ghost of all things—I wasn’t taken to another room or tricked into believing I was somewhere else. I retained control of my thoughts, but my body belonged to Marigold—her senses, instincts and, frighteningly enough, her thrill of impending bloodshed, pulsed through me.
My muscles tingled, as though nourished with new strength. I gasped when my hearing sharpened, my nose filtered smells that weren’t there before, and I realized through some inner voice that Goose had entered the bedroom and was coming toward the bathroom.
Although I laughed, the sound didn’t come from me. It came from her—Marigold. She lifted my arms, making fists, and inspected the weapons strapped to me before she cracked my neck and walked to the door. When she opened it and looked Goose in the eye, I felt my lips stretch into an evil sneer.
“Rhiannon?” he whispered, staring at me as though he was looking at a stranger.
“Isn’t here anymore,” Marigold replied using my voice, although it didn’t sound like me at all. I felt her intention then, her desire to grasp him by the throat and crack the bones in his neck.
“Don’t kill him!” I screamed, finding that the words didn’t escape my mouth but echoed in my mind. “He’s done nothing wrong.”
“Fine, I won’t kill him,” she said, staring into Goose’s confused face. “Since you like this one, I’ll only make him hurt a little.”
One punch, directly to the center of his chest, and Goose flew across the room. The blow was more powerful than I expected, sending him into the wall. He hit with a dull thud and fell onto the floor facedown. I wanted to go to him, to make sure he was still alive, but Marigold was already moving from the room.
“Let’s see...” She stopped in the hallway and drew a deep breath. Then I smelled it, the slightest hint of blood and a faint trace of sugar-like sweetness. Striding confidently toward the scent, she whispered, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Sirah rounded the corner, lifting her head as she saw me. The shock on her face was immediately replaced with hatred. Her blue eyes turned icy, her brow furrowed as her lips pressed together. She started to say something—perhaps to tell me to go to hell—but it was too late. I knew what Marigold intended, feeling some hatred that wasn’t entirely my own stir within me.
“Perfect,” Marigold whispered, and I felt my face stretch into a gleeful smirk. “She doesn’t like you at all.”
Mike had shown me how to land a perfect blow to the throat in order to rupture the larynx and kill someone, but I’d never tried it. You had to be fast, with a clear shot to the throat. Marigold moved so quickly—with an aim that shocked me—that technique and precision definitely weren’t an issue. She landed the blow with the side of my hand, a solid hit with impact. Sirah tried to gasp, shuffling back and reaching for her neck, but there wasn’t any sound.