by J. A. Saare
The Ripple Effect
J.A. Saare
Published by Mundania Press
Also by J.A. Saare
Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between
The Renfield Syndrome
www.Mundania.com
The Ripple Effect
Copyright © 2012 by J.A. Saare
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Cover Art © 2012 by Skyla Dawn Cameron
Edited by Sarah-Jane Lehoux
First Edition July 2012
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-60659-331-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60659-330-1
Published by:
Mundania Press
6457 Glenway Ave., #109
Cincinnati, OH 45211
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Mundania Press LLC, 6457 Glenway Avenue, #109, Cincinnati, Ohio 45211, [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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Acknowledgements
Every book has amazing people behind the scenes who help an author along. This time around I decided to do an acknowledgment in an attempt to mention as many of them as possible. Please forgive me if the list is long. The Ripple Effect wasn’t easy to write and required the assistance of so many to get things right.
I have to start by thanking my husband. He cares for our children, despite working all day, to give me time to write. Although he doesn’t create the stories, he is the backbone behind them. It wouldn’t be possible to bring you new installments of the Rhiannon’s Law series without him. Then there are my beta readers and critique partners. Thanks to Rosalie, Belinda, Jim, and Mom for giving The Ripple Effect a read, as well as a huge thank you to Fallon Blake, who spent hours on the phone hammering out details and keeping me sane when I wanted to throw in the towel. I would be remiss if I didn’t give a huge thank you to Alabama Tactical Supply, Jim Saare, and John Bailey, who assisted me in weapon and ammunition research.
Of course I have to give a loud Holla! to the Dead Heads: an enthusiastic group of readers who support the series and spread the word. Bells and Kay, you rock! I also have to give a special thanks to Megan, who reminded me authors and readers connect through books and characters, and Michelle R, who continues to be one of my strongest supporters. You are a gem, Michelle. An absolute star.
Finally, an enormous thanks to editors, cover artists, and fellow authors Skyla Dawn Cameron and Sarah-Jane Lehoux. I appreciate everything you brought to the table, as well as your input and assistance. Thank you for all your hard work on The Ripple Effect. You are awesome-to-the-sauce.
Ultimately these books wouldn’t be possible without the readers and book bloggers, who give my work an opportunity and spread the word. I can’t mention everyone but I wanted to give a special thanks to Chelsea at Vampire Book Club, Jennifer at Reading with Tequila, Rhonda and Elena at Sam’s Awesomeness, Bells at Hanging With Bells, Amy at Fiction Vixen, Mandi and Tori at Smexy Books, Laura at Book City Chick, Jen at That’s What I’m Talking About, Jenny at Supernatural Snark, Spaz and Nat at Wicked Little Pixie, Marq at Love To Read For Fun, Catharine at Mamakitty Reviews, Ash at Smash Attack Reads, Alisha at My Need To Read, Anna at Anna’s Book Blog, Mel Hay at Melsworld, Julie at Yummy Men and Kick Ass Chicks, and Jessica at The Spinecracker. There are so many more of you I’d like to thank, but the list would never end. Believe me when I say I know who you are, and I’m ever grateful you enjoy and spread the word about my work.
For everyone else: Thank you for reading my books. Thank you for being so awesome. And thank you for making all of this possible for a normal mom (okay, maybe not normal, but let’s go with it) who started writing as an escape and discovered what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
Now take a seat, fasten your seat belt, and put your book in the upright position. The show is about to start.
Much Love and Well Wishes,
Jaime AKA J.A. Saare
Dedication
For my children. The coolest little people I know.
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
~ Norman Cousins
Chapter One
Rhiannon’s Law #47: It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to be MacGyver. Many household products can be used as an explosive device or weapon. All it takes is a little imagination. Or, in my situation, blind fucking luck.
I managed to snag a can of Raid and the long, extended lighter a split second before my ass connected with cheap linoleum flooring. I turned, got a visual, and aimed the spout of the flammable contents at my attacker. My hands remained steady while I placed the lighter in front of roach-be-gone and studied the possessed canine.
“Don’t make me do it,” I warned, flicked on the lighter, and prepared to press down on the plastic nozzle.
The dog charged and I went for broke. The flame created by my quick thinking was impressive. The demented beast yelped and backed away as fire scorched its muzzle. A part of me would have felt guilty if the damned thing wasn’t so eager to rip out my throat. The minute the dog backed away, I went for the gun tucked in the back of my jeans. The canine snorted several times, sized me up, and I knew only one of us would make it out of the kitchen alive.
“Sorry, pooch.”
When the raging beast rushed me again, I leveled my Ruger and squeezed the trigger. My aim was dead on, and I hit the large mutt directly between the eyes. It dropped to the floor and didn’t even twitch. There was a moment of silence before loud crashes came from the adjoining room.
“Rhiannon!” Goose screamed.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I yelled and strode past the dirt-napping puppy.
For the umpteenth time I questioned why I had agreed take this job with Goose. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. We were dealing with a ghost that wasn’t a ghost, but rather an entity that had taken up the entire house we’d been hired to exorcise. At the time the money was too good to pass up. Now, with bloody bite marks and scrapes on my arms, legs, and face, I was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t have been smarter to pick up extra shifts at The Black Panther.
“Rhiannon!” Goose was really panicking now. His voice was closer, indicating he was hauling ass in my direction.
“Keep your panties on!” I snapped and rushed around the corner. Goose looked as bad as I did. His nose was busted, and his chest was covered in blood.
“It’s coming. Right now.” There was a sobering amount of fear in his expression, not that I blamed the poor bastard. He was the hook; I was the ace in the hole. “Do you have everything? Do you remember what to do?
”
“I did my homework, remember?” I reached inside the holster pouch under my arm, retrieved the salt inside, and went for the butterfly knife in my pocket.
Something invisible barreled into Goose and knocked him back several feet. He hit the wall across from me, slid down the grimy wallpaper, and started to writhe and thrash. It was like a seizure, which I anticipated. The fucking entity was taking over the only person in the house who wasn’t blessed by the church.
Poor Goose. I could only imagine how it felt to be possessed.
When he went still, I rushed to him, snagged his arm, and dragged his heavy ass to the center of the room. I only had a minute or so before the entity took over completely.
The clock was ticking.
I grasped the knife, cut into the meaty portion of my palm, and made a fist. Blood oozed between my fingers and splattered on the carpet. I walked around Goose’s body, making a large circle. When that was done, I grabbed the salt container and poured a portion on top of my blood. After I finished, I released a shaky breath and put the salt in my satchel and the knife in my pocket.
There. It was done. I was about to banish the thing that wouldn’t die to the other side signed, sealed, and delivered. The entity completely took over Goose and sat up. It was frightening to see my partner and close friend’s face distort into an evil grin with drool streaming down his chin.
“Bitch, do you think you can contain me?” he asked and rose to his feet. I smirked until he stepped right past the barrier of salt and blood.
Oh shit.
“I’m going to kill you.” Goose leered, his sidelong glance malicious.
“You wouldn’t be the first to tell me that.” I quickly composed myself and tried to figure out what the hell to do. When Goose and I had planned this, there had been no warning that the damned thing would be strong enough to break a binding circle.
Damn. I really should have taken a few extra shifts at the club instead of coming here.
The large knife attached to my belt thrummed, the magic inside it so strong I could feel the outline of the weapon through my pants. For a moment I considered bringing Sucker—the nickname I’d given the bloodthirsty blade that was strong enough to kill an angel or a demon—out to play. Then I focused on Goose. He looked horrible. The thing inside him had distorted his handsome features, and there was more rage in his eyes than I’d ever seen. I couldn’t kill the entity without killing him. That meant I had to get the fucking thing out of him pronto.
“Sorry, Goose.” I stepped toward the friend I was about to beat the shit out of. Whatever I did, I had to do it fast. The sooner Goose lost consciousness, the sooner I could deal with the entity.
The first punch to his jaw sent him staggering. When he righted himself, he came at me. He reared back and brought his fist toward my face. I pivoted, turned, and knocked his hand away. He whipped around and I decked him again, right in the center of his nose. My knuckles cracked with the blow, but he didn’t go down. Blood streamed from his nostrils, staining his shirt. His eyes were wild when they homed on me. I noticed his pupils were dilated, the warm chocolate brown irises almost absent.
Fuck.
I couldn’t do this half-assed. Goose was going to be black and blue for days.
I waited until he charged. I moved to the side and jumped on his back. After I got my arms in the right position around his neck, I started applying steady pressure. He thrashed and spun, trying to knock me loose. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on for dear life. He was so much stronger than I had imagined.
“Kill you,” he rasped and grasped at my hair.
“A total girl fighter,” I grumbled and winced as he got handful and yanked.
He started moving around the room with me on his back, swinging his free arm madly as he continued spinning in a circle. The back of his knees hit the arm of the couch and back we went, a tumbling mass of arms and legs. The cushions padded our fall, but it still hurt when Goose landed on top of me. My grip loosened and he used my weakness to his advantage. His elbow connected with my side, hard enough that I was certain he’d bruised a rib. The moment I let him go, he was off the couch. I rolled from the cushions, landed on the carpet, and crouched. Goose was standing several feet away, chest heaving, hands formed into fists. Bubbles formed around his nose with each breath, dribbling more blood down his lips.
Jesus. This thing, whatever it was, wasn’t going down easy. It was supposed to be a simple entity, a creature imprinted into a building and therefore able to possess those who crossed the threshold unblessed. Somehow I had a feeling Goose had missed something very important during his research.
He jumped at me, and I countered the movement with a step back. He grinned, threw back his head and started to laugh. It wasn’t Goose’s usual laugh, more like a demented cackle. When he lowered his head, he studied me in a way that made my skin crawl. I never wanted to see that kind of look in Goose’s eyes ever again.
He pointed at the knife on my hip. “You’re not willing to kill my host, so I suggest you leave.”
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 fucking 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 ope
ned 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 fucking 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 fucked 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.