“You must have a lot of questions,” he said.
“Yeah, I do.”
“This way.” They led Jessica to a small cluster of tables against one wall. This was where school groups ate their bag lunches. The four of them sat, Melissa pulling out her headphones, Dess leaning back precariously in her plastic chair.
“Ask away,” Rex said, folding his hands on the table.
Jessica took a deep breath, as if about to speak, but then a helpless expression came across her face. Rex could read it even with his glasses on. It was the look of someone with too many questions to know where to start. Rex forced himself to be patient as Jessica collected her thoughts.
“A hubcap?” she finally blurted out.
Rex smiled.
“Not just any hubcap,” Dess said. “That was from a 1967 Mercury.”
“Is 1967 a multiple of thirteen?” Rex asked.
“Not hardly,” Dess scoffed. “But they made hubcaps out of real steel back then. None of this aluminum crap.”
“Time-out,” Jessica called.
“Oh, sorry,” Rex said sheepishly. “Explain, Dess, but keep it simple.”
Dess pulled her necklace out of her shirtfront. A thirteen-pointed star dangled from its chain. In the dim light of the museum it caught the spotlights on the exhibits, twinkling as if with its own light.
“Remember this?”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed those all over Bixby since you told me about them.”
“Well,” Dess said, “this necklace is Darkling Protection 101. There are three things the darklings don’t like. One is steel.” She pinged the star with one fingernail. “The newer a type of metal is, the more it freaks darklings out.”
“Steel,” Jessica said quietly to herself, as if this made sense to her.
“Basically, darklings are really old,” Dess explained. “And like a lot of old people, they don’t like stuff that’s changed since they were born.”
“They used to be afraid of cut stone,” Rex said. “Then forged metals: bronze and iron. But gradually they got used to them. Steel is newer.”
“Hasn’t steel been around a long time?” Jessica asked. “Like swords and stuff?”
“Yeah, but we’re talking stainless steel, a modern invention,” Dess said. “Of course, one day I’d like to get my hands on some electrolytic titanium or—”
“Okay,” Jessica interrupted. “So they don’t like new metals.”
“Especially alloys,” Dess said, “which means a mix of metals. Gold and silver are elements. They come straight up from the ground. The darklings aren’t scared of them at all.”
“But they’re scared of alloys. So they couldn’t get through something made of steel?” Jessica asked.
“It’s not that simple,” Dess said. “Thing number two that darklings are afraid of is… math.”
“Math?”
“Well, a certain kind of math,” Dess explained. “There are certain numbers and patterns and ratios that freak them out, basically.”
Jessica’s expression remained one of disbelief.
Rex had prepared for this. “Jess, have you heard of epilepsy?”
“Uh, sure. It’s a disease, right? You fall down and start foaming at the mouth.”
“And bite your own tongue off,” added Dess.
“It’s a brain thing,” Rex said. “The seizures are usually triggered by a blinking light.”
“It doesn’t matter how strong or fit you are,” Dess said. “A blinking light and you’re suddenly helpless. Like Superman and kryptonite. But the thing is, the light has to be flashing at a certain speed. Numbers work that way on the darklings.”
“And that’s why Bixby has this thing about thirteen?” Jessica asked.
“You got it. Guaranteed protection against darklings and their little friends. Something about that number drives them totally crazy. They can’t stand symbols that mean thirteen or groups of thirteen things. Even thirteen-letter words fry their heads.”
Jessica let out a low whistle. “Psychosomatic.”
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” Dess said. “So I gave that old hubcap a thirteen-letter name, Hypochondriac, and psychokitty got burned.”
“Sure,” Jessica said.
“Just remember to always keep a fresh tridecalogism in your mind.”
“A fresh what?”
“Tridecalogism is a thirteen-letter word that means ‘thirteen-letter word,’ ” Dess said, grinning happily.
“Really?”
“Well, I kind of made it up myself. So don’t try to use it to protect yourself. And remember, when you actually use a tridecalogism on a darkling, make sure you come up with a fresh one for the next night.”
“They get used to words faster than they do metals,” Rex said.
“Who knows?” Dess continued. “Maybe one day they’ll get used to the number thirteen. Then we’ll be looking for thirty-nine-letter words.”
Rex flinched at the idea. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon.”
“So all I have to do is carry a piece of metal with a thirteen-letter name around with me,” Jessica asked with disbelief in her voice, “and I’ll be fine?”
“Well, there’s a lot more to it,” Dess said. “For one thing, the metal should be clean.”
“What, they’re afraid of soap too?”
“Not that kind of clean,” Rex said. “Untouched by midnight. You see, when something from the daylight world is disturbed during the blue time, it becomes part of their world. That changes it forever.”
“So how can you tell what’s clean?”
Rex took a deep breath. It was time to take over from Dess. “Haven’t you wondered how we knew you were a midnighter, Jessica?”
She thought hard for a second, then gave a defeated sigh. “I can’t keep track of all the stuff I’ve been wondering lately. But yeah, Dess seemed to know something from the moment we met. I just figured she was psychic.”
Melissa snorted quietly, her fingers drumming along with her music.
“Well, when things have been changed by the secret hour, they look different. To me, anyway. And you’re a midnighter, so you always look different. You’re naturally part of that world.” Rex pulled off his glasses.
Jessica’s face became completely clear to him. Rex could see the lines of exhaustion below her eyes and her alert, questioning expression, ready to absorb whatever they could tell her.
“I can also read the lore, marks left behind by other midnighters. There are signs all over Bixby, some of them left thousands of years ago.”
Jessica looked at him closely, possibly wondering if he was crazy. “And only you can see them?”
“So far.” He swallowed. “Can we try something, Jessica?”
“Sure.”
He led her to a museum case by the excavated wall. Under the glass was a collection of Clovis points, all from the Bixby area and all about ten thousand years old.
Although the label didn’t say so, one of the points had been retrieved from inside the rib cage of the “saber-tooth” skeleton embedded in the wall. The rest had been found in ancient campsites, burial mounds, and the snake pit. With his glasses off, Rex could instantly spot the difference.
That one spearhead stood out from the rest with burning clarity, every facet so distinct that he could envision how the ancient hammer had struck off each flake of stone. The Focus had clung to this piece of obsidian for millennia, and from his first glimpse of it Rex had known instinctively that it had pierced the heart of the beast on the wall.
This point had killed a darkling.
Rex’s naked eyes could also see subtle differences in the way it had been crafted—the meridian groove where the shaft had once been attached was deeper and sturdier, the edge much sharper. Ten thousand years ago this spearhead had been a piece of high technology, as advanced as some futuristic jet fighter. It might have been made of rock, but it had been the electrolytic titanium of its day.