“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.
“Do any of these… jump out at you?” he asked.
Jessica looked over the points carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. Rex felt his breath catch. Last night he had allowed himself to wonder what it would be like if Jessica were another seer, someone else who could see the signs and read the lore. At last Rex would have someone to help him sift through the endless troves of midnighter knowledge, to compare interpretations of confusing and contradictory tales, to read alongside him.
Someone to share responsibility when things went wrong.
“This one’s kind of different.”
Jessica was pointing at a digging trowel, a stubby hand tool that wasn’t a spearhead at all. Rex let his breath out slowly, not wanting his disappointment to show, not wanting to feel the entire weight of it yet.
“Yeah, it is different. They used it to dig for root vegetables.”
“Root vegetables?”
“Big fans of yams, Stone Agers.” He put his glasses back on.
“So it’s a yam digger. That’s not what you brought me over here for, is it?”
“No,” he admitted. “I wanted to know if you could see something.”
“You mean, see the secret hour like you can?”
Rex nodded. “I can tell which of these spearheads killed a darkling. The touch lingers. I can see it.”
Jessica stared into the case and frowned. “Maybe my eyes are wrong.”
“No, Jessica. Different midnighters have different talents. We just don’t know what yours is yet.”
She shrugged, then pointed. “That’s a darkling skeleton up there, isn’t it?”
He was surprised for a moment, then nodded, realizing that she’d seen a creature like it in the flesh.
“Wow. So these things really were around ten thousand years ago,” she said. “Shouldn’t they be extinct by now or something? Like dinosaurs?”
“Not in Bixby.”
One of her eyebrows raised. “Rex, there aren’t any dinosaurs in Bixby, are there?”
He had to smile. “Not that I’ve seen.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Rex silently led her back toward the table. It could have changed everything if Jessica had turned out to be a seer. He swallowed, unable to speak for a moment, then found part of last night’s speech on the tip of his tongue.