Patrick had approached as close as seemed advisable, with the closest of the uncovered markings just a short distance behind him. Joyce had followed close behind, her hand on his back as though she worried they might lose each other in the shadows, though they had not yet ventured farther than the pool of light that spilled across this end of the alleyway from the streetlight on the corner.
“We’ve got to get them out of there,” Patrick said, thoughts racing. The night before they had been in close quarters with a pack of the Ridden, and had only narrowly escaped. The only thing that had saved them when things seemed at their darkest had been . . . “That’s it!”
He wheeled around to face Joyce.
“The Ridden are disoriented by loud, discordant sounds,” he reminded her. The night before, a few selections from ABBA’s Greatest Hits playing on the speaker of Joyce’s phone had been enough to keep the Ridden at bay just long enough for them to escape. “Do you have your phone on you?”
Joyce eyes widened as she met his gaze. “It’s in my bag inside.”
“Damn,” Patrick cursed beneath his breath.
He turned back to see how Izzie and Daphne were faring. The Ridden were still holding their positions outside the ring of salt. For now.
“The wind is picking up!” Izzie shouted. “The salt is already starting to blow away!”
Patrick took a step toward them, then stopped. The bullets in his pistol were no good, that much was clear. There were the tactical shotguns back in his living room, but could he get there and back in time to help? Or should he just try to find enough salt in his kitchen to reinforce or even widen the circle of protection? Maybe he could create a path from the safety of the spiral markings down to where Izzie and Daphne were trapped, and then they could . . .
“Joyce, do you think . . . ?”
He glanced behind him, and saw that Joyce had taken off running and was already rounding the corner onto Almeria. With the din of the strange noises the Ridden were making, he hadn’t been able to heard her footsteps as she left. Whether she was going to get her phone and then come back, or had decided just to run away, he wasn’t sure. Would Joyce just run off and leave him without saying anything if she hadn’t intended to come back?
“Patrick?” Izzie called out. “What are we thinking here?”
He turned back, considering their options. The Ridden that stood between him and the nearest side of the circle of salt were of average height, but with the thin, almost emaciated build of most Ink users. It was difficult to tell if they were men or women, or rather if they had been men or women before being taken over by the loa, because now they were little more than mindless suits of meat and bone. But Patrick figured that he had at least a couple of inches and a couple dozen pounds on each of them. Perhaps if he were to tackle one of the ones on this side of the circle, he could open a hole large enough for Izzie and Daphne to break through and run for cover. But what were the chances that he would be able to escape being grabbed by one of the Ridden himself before he could get back to safety?
He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to act fast while there was still a chance. If he didn’t make it back, then hopefully they would.
Patrick holstered his pistol. Then he bent low, one shoulder forward, and took a deep breath.
Izzie was standing so close to Daphne that they were practically pushing against each other, shoulder to shoulder and turned to face the Ridden on either side, so that they were almost standing back to back now.
“As dates go, this could have gone better,” Daphne deadpanned. “Next time, how about I make the plans, okay?”
Izzie glanced back over her shoulder, and met Daphne’s eyes.
“Yeah, maybe we should have just gone dancing, after all,” Izzie said.
“Hey, guys!” Patrick shouted from further down the alley. “Get ready!”
Izzie and Daphne exchanged a quick look before turning in his direction.
“Get ready for what . . . ?” Izzie began to say, but her words were drowned out by the tinny blast of a high-pitched car horn honking from far behind them.
She spun around, momentarily blinded by the glare of a pair of headlight beams swinging into the far end of the alleyway.
“What the hell . . . ?” Daphne said.
A heartbeat later and the alley was filled with the thumping sounds of a car stereo blaring out the Sisters Of Mercy’s “This Corrosion.”
The headlights’ glare grew even brighter as the car barreled down the alley toward them.
The Ridden seemed instantly disoriented. They left off making that horrible sound, and flailed around, as if they were suddenly struck blind and left in an unfamiliar place. One of them placed a foot on the salt circle, and recoiled as if in pain. Another waved its arms in front of it, hands grasping.
Brakes squealed as the Volkswagen Beetle slammed to a halt just to the left of Izzie and Daphne, and the passenger side door swung open.
“Get in!” Joyce shouted over the music howling from the car’s speakers.
Izzie pushed Daphne in front of her, keeping her eyes on the Ridden around them. They were disoriented, perhaps, but they were still trying to reach them. They grabbed the air blindly, hoping to take hold of them.
After Daphne was in the passenger seat, Izzie started to get in. There was no back door, and no time to crawl over Daphne into the back seat.
“Get in already!” Joyce urged.
Izzie folded herself down onto Daphne’s lap as best she could. It was a tight squeeze, but workable.
As Daphne was pulling the passenger door shut, Joyce was working the gear
