When they were all through the door, Patrick slammed the door shut behind them, and quickly locked each of the locks. Then he turned to Izzie.
“The rear windows in the bedroom upstairs overlook the alley,” he said in a rush. “I’ll double-check the locks on the backdoor, you run up and see what you can see.”
Izzie was racing up the stairs before Patrick had even finished talking.
She turned the corner at the top of the stair, and skidded down the hallway, narrowing avoiding a teetering stack of moving boxes. She hooked to the right, dancing through a maze of junk and old toys strewn on the floor, and then slammed open the door to the bedroom. Thankfully, this was the same room that she and Daphne had spent some time organizing earlier that evening, and so there was a clear enough path to the window on the far side of the room.
Izzie yanked the cord to raise the velour blinds, which clattered and bent with the force of her pull, and then she peered down through the streaked and grimed window at the darkened alleyway below.
It took a moment to orient herself, and to work out which direction she should be looking. But when she craned her neck she saw the mouth of the alley off to her right, and then swung her head around to lean over and look down the other direction.
She could just barely make out the glint of the light reflecting off the small sections of the salt ring that had not yet been blown away. But of the six Ridden who had attacked them there was no sign, not even the one who had gone down with the silver scalpel in its neck.
Turning away from the window, Izzie realized that her heart was still racing, and she was breathing so fast and heavily that she probably ran the risk of hyperventilating. As she headed back across the room and down the hallway toward the stairs, she tried her best to still her fight-or-flight instinct. She was safe now, she told herself. Assuming that the Ridden hadn’t broken down the back door and were even now attacking Patrick.
But no. As she descended the stairs, she hear Patrick’s footsteps on the hardwood floor as he came back from the rear of the house.
“It’s all locked up and secured,” he told Izzie as she reached the first floor. “See anything from up there?”
Izzie shook her head.
“No, they’re gone,” she answered. “Even the one that I stabbed with Joyce’s scalpel.”
“You think they took the body with them when they left?” Patrick asked, as they went to join the others in the foyer.
“Maybe. Silver didn’t seem to repel them, so maybe they can get close to it? Maybe it’s only when silver enters their bodies that it causes problems for them?”
“Could be,” Patrick answered. “Either way, I think we’re safe for now.”
Then he turned to Joyce, who was standing with her back leaning against the wall, with her fingertips gingerly probing the welts that covered either side of her neck, the marks left by the Ridden’s vice-like grip.
Izzie continued trying to slow her breathing, her pulse still pounding in her veins. She bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to regain her composure.
“You okay?” Daphne came over and put her hand on Izzie’s shoulder.
Izzie looked up to meet Daphne’s gaze.
“I think so,” she said, with less certainty than she had intended. Then she straightened up, took a slow, deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”
Daphne rubbed the left side of her jaw.
“You clocked me in the face with your kneecap,” she said in mock offense, and then smiled slightly. “But yeah, I think I’ll live.”
Izzie turned, and saw that Patrick and Joyce were heading into the living room.
“Maybe just a glass of water?” Joyce was saying, as she sank down onto the couch.
Patrick hurried into the kitchen, and seconds later Izzie could hear the sound of the tap running.
“Quick thinking back there,” Izzie said as she crossed the floor and sat down in a chair facing Joyce. “That salt ring trick of mine wasn’t going to keep them off us for much longer.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Joyce shrugged her shoulders fractionally, and then winced as the motion pulled at the bruised muscles of her neck. “I’m just glad that I had that scalpel in my pocket.”
Izzie sat back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her.
“If nothing else, we know that silver does work against the Ridden,” she said, leaning her head back against the top of the chair. “Salt, too, obviously, but only if there’s not a strong enough breeze.”
“Well, we’ve learned what doesn’t work, as well,” Patrick said, coming through the door to the kitchen carrying a glass of water. After he’d handed the glass to Joyce, he rubbed his forehead, face screwed up in a grimace. “If it had been a snake it would have bit me. I can’t believe I didn’t think about what would happen if any of the marks were covered up.”
“But they have been keeping Ink users out of the neighborhood, right?” Daphne sat down in the chair beside Izzie. She looked around, uneasily. “Are we going to be okay in here? If those spiral things aren’t keeping the Ridden away, what’s to stop them crashing in here after us?”
Patrick pulled his hand down his face, blinking hard, like someone trying to shake off fatigue.
“Well, they didn’t seem to be able to approach the back of this house, or any of the other ones with unobstructed markings on them,” he said. “So Uncle Alf’s markings are keeping them at bay, but they only seem to work over short distances. We should be safe
