Izzie closed the journal, and opened the passenger side door.
“It makes a certain kind of sense,” she answered as she climbed out. “Hiding in plain sight, that kind of thing. And it could explain where the mask that Nicholas Fuller wore came from. We never were able to track down a source for it before.”
“And what was that about ‘sending’?” Joyce had a quizzical expression on her face. “Some kind of telepathic communication, sounded like?”
“I’m not sure.” Izzie nudged the door shut with her hip while Joyce came around the front of the car, her cane tonking on the pavement. “But in Roberto Aguilar’s journals there were mentions of ‘seeing’ and ‘sending’ in the belief system of the Mayan daykeepers. ‘Seeing’ referred to the ‘second sight,’ Jett’s ‘knack.’ But the ‘sending’? It wasn’t clear.”
“Hey.” Joyce looked first one direction up the street and then the other. “I don’t see Patrick’s car around anywhere, though, do you?”
“The lights are on,” Izzie said, nodding toward the front door of the house. “Maybe he parked somewhere else and walked back?”
“Hope so.” Joyce continued on up the front steps. “After what happened last night, I’m not too crazy about the idea of any of us being out after dark.”
The door was locked, but after Izzie knocked she could hear the sound of someone moving inside, and a moment later the door swung open.
“Hey, you.” Daphne smiled, her face sheened with a thin layer of sweat, with dark smudges on her cheek and forehead.
For a brief instant, an icy hand of fear gripped Izzie’s heart as she wondered if the black marks meant that Daphne had been possessed by the loa somehow. But then she saw that Daphne’s fingers were also stained, and there were similar smudges on the fabric of her white t-shirt.
“What have you been up to?” Izzie asked as she stepped past Daphne and into the house, with Joyce following close behind.
“I had an idea while you were away.” Daphne answered as she closed the door.
“Oh, yeah?” Izzie glanced back over her shoulder as she stepped into the living room. She stopped short when she heard a rustling sound under her feet, and looking down saw that there was butcher paper spread out on the hardwood floor, and bits of plastic and metal scattered in piles all around. On the low coffee table were bowls, scissors, knives, containers of different types of salts, and a myriad of plastic tubes that were each a bit over an inch long and as big around as a nickel. “Daphne? What is all this?”
“Well, remember last night, when I said that it might be handy to have some more weaponized silver on hand?” Daphne asked.
Izzie nodded, while Joyce slid down onto the couch.
“The Recondito Reaper used a silvered blade, right?” Daphne went on. “And that was a considerable amount of silver over a sizeable surface area. But that scalpel that Joyce stuck in the neck of that Ridden last night couldn’t have been more than a few ounces of silver, max, and not much more than a couple of inches long. So I got to thinking that maybe small amounts of silver would do the trick.”
She walked over to the low table and reached her hand into one of the bowls, scooping out a handful of glittering little spheres, each of them about the size of a peppercorn, or a ball bearing.
“Silver shot,” Daphne explained. “It’s used in manufacturing, and in the production of jewelry, that kind of thing. I got this for twenty bucks an ounce at a jewelry supply store up in the Kiev.”
“How much did you get?” Izzie stepped forward and prodded the little beads on Daphne’s palm with her finger tip.
Daphne groaned, and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Let’s just say my credit card statement next month is going to be less than fun.”
“Do you intend to throw it at them?” Joyce asked wearily, running a hand across her forehead.
“Kinda.” Daphne had a lopsided grin on her face.
Izzie crouched down and picked up one of the plastic tubes, which she now recognized as the hulls of shotgun shells.
“That could work,” she said in a low voice. Then she looked up and met Daphne’s gaze. “That could really work. Loading shells with the silver shot, and then blasting it into the Ridden at a distance.”
Daphne poured the silver balls back into the bowl, careful not to spill any of them onto the table or floor.
“Exactly. Only, there’s no way I could afford to fill the shells all the way up with silver. So I mixed it in with this.” Daphne picked up a box of rock salt in one hand and a jar of sea salt in the other. “I figure if they don’t like crossing salt when it’s on the ground, it’ll really mess them up if they’ve got a face full of the stuff.”
She put down the salt, and picked up an assembled shotgun shell from a cardboard box on the floor.
“We had the shells that we brought with the tactical shotguns from the RA offices, so I just cut those open, emptied out the shot, and packed the hulls with a mixture of salt and silver. Then I reassembled them with the original primer, powder, and wad, and there you go.” She held up the shell, a proud expression on her face. “Zombie-proof shots.”
Izzie rolled her eyes. “I wish you’d stop calling them that.”
Daphne blinked, deflating a little.
“But I think it’s a fantastic idea,” Izzie added with a grin, and leaning forward gave Daphne a quick peck on the lips. “How many have you put together so far?”
Daphne bent down and put the shell back in the box with the others.
“A little over three dozen. Enough for three full magazines, and a little bit left over.” She straightened up, and her grin widened. “I work fast.”
“What, was Patrick too worn out from cleaning the
