Smiling, Natividad said “Bueno.” She walked back around to the open passenger’s door.
Sheriff Pearson started the car again. He said softly, fervently, “I swear I’ll do everything I can to get you back to Dimilioc safely, but God, I’m glad you came with me.”
Natividad was surprised. “You’ve had Pure women work with you before – you’ve had somebody put protection around your homes and along your roads, surely? I mean… you have, haven’t you?”
“I’ve never seen anyone do what you just did,” Pearson said. He drove on in silence for a few minutes while the snow came down harder and harder, and yet didn’t accumulate on the road before them. At last he added, “It’s why we support Dimilioc – even when a bastard like Thos Korte is Master. We support Dimilioc because it protects people like you.” The sheriff paused, then added more briskly, “Alright: tell me what you can do for Lewis. What do you need from me, from us?” He took out a cell phone and waited expectantly.
Natividad thought about what she could do. About what she could do even if she didn’t have a lot of time. About really big circles. How would Mamá have done this? She closed her eyes and tried to let the memories come.
“Pure magic is for defense,” Mamá’s voice said, out of memory. Mamá looked up at her and smiled, patting the ground. Natividad had nodded – she knew that. She had knelt down in the dusty sunlight of the afternoon. The sun-warmed carpet of needles beneath the pines smelled sharp. It was a good smell that mingled with the dusty scent of the hot earth and the tang of wood smoke and the fragrance of the chilies one of the neighbors was smoking over a slow fire: it smelled like home, and peace, and childhood.
“Pure magic is for defense,” Mamá repeated. “But sometimes it can be an aggressive defense.” She had smiled at Natividad, a warm, amused smile that invited Natividad to share the joke. Natividad had grinned in return, because no one could resist Mamá’s smiles.
But it hadn’t been a joke after all, and not even an aggressive defense had been enough, in the end. The pines had burned like slender torches, twenty-one columns of flame in a circle around the great oak – demonic fire, that burned black at its heart. The air had smelled of burning and bitter ash – in the distance, someone had been screaming…
Natividad caught her breath, her heart racing. She had been wrong to try to remember; she realized that now. She was trembling. She couldn’t work good strong magic if she was scared. You had to be brave to work Pure magic – she almost remembered Mamá saying Mi hija valianta, and something about courage and strength, something about Pure magic and light and darkness.
Only right at the end, everything had failed after all.
She flinched from the memory and said, very quickly, “I can do defensive things. That’s what Pure magic is for, you know? I can’t make you weapons or anything, but I’ll make you a big mandala, a crossed circle.” She was almost sure she could do it. It would have to be a very big circle. But she thought she could do it. She said, firmly, to keep her voice from shaking, “It’s protection, but kind of an aggressive protection, you know? It shoves bad things out, if you do it right. And stops them coming in, of course. Is that OK?”
“If it works at all, it’s better than OK.”
Natividad nodded. Mamá had said – she tried to remember without really remembering – something about anchoring really big mandalas, something about the cross… Oh, yes, of course, the cross. “You have a church in your town, don’t you?” she asked. “A Catholic church?” And, at the sheriff’s surprised nod, “Alright, good. That’s what I’m used to – that’ll help. I think I’ll draw a mandala with your church at the center of the cross, you know? I’ll do the biggest mandala I can, but then anybody who lives outside the edge should maybe come in. But a circle to keep out the fell dark, that would help, don’t you think?”
“If it would keep out black dogs, it will be a great help,” the sheriff assured her fervently. “I’m sure everyone will be very glad to have you draw your circle anywhere you like. You can draw one big enough to enclose the whole town?”
“Well, nearly. I think so.” Natividad tried not to doubt it. Doubt wouldn’t help. She said quickly, “I can do it, but it won’t work as well against black dogs as it would against vampires. Nothing will. You know that, right? But it’ll work way better than nothing. Mamá said…” She stopped, took a breath, and said, “I want crosses, too.”