Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  Justin passed another truck, but made a wordless muttering sound to show he was listening.

  “So when the vampire miasma lifted, it was all right for us and Lumondiere and the other civilized houses. But the vicious black dogs, the ones that hated the Pure and let their shadows control what they would do, I mean, there was no way anybody could not understand what they were. So those black dog houses, once the vampire miasma was gone, of course ordinary people would rise up and kill them all. But for us here, it’s fine.”

  “I remember when the miasma lifted,” Justin said unexpectedly. He was still staring out the windshield, but his eyes now were wide with memory. “It was my junior year,” he said. “And suddenly everyone realized that the DA in Los Alamos County was some kind of ghoul. Literally. He was this thin guy, but suddenly everyone realized he was skeletally thin, with these claws, and these horrible red eyes, and black teeth. He wasn’t—he didn’t—he was a monster. A real monster. And he’d been killing hitchhikers. For years. And nobody ever—” he stopped.

  “He was blood kin,” Natividad said gently. “You’d have known that if you’d ever seen him in person. You would have seen right through the miasma. But just on the television, no.”

  Justin made a wordless sound.

  “I know, it was awful. Blood kin were awful. Vampires always tried to turn important people into blood kin. They used them to drive a city into poverty. Vampires always liked cities best after they were ruined.”

  “I remember when it came out that the mayor of Detroit and half the city council turned out to be monsters. And all those politicos in DC.” Justin started to say something else, but then just shook his head.

  Natividad nodded in understanding. “In Mexico, too. I mean, a lot of mayors and police chiefs and people like that turned out to be blood kin. That’s why everything was so bad everywhere. I mean . . . some places were not so very terrible. My Papá—” she hesitated, then said more softly, “My Papá, he protected our village. But so many places . . .” she didn’t want to think about it, and said instead, “Ordinary people couldn’t understand, until the miasma thinned enough.”

  “Right,” said Justin. And, after a little while, added, “Werewolves aren’t as bad as those ghoul things, anyway.”

  Natividad opened her mouth, but then shut it again without saying anything because she didn’t know how to make Justin believe how huge a difference there was between Dimilioc black dogs and blood kin. How to make him believe that black dogs could be good people as well as partly demonic. If you hadn’t actually grown up around the right kind of black dogs, how could you ever believe that? She looked out the window, but the highway glare was starting to make her head hurt. She looked down at the crumpled papers in her hands instead, then rubbed her eyes. She felt tired and irritated with the whole world, which was how headaches made her feel, and mad at Grayson for making her have to trick Justin into going south so she could draw Ezekiel after her so he could kill the vampire in El Paso—if it really was a vampire—and rescue all those young black wolves.

  But if there really was a vampire there, that was more important than anything. Grayson should have recognized that. He had to stop trying to wrap her up in cotton, just because she’d nearly died once. Or twice. Whatever. She was fine. And a Pure woman was no good if you wouldn’t even let her help.

  She rubbed her eyes again, harder.

  “How’re you doing?” Justin asked, glancing at her just for an instant.

  He was Pure, Natividad remind herself. He could tell things about people. She made herself shrug and say cheerfully, “Fine. Just tired, I guess. At the next rest area, I’ll make a maraña mágica. A tangle-you-up spell, a confuse-the-road spell. I’ll show you. It’s a kind of spell that stops people from following us. You’ll like that, and it’s very useful. We don’t want anybody finding us too soon, right?”

  Justin gave her a raised eyebrow look. “I don’t want anybody finding me at all.”

  “Right! That’s what I meant!” Natividad assured him, though she knew he wouldn’t believe her. “Watch the road, though!” She flinched as Justin swerved out to pass another truck. “So big,” she muttered. “Demasiado grande.” There just weren’t any roads so big and busy in Mexico, not in Nuevo León. Or maybe nearer Monterrey, but not near Natividad’s home. But Dimilioc’s presence had always been strongest in the north, and so for hundreds of years vampires had been pressed south, and so there had always been too many vampires in Mexico for ordinary human people to really thrive.

  One more reason among so many to be glad all the vampires were gone. To make sure all the vampires really were gone. It would be so unfair, to leave one in the south . . .

  “Sure,” said Justin, but not with any particular annoyance.

  He was muy sereno, very even-tempered, as a rule, Natividad had already found that out. It was nice, after handling black dog tempers all the time. And a little strange. She wondered if that’s what people thought about her, that she was even-tempered. Maybe it was a Pure thing; it was hard to tell. It was still strange to think of a boy as Pure. She glanced at him sideways, this time looking in the special way that let her see magic. It clung to him, very faintly, a light that was nothing to do with the afternoon sun. Not really a light, but something like light. She couldn’t see it when she looked at herself. It was too hard to look at herself in that special sidelong way.

  She’d already made Justin practice drawing pentagrams on the car, on all its windows. It already had plenty, of course: pentagrams that she’d drawn herself, or that DeAnn had drawn. Wishes for peace, for safe travel, for finding your way home. She’d put that last one high up on the windshield, on the left. She could still see it, when she looked at it out of the corner of her eye. It was comforting, somehow.

  And, at the last rest stop, just before they’d taken the exit from highway forty onto highway sixty, she’d laid a maraña mágica across each rear tire of the car, binding them in place with a wish. They wouldn’t last, of course, not used that way. But for several miles, it would be really hard for anyone to follow this car. Not only enemies such as black dogs, who might catch the scent of Pure magic and follow with ill intent in their hearts, but anyone. She’d made those marañas to confuse the steps of anyone at all who sought them.

  She was almost sure it would work. Even on Ezekiel. Even if she really wanted him to find them.

  They drove all day and into the evening through country that made Natividad think more and more of home: dry and harsh and beautiful, all wide sky and mountains, except sometimes instead of mountains there were salt flats that ran on for miles. The taste of the air made Natividad homesick for a home that no longer existed. She half believed that if they kept going south, crossed the river and went south a little more, they might find themselves driving right into Hualahuises. They might have been approaching Natividad’s own home, small and peaceful and pretty, with Mamá waiting.

  It was too bitter to think about. Natividad closed her eyes, shutting out the wide desert view. Justin might have guessed what she felt, or might have been trying to cope with memory and grief of his own; he, too, had grown up in the desert, though not this desert. He, too, had lost his mamá. Though not his whole home. Not everyone he knew. Natividad wondered what his grandmamá was like, if she was kind and strong and good at math. If she was Pure, maybe, and didn’t know.

  She supposed she would find out tomorrow, when they completed that part of the trip. She was glad for Justin, that he had his grandmamá. Having a grandmamá wasn’t as good as having brothers, but surely it was much better than nothing at all.

  They got rooms for the night in a small bed-and-breakfast at the south edge of a town called Rattlesnake Springs, a very small town tucked into the foothills of Guadalupe Park, about eighty miles east of El Paso. Rattlesnake Springs was a self-consciously picturesque town, with adobe buildings and tile roofs and streets laid out to frame views of the Carlsbad and Guadalupe Mountains to the west and south. A stream,
at this season full and fast, ran down from the mountains and through the town, and the house that was the bed-and-breakfast sheltered in the shade of the great cottonwoods that grew along this stream.

  Justin had refused to stop at any of the cheap hotels they’d passed and had insisted on this place instead, googling on Natividad’s phone to find it. He said he liked its geometric lines. Natividad had no idea what he meant by that, but the house was pretty, with a thick walls that slanted a little and a wide porch. She and Justin had a suite of rooms on the second floor: two bedrooms with a tiny bathroom between, and a common living room. The bed linens were turquoise-and-chocolate, the curtains and couches turquoise-and-cream, the nice rugs over the old wooden floor chocolate and taupe and turquoise. The bathroom had a fancy bathtub that stood up off the terra-cotta tiles on iron feet. A suncatcher hung before the big window in the living room, silver wire and colored glass and blue jay feathers. It twirled slowly on its fine cord, sending sparkles of blue and pink across the whitewashed walls. It was the sort of thing a Pure woman might make, and Natividad looked at it slantwise for several seconds before she was sure no one had woven magic into the feathers or set a pentagram in the colored glass.

  It would never have occurred to Natividad to look online for a place like this. Even if she’d thought of looking for hotels, she’d never heard of bed-and-breakfasts until Justin explained what they were. But she couldn’t help but worry about the cost. Especially when Justin insisted on paying extra for a late supper, which the two older women who owned the house were happy to provide. They were sisters, Natividad thought, and clearly proud of their house and their cooking.

  “If you’ll be here tomorrow, dear, there are plenty of things to do in Rattlesnake Springs,” the elder of the sisters told Natividad, moving comfortably about the big kitchen to put together the supper. Cold ham and chicken, a three-bean salad, rolls quickly warmed in the microwave, small apples, berry pie with whipped cream. Very American food, but it wasn’t bad. Maybe tomorrow they could find a place serving real Mexican food, though.

  “No need to rush about and fight traffic here, you know, dear,” the woman added, arranging the plates on a broad tray. It was a struggle to get everything to fit, and she finally wrapped the rolls up in a kitchen towel and put them on top of the ham. “There! Can you carry this, do you think? Good, then, there you go. Now, tomorrow you and your friend can rent bikes if you like, only five dollars for all day, and bike into the state park, if you like. There’s a lovely waterfall, though you wouldn’t think we’d have anything of the sort out here, would you? We’d be happy to pack you up a picnic lunch. Just let us know at breakfast.”

  Natividad smiled and thanked her and picked up the tray. She didn’t answer the woman’s faintly curious your friend. But she found herself wondering what it might be like to bike with Justin into the harsh mountains and find this pretty waterfall and have a picnic.

  While they waited for Ezekiel to find them.

  Maybe not. No. Stick to the plan. Justin safe at his grandmother’s house, she to wait for Ezekiel a prudent distance from El Paso. That would be better.

  Though Ezekiel couldn’t possibly raise a hand to a Pure boy. He couldn’t. He might have made it crystal clear he thought of her as his property, which was, yes, outrageous, but she had warned him he’d better not take her for granted. Of course, he’d probably thought he didn’t have to take that warning seriously, because who else was there? Ethan Lanning? One of the Meade brothers? She snorted faintly, turning slightly sideways to go carefully up the stairs.

  Grayson himself . . . that wasn’t so laughable. Ezekiel wouldn’t challenge Grayson, no matter what. But she didn’t expect she would ever truly think of Grayson that way. He was so much older. Sometimes girls did marry much older men. One of her cousins had done that, and she’d seemed very happy. But Grayson . . . Natividad couldn’t picture it.

  But she trusted him completely. He was going to be so angry with her when she got back. He would probably ground her forever. But he always did what was right for Dimilioc, no matter how hard it was.

  And he was so lonely now. It hurt her to think about it. Not only his wife, not only so many others during the war, but now his brother Harrison was gone, and Zachariah Korte, who had been like another brother. Grayson carried the whole weight of Dimilioc himself, now. Though she knew he would never give way under that weight. Never.

  Ezekiel . . . she didn’t trust Ezekiel the same way. She knew he would protect her, yes. No matter what. Even if she didn’t want to be protected, even if it was very important for her to put herself in danger. She wasn’t even sure what she thought about that.

  And now there was Justin. Though, true, Justin hadn’t shown any sign of being interested in her. And honestly, though she liked him, she really didn’t think that she was interested in him, either. That way. Though he was really good looking. She wasn’t blind.

  But she wondered suddenly what it would be like to pack a picnic lunch and bike with Ezekiel to a park with waterfalls.

  She couldn’t quite imagine it. Ezekiel on a bike? Ezekiel swimming, or standing under a waterfall? Never.

  Ezekiel lounging on a blanket, with the spray of waterfalls making los arco iris over his head, looking up at her and smiling, or doing that thing with his eyes that was like a smile . . . that was actually fairly easy to imagine. She bit her lip and edged around the last landing, careful not to let the dishes slip.

  But Ezekiel was so apretado. Uptight. And it was important to him to look scary. That was more important to him than anything. It would never even occur to him to go on a picnic.

  Justin came down to meet her a step from the door. “That looks heavy!” he said, sounding pleased. “Mm, is that pie? I should have got this for you. I did bring our things up, though.”

  The things Justin had paid for, before he’d paid for this nice suite. And for the supper, which was extra. “She didn’t tell me how much it was,” she said, a little anxiously. “She just said you’d said to put it on our bill. I hope it wasn’t too expensive . . .”

  “Natividad, don’t worry about it. Really. I’ve got cash and you’ve got magic, so we’re all set,” he told her, plainly wanting to make her laugh and feel better.

  Natividad let herself smile. “Well, we’ve both got magic! I’ll show you. I’m going to put a mandala around the whole house and yard, except really you can do that part. Then later I’ll show you how to put crosses on the foundation and a pentagram on every window. I bet you can’t do that so fast, but maybe you can, that’d be great. You should learn how, anyway. How to protect a whole house, I mean.” Natividad glanced wistfully at the tray, which Justin had taken away from her and laid out on a nice little table by the window.

  He saw her glance. “You’re hungry,” he said accurately. “It can’t wait till after dinner?”

  Natividad lifted an eyebrow at him, trying to mimic Ezekiel’s most sardonic expression. She must have got close, because Justin suddenly looked thoughtful, glanced around the pretty suite, and gave her an abrupt little nod. He’d paled a little, too, visible despite his warm tan, and she was sure he’d just visualized what this nice house would look like after a black dog or two broke into it.

  “You see,” Natividad said gently. “Probably there’s no stray near enough to catch our scent, but you have to remember, Justin, you just never know. You’ll need to do it at your grandmamá’s for sure,” she added, deliberately. “In case a stray black dog catches your scent.” And now let Justin think about that.

  He did think about it, from his frown.

  Satisfied, Natividad headed for the door. If those ladies looked out, she hoped they would just think she and Justin wanted a little walk before supper. The evening was pleasant, actually: the air warm but without the punishing heat of afternoon, the moon waxing but not yet nearly full. Short iron street lamps lined the roads, filling the shadows with a light warmer and more golden than the moonlight. Moths fluttered around the lights, and
somewhere a small animal rustled in the oleander. Natividad was sure it was just a small animal. She touched her little cross for reassurance, feeling the silver wire spark against her fingers. The tracery of shadow wrapped around the cross felt warm and powdery, like ash.

  “I should make you a cross,” she said to Justin. “Or show you how to make one, I guess. Mine is copper and zinc wrapped with silver.” She didn’t mention the shadow, but only explained, “It’s hard on the Dimilioc wolves, if you wear a cross made of pure silver. Copper is better, with just a little silver to catch the magic.”

  “You’re not going to insist on making it before dinner, I hope,” Justin said wryly.

  Natividad laughed. “Just the mandala! And I’m not going to make that at all—you are! If you can do it really fast, we can get to supper quicker, right? Now, you get that mandalas are to keep bad things out, right? Circles turn away your enemy’s attention. Spirals draw your friends toward you.”

  She half heard her mother’s voice overlaying hers: Espirales atraen atención, pero circulos la cíeran. Spirals draw attention in, but circles close it out. She didn’t want to think about that. She tried not to lose herself in memory, but only explain the magic that was Justin’s birthright as much as it was hers. She explained to him, as her mother had once explained it to her, “A mandala is not the same as a circle. It’s not just to turn your enemy aside. It is meant to hold fast against things of the dark, things that hunt you with ill intent. Pure magic is defensive, but it can be an aggressive defense. A mandala is more aggressive than a circle.”

  She didn’t tell him about other kinds of aggressive defense, other ways to use Pure magic, ways to wind a thin thread of shadow around and through a Pure working. The first time she’d done that, it had been an accident and she’d been afraid she had irredeemably corrupted the mandala she’d been trying to make. The second time . . . the second time hadn’t been an accident. And it had worked, more or less. Even if, now, she was afraid that what she had done might have been a kind of corruption of Pure magic. She didn’t dare teach Justin that. Ordinary magic, clean magic, she knew that was safe. She was almost sure she couldn’t corrupt Justin’s magic just by teaching him ordinary things.