Power of prayer. Rosario thought dazedly of her abuela's living room altar, a constant fixture for as long as she could remember, with its saint icons and prayer candles, and took another deep swig of her beer.
At least he didn't seem worried about the faeries being after Lyra. At least there was that. At least they had people they could call (or pray to) if it did happen. If the faeries didn't steal their minds first.