particular had not enjoyed the wild ride. He half staggered over to a line of planted shrubbery and knelt. The humans would think he was praying -- and he was, in a way. He was renewing his touch with the earth. Doyle was quite frightened of almost all man-made transportation. He could travel through mystical pathways that would have made me scream forever, but driving fast through L.A. traffic had nearly done him in. Frost was fine.
The other guards, including Sage, poured out of the van. At Doyle's urging we had gone back to the apartment for some more blades. Lucy had been against it, until he pointed out that until the Nameless's glamour was broken, bullets wouldn't hurt it. He assured her that they had things at the apartment that would break its glamour if anything could.
Lucy had decided it was worth a side trip. She had radioed ahead that without some magical aid, the police might not be able to see the thing, let alone shoot it.
Apparently they'd taken our word for it. The witch had probably tried something simple, and when that didn't work, she'd begun to work on the chalk drawing, complete with runes and the whole nine yards. It worked in a skin-ruffling, throat-closing rush of power like an un-felt wind.
The spell rolled out and hit its target. The air wavered like heat rolling off summer asphalt. Except this heat wavered up and up, towering over twenty feet into the air.
I wasn't sure that the police without psychic talent were going to be able to see anything, but the wave of gasps and curses let me know I was wrong.
Lucy stared up at the shimmer. "Do we just start shooting it?" she asked.
"Yes," Frost said.
It didn't really matter what we did. Whoever was in charge gave the order, and suddenly the sound of gunfire was everywhere, bursting open like one huge explosion.
The bullets passed through the shimmering almost-form like it wasn't there. I began to wonder where all those bullets would end up, because they'd keep going until they found some target. Then men were yelling, "Stop firing, cease fire," all up and down the line.
The sudden silence rang in my ears. The shimmering form just kept pushing at the wall, or rather the wardings in the wall. It didn't seem to have noticed the bullets or the police.
"What just happened?" Lucy asked.
"It is in a time between this time and the next," Doyle said. He had walked back to us while we were watching them throw bullets at the thing. "It is a type of glamoury that allows the fey to hide themselves from mortal eyes."
Lucy looked at me. "Can you do that?"
"No," I said.
"Nor can the rest of the sidhe," Doyle said. "We gave up that ability when we made the Nameless."
"I've never been able to do anything like that," I said.
"You were born after we'd done two castings like the Nameless," Doyle said. "How could anyone have blamed you for being less than we once were?"
"The witch has broken some of the glamoury," Frost said.
"But not enough," Doyle said.
The two of them looked at each other.
"No," I said. "No to whatever you're thinking."
They looked at me. "Meredith, we must stop it here."
"No," I said. "No, we must keep Maeve Reed alive. That's what we talked about. No one talked about killing the Nameless. I mean, it can't die, can it?"
They looked at each other again. Rhys joined us. "No, it can't die."
"Is it real?" Lucy asked.
He looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Is it solid enough to be hurt by our weapons?"
He nodded. "Oh, yes, it's real enough for that. Once it's stripped of the magic that keeps it safe."
"We must strip that magic away," Doyle said.
"How?" I asked, and my stomach was tight at the idea of what it might take.
"It must be wounded," Frost said.
I looked at his arrogant face and knew that he was hiding something from me. I grabbed his arm. "How can you wound it?"
His eyes softened as he looked down at me; the grey went from the color of storm clouds to sky just after the rain when the sun is about to break through. I watched the color swirl like clouds itself across his eyes.
"A weapon of power would be able to wound it, if the warrior were skilled enough."
I held on to his arm tighter. "What do you mean, skilled enough?"
"Skilled enough not to get killed doing it," Rhys said.
Both Frost and Doyle gave