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Chapter 41
By the time we arrived, Maeve Reed's place was surrounded by police everything. Marked cars, plain cars, special forces armed vehicles, ambulances waited at a sort of hopeful safe distance. Guns were everywhere. They were even trained on the wall in front of Maeve's house. The trouble was, there was nothing to shoot at.
A woman in full police battle armor with SWAT written across it was standing behind a barrier of cars in a pentagram and circle that she'd drawn in chalk on the road. L.A. had been one of the first police departments to attach witches or magicians to all special units.
The moment the car engine died I felt her spell. It made the air hard to breathe. Doyle, Frost, and I had ridden with Lucy. Doyle in 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 him unfriendly looks. "Look, we don't have time to play around here. One of us with a weapon of power and enough skill to do it has to draw blood," Rhys said.
I kept my grip on Frost's arm but looked at Doyle. "Who's on the list of skilled enough?"
"Now that's just insulting," Rhys said. "Doyle and Frost aren't the only people standing here."
They gave him another unfriendly look.
"I was never the queen's favorite guard, but once I was favored in battle."
Galen said, "I'm like Merry. I came along after all the old times. I've got good blades, but none of them are weapons of power."
"Because we lost the knack of making such things," Frost said.
"We have become more flesh and less pure spirit with every casting. It has allowed us to survive, even to thrive, but it has not been without cost."
I slid in against Frost's body and found his sword, Winter Kiss, in our way. How apt. I looked at the other men. Frost was the only one in a tunic. Everyone else was wearing street clothes, T-shirts, jeans, boots, except for Kitto, who had thrown a shirt on over his shorts. The clothes were wrong, but the weapons were right.
Frost had a second sword strapped to his back, a sword almost longer than I was tall. I knew the tunic covered more blades. He always carried some blade somewhere on him, unless the Queen had forbidden it.
Doyle had kept his gun in its shoulder holster, but he'd added a sword at his hip and wrist sheaths on both arms. The knives glinted silver against his dark skin, but the sword was as black as he was. The blade was iron, not steel. I'd never known what the black handle was made of; it was metal, but what kind of metal I did not know. The sword was called Black Madness, Bainidhe Dub. If anyone other than Doyle tried to wield it, they would be struck permanently mad. The daggers on his wrists were twins, formed together at one making. These legendary blades were thought to hit any target once thrown. Their nicknames at court had been Snick and Snack. I knew they had true names, but I'd never heard them referred to as anything else.
Galen had a sword belted at his side, and it was a good sword but not magical, not in the way of the great weapons. He had a dagger on the other side of his belt to balance the sword. He'd added a shoulder holster and gun over his button-down shirt, and a second gun tucked in the small of his back.
I had put a belt around the middle of the sundress and threaded a side holster through it to hold my own gun. It ruined the line of the dress, but if things went really wrong, I'd rather survive looking a little silly than die looking perfect. I had two folding knives in thigh sheaths under the dress, and a smaller gun in an ankle holster. I'd been deemed unworthy even of a nonmagical blade by both courts.
Rhys had his sword on his back, the one he'd used of old, Uamhas, Dread Death. He had his axe belted at his side, because with only one eye his depth perception just wasn't up to a sword. He had daggers on him, but I wasn't sure I'd want to be standing to the side of whatever he was throwing at. When you're missing an eye, there's only so much you can compensate for.
Nicca had a sword that was almost identical to Galen's, standard knight ware, beautiful, deadly, but not powerful. Nicca had two guns on either side of his shoulder holster. I had reason to know that he used either hand equally well. He had added a third gun to the small of his back, and a dagger on the opposite side from his sword. Maybe it was standard issue, too, like the sword.
Kitto didn't know enough about guns to be trusted not to shoot his foot off, but he had a short sword belted across the back of his Wile E. Coyote T-shirt.
Sage had a tiny sword that gleamed bright silver in the sunlight. He would not give us the name of it. "To know the name of something is to have power over it," he said.
There was a rumbling sound, and the ground seemed to swell up as a portion of Maeve's wall fell inward. The Nameless had cheated. It hadn't gotten past her wards; it had destroyed what she attached them to.
The shimmering thing moved through the hole while a few shots rang out, and officers in charge yelled, "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"
Doyle was striding forward. "I will use the daggers. They must strike true, as is their nature."
"Can you get close enough and still stay out of reach?" Frost asked.
Doyle gave a small glance back. "I think so." He kept walking.
Frost moved me away from him, his hands gentle on my arms. "I must go with him. If he falls, I must be there."
"Kiss me first," I said.
He shook his head. "If I touch your lips, I will never leave your side." He kissed my forehead quickly, then jogged after Doyle.
Rhys swept me up into his arms while I was still too surprised to react. He kissed me, thoroughly and completely, and ended up wearing most of my red lipstick on his lips. He sat me back on my feet a little breathless.
"You can't steal my courage with a kiss, Merry. You don't love me enough for that." He ran after the other two before I could think of anything to say.
The police rounded up an armored group of S.W.A.T. officers to back up the men; then they moved forward, through the hole in the wall, and vanished from sight.