shoots Mavra

Second, if you want to control the dead, you’ve got to drop a beat on them. End that beat, end any possibility of summoning and controlling the undead. I drew my revolver, with its boring old regular, entirely mundane rounds, stepped around the corner, and raised the pistol, sighting on the drummer.
Swear to God, on a normal day, I barely shoot competently. But with the Winter mantle guiding my hand, I lifted my arm and made a one-handed shot in the dark at maybe twenty yards that drilled the drummer in the back with a thunderous report.
Two things happened immediately.
First, the round passing through the plane of the circle, sent there by my hand and will, disrupted the essential magical screen of the ritual circle. Stealthy the working might have been, but nothing works right when it’s falling to pieces, and it shattered away in flickers and shards of scarlet light.
Second, the round tore right through where the drummer’s liver should have been.

Battle Ground Chapter 11, Page 111