The Green And The Gray

31

"You'll have to excuse me," Roger said as Jonah led him to an empty chair and sat him down in it.

Distantly, he realized he was staring rudely at the Greens, but he was unable to stop. To find Greens and Grays sitting peacefully together in the same room was too far outside his range of expectations to absorb in a single gulp. "I was under the impression—I mean—"

"You thought we all hate each other," Zenas said gently into his fumbling.

Roger winced. "Yes," he confessed. "Both sides have told me flat-out that the other side tried to exterminate them. And you don't seem to have anything in common."

"Of course we have something in common," Stephanie said, smiling sadly at Laurel. "We have Melantha."

"But—" Roger looked at Jonah. "But you're Grays."

"And if you'll shut up for a minute or two, they'll tell you all about it," a voice suggested from the corner behind him.

Roger twisted around. Detective Fierenzo was sitting on the floor in the corner, his coat off, his shoulder holster prominently in sight. Focused on the main group, Roger hadn't even noticed him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Fierenzo assured him. "Why?"

"Doesn't matter," Roger said, feeling foolish and somewhat annoyed that he'd wasted all that worry on a man who was obviously alive and well. "So how did you get into this?"

"Same way you did," Fierenzo told him, flicking a look at Jonah. "Wrong place at the wrong time.

You ready to listen yet?"

"Yes," Roger said, turning back to face the others. "Sorry."

"It started about six months ago," Zenas said. "Melantha had gone to the library to do some research for a school project, and was on her way home when a half-dozen toughs decided she looked like someone they could pick on. Fortunately for her—" he looked over at the young Gray who had opened the door for them earlier, now seated quietly on the floor beside Jonah "—it happened that Jordan here was passing by and took exception to their lack of manners."

"Had he also been at the library?" Roger asked.

"Nothing so respectable," Ron said dryly. "He didn't feel like studying that day and had cut school and gone into Manhattan."

"For the third time that month, I believe," Stephanie added, sending a slightly threatening look at her son.

"He's always getting in trouble," Jonah murmured to Roger.

"Like his brother before him," Ron added pointedly. "At any rate, he had his hammergun with him, so he masked and got up on a wall and proceeded to beat the toughs silly. Eventually even they figured out that something weird was happening and headed for higher ground."

"Melantha, of course, realized instantly who it must have been who'd just rescued her," Zenas said.

"She'd learned about Grays and hammerguns from the Pastsingers, and she took off as soon as she had a clear path and headed for home. She was pretty shaken, she told us later."

"But by the time she got home, she'd had time to cool off and think about it," Laurel picked up the story. "She'd been taught the Grays had hated us, but she also recognized that Jordan's actions on her behalf didn't fit that pattern."

"Maybe he just hadn't realized she was a Green," Roger suggested.

"I hadn't," Jordan confessed. "There are a lot of people in the city who look kind of like Greens."

"And we don't teach Green recognition nearly as well as the Greens teach their children what Grays look like," Ron said.

"Comes from our differing teaching methods," Zenas explained. "Pastsingers can transfer fairly clear images directly to their students, which naturally include images of Grays from the Great Valley time. We wouldn't want you to think we deliberately prime our children to be on the lookout for Grays."

"And in fact, Melantha did conclude that he hadn't recognized her," Laurel added.

"Which was a big relief to her," Zenas said. "But at the same time, she found herself intrigued. It's not every day you see a real, live fossil walking the streets of New York. She decided not to tell anyone, but see if she could track him down herself."

"Sounds risky," Roger said, frowning. "Not to mention kind of needle-in-haystackish."

"Melantha's always enjoyed challenges," Laurel said, blinking back tears. "If she'd just left things alone—" She broke off, daubing at her eyes.

"She decided to start where he'd first appeared," Zenas said, taking his wife's hand. "As Ron said, he'd been masked while he was shooting, but she remembered seeing a boy with a red-and-blue backpack running for a nearby doorway as the gang moved in on her and guessed that had been him.

On the assumption that he lived nearby, she started haunting the area waiting for him to show up again. Eventually, he did."

"She came over and thanked me," Jordan said in a quiet voice. "At first I didn't know what she was talking about—I'd mostly forgotten about it. But then I remembered... and then I realized who she really was."

"Were you frightened, too?" Roger asked.

There was a play of emotion across his face, which settled quickly into the groove Roger would have expected from a twelve-year-old boy. " 'Course not," he said with a touch of bravado. "She was only one Green, you know."

He looked over at Melantha's parents, and the bravado faded. "Mostly, I was kind of flattered she'd gone to all that effort to find me," he admitted. "I figured—well, she offered to buy me a soda, and I said yes."

Roger shook his head. "Sounds right out of Shakespeare," he commented.

"It's not like that," Jordan insisted. "We're just friends." He lowered his gaze. "Really good friends. I don't want to lose her."

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean it that way," Roger apologized, looking back at the two couples. "How did the rest of you get involved?"

"The kids had been meeting secretly for a couple of months before Melantha finally told us," Zenas said. "We found out later they'd decided they couldn't keep sneaking around and had made a pact to tell both sets of parents on that same night. Needless to say, we were pretty shocked." He looked a bit guiltily at his wife. "We may actually have yelled at her a little, in fact."

"It was the kind of yelling you'd do if you'd just learned your child had been spending her afternoons swimming with alligators," Laurel added, a bit defensively.

"Speaking as the mother of Jonah and Jordan, I know that yell quite well," Stephanie said dryly, throwing a fond look at each of her sons in turn. "And we didn't react any better when Jordan broke the news at our house."

"You didn't yell at me, though," Jordan pointed out helpfully.

"Trust me, son, we were yelling on the inside," Ron assured him. "And then, of course, when we finally started to calm down, what did this audacious little nugget do but casually invite us to go out to dinner with Melantha and her family."

"We got the same invitation," Zenas said. "I think we may have yelled a little more at that point."

"But you obviously went," Roger said.

"Not that time we didn't," Zenas said. "Or the second or third times she asked us, either. We finally gave up on—what was it?"

"The eighth time," Laurel said. "And that was only because we decided it was the only thing that would shut her up."

"That's about the conclusion we came to, as well," Ron said. "Which isn't to say we didn't still have serious reservations about the whole thing."

"Serious enough, in fact, that they detailed me to stand watch outside, just in case," Jonah volunteered. "I figured with a quick dinner and maybe dessert, it'd be over in an hour, hour and a half tops." He reached down and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I was stuck on that stupid wall for almost three hours. I was starting to think my whole family had been conked on the head and smuggled out the back by the time they finally came out."

"We'd been wrong about the Greens," Stephanie said simply. "We'd been so very wrong."

"Us, too," Zenas said. "After that, we started getting together on a fairly regular basis, probably once a month, and talking on the phone at least once a week. Melantha and Jordan, of course, saw each other a lot more often than that."

His face turned grim. "And then, apparently, someone bumped into someone else on the street... and suddenly our whole world came apart."

"We still don't know which side came up with this insane Peace Child plan," Ron said contemptuously. "Knowing Halfdan, my guess is that it was him. An attempt to bring parity to the two sides, or some such learned nonsense."

"Someone at Torvald's told me it was Cyril's idea," Roger said. "Not that it matters, I suppose."

"Not really," Ron said. "It was bad enough when the warnings and alerts first started, having to bury our relationship with Zenas and Laurel even deeper than it already was, never knowing what was going to happen or when we might suddenly be called on to fight each other. We kept trying to get news about this peace conference that was rumored to be going on, hoping against hope that somebody would realize that we weren't in the Great Valley anymore and that we didn't have to reopen all the old wounds."

"Unfortunately, the people doing the negotiating were still in the Great Valley, at least in spirit,"

Roger murmured. "They all had personal memories of the other side's supposed treachery and their own losses. And nobody was interested in forgiveness and a new start."

"I think you're right," Stephanie said. "Even while we were hoping for peace, everything we heard seemed to be pushing things the opposite direction. People on both sides began to stake out territory.

There were occasional incidents—nothing involving Shrieks or hammerguns, but there were some stare downs and even a couple of shoving matches. I thought for sure the whole thing would blow up before the discussions even ended."

"And then they did finish, and announced their agreement," Ron said darkly. "And when we heard what they'd decided—well, we just couldn't believe it. We contacted Zenas and Laurel right away to see what we could do to help."

He looked over at them. "And they told us there was nothing that could be done. The Greens had made their decision, it was over, and they had no choice but to accept it and see it through."

"They didn't understand," Zenas said, the words coming out with difficulty, his gaze on the floor in front of Roger's feet. "I'm not sure they understand even now. It's our way, something that's deeply and unchangeably a part of us. There was literally nothing we could do to try to save our daughter."

"I suppose we really don't understand," Stephanie conceded. "Our minds just don't work that same way. Not better or worse, really, just different."

She reached over and touched Laurel's shoulder. "But we knew them well enough to know how horribly they were being torn up inside at the thought of watching Melantha die. We knew that if they physically could do anything to save her, they would."

"And since they couldn't," Ron said, "we, as their friends, decided to do it for them."

Roger shook his head in wonderment. "That was one hell of a risk," he pointed out. "Halfdan doesn't strike me as a good person to cross. And going up against Green Warriors doesn't sound like much fun, either."

"You don't know the half of it," Jonah said ruefully, pressing a hand gently against his side. "Mostly, though, it worked."

"We knew what was happening the instant the streetlights flashed and went out," Laurel said quietly.

"And in the midst of ache and sorrow came sudden new hope. I don't think we'll ever be able to find the words to properly express our gratitude for the risks Jonah and Jordan took to rescue our daughter." She gave Roger a tentative smile. "And you, too, Roger, for the part you and your wife played. That's why we asked Detective Fierenzo to bring you here tonight. So that we could finally thank you."

"You're welcome," Roger managed around the lump that had grown in his throat. Earlier that evening, he'd wished that he and Caroline had never gotten tangled up in any part of this mess. Now, as he looked into Laurel's face, he realized that he wouldn't have missed it for the world. "I'm glad we were able to help," he added, feeling suddenly very awkward. "But you'd better hold on to your gratitude until it's over."

"I'm afraid it may be over now," Zenas said, his voice dark and grim. "We haven't heard anything from Melantha since Friday night. We fear the worst."

"The worst may indeed have happened," Roger conceded. "But maybe not. Let me tell you about my afternoon...."

"This is just how you found it?" Powell asked, gazing at the car in the parking garage. "You didn't move anything?"

"I didn't even touch it," the young cop assured him. "I recognized the tag from the APB and called it in."

Powell nodded grimly. Fierenzo's car: neatly parked, conscientiously locked, as if someone fully intended to return to it. One of his companions had been holding a gun on him; the other, if the witness and Carstairs's sketch were to be believed, might possibly have been the same kid who'd been playing chicken with a borrowed car the previous morning.

Someone had allegedly kidnapped a young girl. Someone had been involved in a shooting incident in Yorkville, where a couple of bodies were still unaccounted for. Someone had tried to run someone else over with a car. And now someone had kidnapped the police detective who'd been working on the case.

And over all of it hovered Cyril's threat: return the girl, or watch the blood of thousands of New Yorkers flow in the streets.

"Detective?"

Powell shook away the thoughts. "What?"

"I was just going to point out that the keys aren't in the ignition," the cop said hesitantly. "A lot of times if someone's been kidnapped they're hustled out of the car so fast they forget to take them."

"I know," Powell said. "Go back to your patrol. I'll wait for CSU."

"Okay." The cop hesitated, seemed to be about to say something else, then nodded and headed back to his squad car.

Powell watched him go, feeling a quiet fire burning behind his eyes. Yes, the missing keys might argue that Fierenzo had gone with the men voluntarily. It could also mean that his kidnappers were conscientious types who liked to tidy up a crime scene after them.

He still didn't know what exactly was going on. But Whittier had suggested it, and all the other indicators were falling into place. Somewhere in his city, a gang war was brewing.

He pulled out his phone as the squad car pulled away. While he waited for the wizards at CSU to get here, he would give the Gang Task Force a call and see if they were hearing anything from the street.

And after that, he decided grimly, he'd better give Sandy a call. This could prove to be a longer night than he'd thought.