The shot staggered him backward, the intended scream coming out as an agonized cough instead.

The gunman got off a second shot, this time bouncing Nose off the fence, before he landed on the edge of the street. His knees bent to absorb his momentum; and as he crouched in place for a second, Fierenzo finally got a clear look at him in the streetlight. Short and squat, he was dressed in dark clothing with a ski cap pulled down to his eyes and a patterned scarf covering his nose and mouth.

A scarf that looked suspiciously familiar.

A long, ululating scream erupted from down the block. Clenching his teeth against the renewed surge of pain, Fierenzo twisted his head around to look. Curly, of course; but to Fierenzo's surprise, the other wasn't running for cover, but was instead charging full-tilt toward the crouching gunman.

For a heart-stopping pair of seconds Fierenzo thought that the tactic was going to succeed as the gunman staggered under the sonic assault. But then he regained his balance and leveled his weapon at his attacker. Bracing his left hand with his right in a traditional marksman's stance, he fired.

Curly didn't just stagger the way Nose had. The white line that ran into his chest not only stopped him dead in his tracks, but delivered enough impact to throw him backward off his feet. He hit the sidewalk with a sickening thud and lay still.

Beside Fierenzo, Nose was trying to get to his feet. Shifting aim, the gunman fired again into his chest. Nose went down again, and this time stayed there. For a moment the gunman peered at him, as if trying to decide whether he needed an insurance shot, apparently decided against it, and turned to Fierenzo. "You okay?" he grunted.

"Oh, just dandy," Fierenzo wheezed back. The scarf was familiar, all right. So was the voice coming from behind it. "You have a good nap?"

Jonah shook his head. "You came that close, Detective," he said darkly. "You play games with these people, you're going to be burned."

"Tell me about it," Fierenzo said, wincing as he rolled onto his back and tried to work his trembling hand into his coat pocket. "Your fingers working any better than mine right now?"

"What do you need?" Jonah asked, squatting a little unsteadily beside him.

"My phone," Fierenzo said, his fingers finally closing on the device. "I have to call an ambulance."

"You'll be all right," Jonah assured him. "There's nothing a hospital could do for you anyway."

"It's not for me," Fierenzo said, easing out the phone. "And while I appreciate you coming to my assistance, I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your weapon."

"What, you mean the ambulance is for them?" Jonah asked scornfully. Reaching down, he plucked the phone from Fierenzo's fingers. "Sorry."

"Damn it," Fierenzo snarled, making a useless attempt to grab it away. "Give that back."

"They don't need or want an ambulance," Jonah said, turning the phone off and dropping it into his own pocket. "Trust me. Anyway, what are you feeling so charitable for? They attacked you, remember?"

"Doesn't matter," Fierenzo bit back. "I still can't just leave them bleeding on the sidewalk."

"This isn't like the guns you're used to," Jonah said patiently, hefting the flattened mallet Fierenzo had seen him holding earlier that afternoon on the alley fire escape. "Though I'll admit the one down the block will probably hurt a lot longer than you will. Anyway, you're the only one who's bleeding."

Frowning, Fierenzo reached up and touched his cheek. There was blood there, all right, a thin trail rolling down into his collar from the bottom of his ear. "I still need that weapon," he said, wondering what kind of permanent hearing damage he'd managed to sustain tonight.

"Sure," Jonah said, holding the gun out in front of him. "Now you see it—"

He opened his hand; and right in front of Fierenzo's eyes, the gun seemed to come apart into a set of slender, silvery snakes. For an instant they stretched out along the insides of Jonah's fingers and then vanished up his sleeve.

"—now you don't," Jonah finished, and Fierenzo could imagine a grin behind the concealing scarf.

"It's all in the wrist."

"Look—"

"Later," Jonah cut him off, taking his upper arm and starting to pull him upright. "We've got to get out of here before their friends arrive."

"You mean there are more—aaah," Fierenzo interrupted himself as his whole body seemed to explode in new pain. "Easy—easy!"

"Sorry, but we can't wait," Jonah said, continuing to pull. "The only reason they're not on top of us already is that they're scattered all over Manhattan looking for Melantha."

"For Melantha?" Fierenzo asked. "What do they—aaah!"

"Yeah, I know," Jonah said sympathetically. "Try not to groan too loudly, will you? It attracts attention."

He worked Fierenzo to his feet, then ducked over and grabbed his leg. A second later, Fierenzo found himself hanging over the other's shoulder in a fireman's carry. Before he could protest, they were heading down the sidewalk at a fast trot, each step adding an extra jolt to his pain.

He was clenching his teeth against the agony, staring at the swaying sidewalk flowing beneath Jonah's feet, when the blackness finally took him.

23

The group didn't go out the front door, as Caroline had expected, but instead slipped out the back.

"There's someone in a car watching the building," Vasilis explained as he led the way around a group of bushes and across the street toward the park. "Probably one of Detective Fierenzo's associates. It wouldn't do to let him see this."

"You're sure he can't?" Roger asked.

"Our trees aren't in his line of sight," Vasilis assured him.

Aleksander seemed to stir. "And we're watching him, in case he decides to leave his car," he added.

Caroline eyed him, frowning. He'd done it again, just as he had a few minutes ago. For a moment he'd seemed to drift away into his own private world of thought or meditation.

Or communication? Casually, she angled her path to come alongside him.

There it was: the same almost-words flowing around the corners of her mind that she'd heard in the cab that morning. And if she was judging the texture of the thoughts correctly, there was a definite urgency to the communication.

Had someone found Melantha?

"What do you do about these fences?" Roger asked as they came up to the gate. "A lot of Manhattan's parks are locked up at dusk."

"We have ways," Vasilis said, stepping up to the gate and getting a grip on the hinge side. He glanced around; and then, to Caroline's surprise, he pulled the gate open from that end, swiveling it around the latch and lock. "All the gated parks we use are gimmicked," he explained, as the others filed through the opening. "Usually it's a trick gate, but some of them have a section of the fence itself we can open up."

Once inside, the Greens split into two groups, Vasilis and Iolanthe and their children turning south while the other two adults herded the rest of the children to the east. Aleksander gestured toward the first group, and he and the Whittiers fell in behind them. Caroline found herself looking at the trees with new eyes as her feet crinkled through the dead leaves. Were there Greens hiding in all of them, she wondered, nestled in comfortably for the night? Or was Shurz Park something of a new frontier, with room still available for expansion?

"Here we are," Iolanthe announced as they reached a small clump of trees. "Okay, children. Hugs."

In turn, Phyllida and Yannis gave her and Vasilis a hug and kiss. "Now say good-night to our visitors, and it's off to sleep."

"Good-night, Persuader Aleksander," the children said gravely in unison, bowing to the old Green.