"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.

32

"I don't believe it," Jonah growled when Roger finished. "Why, that rotten, conniving, little—"

"Save it," Ron cut him off, his eyes steady on Roger's face. "But you didn't actually see Melantha up there?"

Roger shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be more helpful."

"What about Damian?" Stephanie asked, looking at the Greens. "Could he still be alive?"

"I don't see how," Laurel said. "He certainly wasn't aboard the transport. The Pastsingers could hardly have missed that."

"Wait a minute, though," Zenas said, frowning. "I was aboard the transport a couple of years ago, picking up a supply of herbs, and I remember spotting what looked like a door at the very back end behind the engine room. It didn't look like it had been opened in years."

"Extra cargo space?" Ron suggested.

"That's not what the Pastsingers say," Laurel said, frowning now as well. "They describe the transport as having three passenger compartments with attached supply rooms, a power room, an engine room, a control compartment, an exit hatchway area, and several connecting hallways that doubled as the air-purifying system. Nothing about anything behind the engine room."

"That's what I remember, too," Zenas agreed hesitantly. "Of course, what I thought was a door could have just been some sort of trim or decoration."

"I don't know," Ron rumbled, scratching at his cheek. "It's starting to sound an awful lot like someone had a private room back there."

"But how could the Pastsingers hide something like that?" Stephanie put in. "I thought they were usually very accurate."

"Yes, but only about things they've actually experienced or have learned from other Pastsingers,"

Zenas pointed out. "If none of them ever used the door, it might not show up in their descriptions."

"What we need is a contemporary witness," Fierenzo said. "Someone from the original 1928 arrival.

If there is a room back there, that's the group that would have used it."

"I don't know," Laurel said doubtfully. "Most of that group are solidly on Aleksander's side."

"Does it have to be a Green?" Roger asked as an idea suddenly occurred to him.

Zenas snapped his fingers. "Of course. Velovsky!"

"Who?" Fierenzo asked.

"He was a clerk who bumped into them on Ellis Island when they first arrived," Roger told him. "He helped them get settled and has been sort of an honorary Green ever since. And he told us he's been aboard the transport several times."