The Green And The Gray

29

The Warriors sat Caroline back down on the couch, one of them standing guard over her while the other monitored the burning chair and continued to feed it deeper into the fireplace as necessary. By the time that task was finished, they had been joined by two more Warriors, all four of whom proceeded to stand silently around the cabin like a set of Macy's manikins. No one spoke, not even to answer her questions or respond to her comments, but she was able to pick up the tantalizing almostspeech that indicated they had plenty to say to each other. It was almost a relief when one of them suddenly announced that the Group Commander was ready to see her.

They set off through the woods, the four Warriors arrayed in a loose square around her. It was pitchblack outside, and her first reflexive thought was that this might be her chance to get away. But common sense quickly prevailed. The Greens would hardly let themselves be caught by surprise twice in one night, and wandering around blindly in a strange forest would be a complete waste of effort.

Besides, it was clear after the first dozen steps that her escorts had far better night vision than she did. They walked across the uneven terrain with casual confidence, while she spent much of her time hesitating and stumbling and batting branches away from her face. After a couple of near falls, one of the Warriors finally stepped close and took her arm, guiding her as he would a blind woman through the darkness.

But if she couldn't see very well, the sounds around her more than made up for it. Instead of the usual bird and insect noises, she could hear rustling bushes and grunts of exertion and voices calling to each other in an unfamiliar language.

The main house, when they finally reached it, was something of a surprise. It was larger than she'd expected, rambling outward in two angled wings and rising to three stories in places, set at the back of an expansive and well-kept lawn. Every window in the place seemed lit, and she could see half a dozen shadowy figures walking briskly toward and away from it. Without better light it was impossible to tell what kind of construction it was, but from the design and placement of the windows she guessed it was much older than the cabin, possibly even late 19th century.

Her escorts led her up the steps onto a wide porch and through a door flanked by ornate sidelights, with an equally ornate fanlight above it. Beyond the door was a large foyer, high-ceilinged, rimmed with carved pillars and sporting a hardwood floor. One of the Warriors detached himself from her side and stepped to a set of double doors leading off the foyer to the left. "In here," he said, pushing open one of the doors. "The Group Commander is waiting."

"Thank you," Caroline said, fighting to keep her voice steady. Stepping past him, she walked inside.

And stopped short. The room was a library, complete with built-in bookshelves filled with dark volumes in a variety of sizes. In the center of the room was a massive oak desk flanked by a pair of floor lamps with three antique bergere armchairs facing it.

But it wasn't the furnishings or the room itself that had startled her. It was, rather, the room's single occupant.

"Good evening, Caroline," the silver-haired woman said calmly, the soft glow from the lamps highlighting the deep age lines in her face. "I'm Group Commander Sylvia Green." She smiled slightly. "I take it I'm not exactly what you expected?"

Caroline found her voice. "I'm sorry," she said. "We've heard a lot about Green Warriors in the past couple of days. I guess I just assumed that they would all be men."

The woman shrugged. "The Gifts choose us," she said, rising to her feet and gesturing to one of the armchairs. "We do not choose them. Please; sit down."

"Thank you," Caroline said, frowning as the name suddenly clicked. "You said your name was Sylvia?"

"The same Sylvia your husband met at Aleksander's apartment, yes," the woman confirmed. "I presume that was your next question?"

"Yes, it was," Caroline said as she took one of the chairs. "I hope you aren't too angry about Roger's escape."

"It was embarrassing," Sylvia conceded as she resumed her seat. "But hardly fatal. There's nothing he can do to trouble us."

"Really," Caroline said politely. "Then why are your people all stirred up out there?"

"Stirred up?"

"Making noises in the night."

"Oh, that," Sylvia said. "They're just making your cabin disappear."

"They're what!"

"Not literally, of course," Sylvia assured her. "You may have noticed how narrow the side roads were that you drove along earlier today. The Laborers are merely brushing away the gravel at those intersections and quick-planting bushes across them. Even if Roger finds someone willing to listen to his story, he'll come back to find that none of the drives he described are there anymore."

Caroline felt her stomach tighten. "Clever," she managed.

"Deception has always been a part of warfare," Sylvia said with a shrug. "One of the many aspects of my Gift."

"An interesting Gift," Caroline murmured. "May I ask what you intend to do with me?"

"Nothing sinister, I assure you," Sylvia said. "You'll be kept here until it's all over, then be allowed to return to your home."

Caroline's throat tightened. "Assuming Manhattan is still there."

The lines in Sylvia's face deepened. "What exactly would you have us do, Caroline Human Whittier?" she demanded. "You speak as if we weren't the ones the Grays tried to exterminate, setting fire to our forest and coldbloodedly shooting as we tried to escape the flames. Should we simply lie down and die to keep from inconveniencing your people? Or should we make a stand and defend ourselves and our loved ones? What would you do in our place?"

"I might worry a little more about the innocents caught in the middle," Caroline told her. "Three thousand people died when the twin towers went down. How many buildings and lives are you planning to destroy in your defense?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Caroline," Sylvia said stiffly. "We're Warriors, not butchers. We will not inflict any more damage or death than necessary to protect our people. But if it comes to a choice between Green survival or a few lost Human lives... well, there is no choice there."

"Even if those lost humans are your own friends?" Caroline persisted.

"I have no Human friends," Sylvia said. "As a matter of fact, before I met you and Roger, I'm not sure I even knew any Humans by name."

"You're joking," Caroline said, looking at the other in surprise. "How long have you lived here?"

"I was one of the original refugees," Sylvia said. "Oh, and I knew Velovsky by name, too. But he was about the only Human I knew before you two."

"How in the world did you manage that?" Caroline asked, still not quite believing it. "I thought all of you moved into the city together."

"All except for a small group who came here," Sylvia said. "Leader Elymas wasn't entirely happy with the idea of living in a city, so he sent our group to look into the possibility of a more permanent home."

"I thought he died before you even left Ellis Island."

"He did, but he'd seen the Farseers' visions and knew what to expect," Sylvia said. "Actually, to be precise, it was his son Nikolos who relayed his instructions to us. Leader Elymas was too far gone to speak during his final hours, and Nikolos was the only one who could still communicate with him and interpret his messages."

"What do you mean, interpret?" Caroline asked. "I thought you have a direct mind-to-mind link."

"We do, but some things transfer better than others," Sylvia said. "Words and simple sentences usually work, and emotions are seldom misunderstood. But images and abstract ideas can be difficult, both to send and to receive. Sometimes only those who know each other well can manage it without distortion. Pastsingers and Farseers do much better than the average, of course, but they're a small minority."

"I see," Caroline said, nodding. "I've been wondering why you bothered with speech at all."

"If we could communicate clearly and consistently without it, we would," Sylvia said. "At any rate, I've sent for some food, and then you'll be taken to your room."

"Thank you," Caroline said. "I'm still not clear as to why you haven't had more contact with humans.

Don't you like us?"

"I neither like nor dislike you," Sylvia said candidly. "It's simply that I've spent my life here in the woods, preparing this place for future generations. I just never got around to making contact with the locals."

The door opened behind her, and Caroline turned to see a Green step into the room with a box the size of a half-pound chocolate sampler in his hand. "Your meal," Sylvia identified it. "I'm afraid it's all we have to offer."

"Thank you," Caroline said, eyeing the box dubiously as the Green handed it to her. She opened the lid and found herself gazing at a double row of tubes the size of granola bars and the shape of manicotti. "What are they?"

"Warrior field rations," Sylvia told her. "Designed to keep a Green healthy and strong during long campaigns."

"I see." Closing the box, Caroline set it on the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry, but it won't do."

It was clearly not the response Sylvia had been expecting. "I'm sorry?" she asked.

"I said it won't do," Caroline repeated. "Food designed to keep Greens alive could be dangerous or even lethal to humans."

"Nonsense," Sylvia said stiffly. "Greens eat human food all the time. I ate some there myself, in fact, at Aleksander's. It's never bothered any of us."

"So Greens can eat human food," Caroline said. "That doesn't mean it necessarily works the other direction." She gestured toward the box. "For all either of us know, there may be trace chemicals or vitamin concentrations in there that would kill me." She lifted her eyebrows. "Unless, of course, Nikolos wants me dead."

"Don't be absurd," Sylvia said, throwing a scowl at the other Green. Without a word, he retrieved the box and left. "Unfortunately, as I said, that's all we have."

"I understand that," Caroline said, choosing her words carefully. "But there must be restaurants nearby."

Sylvia barked a laugh. "Of course."

"No, really," Caroline insisted. "Roger won't have called any of the local police—he'll have assumed you already have them in your back pocket. And he can't possibly get up here with anyone from the city until after midnight at the earliest."

Sylvia was staring at her, an odd expression on her face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Caroline said. "I'm starving, and this is the best way for me to get something safe to eat. I won't make any trouble—I promise. All I want is to go and eat." She cocked her head. "I'll even treat," she cajoled. "Unless you're afraid a Green Warrior can't ride herd on a lone human female."

Sylvia smiled cynically. "No, you don't," she said. "You can't maneuver me into doing something just because I think I'll look weak or afraid. A Group Commander never makes decisions based on emotion."

"Good," Caroline said. "Then do it because your people may retreat here someday, and you'll need as much firsthand knowledge about the area as possible."

The wrinkles in Sylvia's forehead deepened again, and Caroline held her breath. Then, so abruptly that it caught her by surprise, the older woman gave a sharp nod. "You're on," she said, standing up.

"There's a vehicle out back behind the house that I think still runs. You drive."

The vehicle turned out to be a vintage Ford pickup that looked like it hadn't been driven in years. But there was gas in the tank, and with a little persuasion Caroline got it started.

They passed two groups of Greens at their bush-planting party as she drove down the narrow road.

One or two of the workers glanced up as they passed, but no one seemed shocked or even particularly surprised to see their prisoner driving away with their Group Commander.

But then, Sylvia had said these were Laborers. Maybe matters involving Warriors was of no concern to them.

"Which way do I go?" she asked as they reached the end of the drive.

"Left," Sylvia said. "I'm told there's a small diner just before you reach town that might suit us."

"As long as they have decent food," Caroline said, turning onto the highway. "You're going to join me, aren't you?"

She heard Sylvia's snort even over the growling engine. "You weren't expecting me to let you go in alone, were you?"

"No, I meant were you going to eat with me," Caroline corrected. "You know: share a meal together?"

"Does this come under that same heading of firsthand knowledge?"

"It comes under the heading of hospitality," Caroline said. "I just want to try to understand you people."

"Why?"

"Because I like Melantha," Caroline told her. "I'd like to be able to appreciate the rest of her people, too."

"And it's hard to appreciate freaks of nature who can climb inside trees?"

"It's hard to appreciate people who kidnap us," Caroline said tiredly, quietly conceding defeat. If Roger did his best to avoid confrontations, Sylvia clearly went out of her way to create them.

For a few minutes the only sounds in the truck were those of the engine and road. "Did Nikolos tell you how many Warriors we have?" Sylvia asked at last.

Caroline searched her memory. "I think he said you had about sixty."

"Did he also tell you we're facing nearly seven hundred Grays?"

Caroline swallowed. "No."

"And unlike us, all of them can pick up hammerguns and fight if they want to," Sylvia said. "Even if we assume a Green Warrior can handle four or five untrained Grays, the odds are still badly against us. I'm not here to be liked, Caroline, by you or anyone else. My job is to do whatever is necessary to give my people their best chance to survive."

"We don't want you destroyed," Caroline said earnestly. "All we want is to find a way to keep Melantha alive."

"So do we all," Sylvia murmured. "Right now, the threat of her Gift is all that keeps the Grays from attacking."

Caroline grimaced. That wasn't what she'd meant at all, and Sylvia knew it.

The grimace turned into a frown. Or did she know it? Was Sylvia so fixated with her job that she was incapable of seeing Melantha or anyone else except in military terms?

She looked sideways at the older woman's profile in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. One of the original refugees, she'd said, which probably put her somewhere in her eighties or nineties. How many of those years been spent out here in the woods, with only a handful of Laborers and fellow Warriors to keep her company? Had she ever married and had a family? Did she have any genuine friends, or only colleagues?

How much of her life had she sacrificed in the name of her Gift?

She turned back to the winding road, an odd sensation prickling across the back of her neck. Ever since this whole thing had started she had felt angry at the Greens, or distrustful of them, or simply flat-out frightened of them. Now, for the first time, she was starting to feel sorry for them.

"There," Sylvia said, pointing at a small lighted sign ahead. "That's the place."

"Right," Caroline said, slowing and turning into the lot. She eyed the two other cars already there as she maneuvered the pickup into a parking space, wondering if having witnesses around would make Sylvia rethink the whole idea.

But Sylvia said nothing as Caroline turned off the engine. They climbed out of the truck, and walked across the lot and into the diner.

Inside, the place was exactly what Caroline had expected: a reasonably modern restaurant disguised as a nostalgic relic of the fifties. A sign said to seat themselves, and Caroline led the way past the other two occupied tables to one of the booths in the back. Sylvia took the far side, the seat that gave her a view of the rest of the diner, as Caroline slipped into the one facing her. The aromas made her empty stomach growl impatiently.

"I presume you read English," Caroline said, pulling a pair of menus from the clip at the end of the table and handing Sylvia one.

"Perfectly," Sylvia said, a little frostily, as she took the menu and opened it. "I've just never been in a restaurant before."

"Really?" Caroline asked. "Not even one of the Green restaurants?"

Sylvia shook her head. "I've only been to the city a few times." She gestured to the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"What did you have at Aleksander's?" Caroline asked, glancing down the menu. "Roger said you were sitting down to eat when he got there."

"I've had lamb, fish, rice, various vegetables, and bread," Sylvia told her. "I suppose I should use this opportunity to extend myself."

"In that case, you should probably go with either a steak, cheeseburger, or fried chicken," Caroline suggested. "Steaks tend to be iffy in places like this—sometimes very good, sometimes really bad.

But either of the other two should be fine."

"What are you having?"

"The cheeseburger and a side salad," Caroline said, closing her menu. "And a chocolate malt."

"Very well," Sylvia said, giving a curt and very military looking nod. "The chicken, then. Where do we go to get the food?"

"The server will bring it," Caroline said. "We just tell her what we want, and she'll go back to the kitchen and tell the cook."

"I see," Sylvia said. "Like eating at someone's homestead, except that there are choices?"

"Something like that," Caroline said. "We pay at the end, too. I'll handle that part."

"Yes," Sylvia murmured. "Will you handle the food requests, as well?"

"Certainly, if you'd like." Caroline half-turned, hoping to catch the waitress's eye.

And froze. At the far end of the diner, strolling in through the doorway, were a pair of state police officers.

Carefully, trying to keep her movements casual, she turned back around. Sylvia was watching her, her jaw tight, a warning glint in her eyes. Caroline gave her a microscopic nod of reassurance in return.

There was the sound of bustling feet behind her. "Evening, ladies," a plump woman in a white apron said cheerfully as she set glasses of water in front of them. "Getting a bit brisk out there, isn't it? Do you need another minute?"

"No, we're ready," Caroline said, opening her menu again and reading off their order as the woman scribbled onto a pad. "—and one chocolate malt," she finished. "Unless you'd like one, too, Mom?" she added, lifting her eyebrows questioningly at Sylvia.

The older woman didn't even twitch. "Yes, I think I would," she said.

Caroline nodded. "Make that two."

"You got it," the waitress said, making one final notation and finishing off with a flourish. "I'll put this in and get started on your malts." With a smile, she bustled off.

" 'Mom'?" Sylvia asked dryly.

"I thought it might make things simpler," Caroline told her, replacing the menus in their clip. "A

woman and her mother out for an evening together are automatically above suspicion."

"I'll take your word for it," Sylvia said. "You know your people better than—"

She broke off, her gaze slicing through the air over Caroline's shoulder. Caroline started to turn around—

"Evening, ladies," an authoritative male voice said. "You two own that red Ford pickup out there?"

Steeling herself, Caroline put on her real estate agent's poker face and finished the turn she'd started.

One of the two state troopers was standing over her, one hand casually on his hip. "Yes," she confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

"I noticed kind of a smell around it on our way in," the cop said. "Are your emissions tests up to date?"

Caroline flashed a look at Sylvia—"Of course they are," the older woman said calmly. "The papers are in the glove box."

"Would you mind showing them to me?" the cop asked.

"Not at all." Sylvia looked at Caroline. "Would you get them for him, please?"

It took Caroline a second to find her voice. "Sure," she managed. Untangling her feet from the table supports, she slid out of the booth. With the cop at her side, she started down the diner toward the door, her mind suddenly spinning at top speed.

Because this might be her best chance to get away. Maybe her only chance, in fact. These troopers would have no connection to any of the local police departments that the Greens might have subtly poisoned or subverted over the years. Once she was outside with them, she could identify herself as a kidnap victim and ask for help. They'd have to take her seriously, at least enough to get her out of here while they made further inquiries. They could be gone before Sylvia and her Shriek could even make it to the door.

Sylvia.

Caroline's lip twisted, the sudden mixture of uncertainly and hope dying quietly within her. Sylvia was a Group Commander, with presumably some of the same tactical Gift Nikolos himself possessed. She would hardly have suggested Caroline go outside alone unless there was a backup plan already in place.

The cop pushed open the diner door for her, and Caroline stepped out into the cold night air. No, she and the cop weren't alone out here. Whether Sylvia had somehow set this up herself, or whether she'd just taken the opportunity when it presented itself, this was surely a test.

And with a chill in her heart, Caroline realized that if she flunked, that would be the end of it. Sylvia would probably never speak to her again, at least not on anything except official Warrior business.

She would never allow Caroline off the Green estate again for a meal like this, either, and she would most certainly never join her.

And she would continue to consider humans as lesser beings not worth a second thought as she prepared for war.

They crossed the lot to the pickup, and Caroline unlocked the passenger side. "I'm not sure exactly where she keeps it," she told the cop, reaching into the glove box and pulling out a small travel folder. "Let's see..."

"Here," the cop offered helpfully, pulling out a flashlight and shining it on the papers.

The emissions certificate was the third one down. "Here it is," she said, sliding it out and holding it up for his inspection.

"Thanks," the cop said, nodding. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother," Caroline assured him, putting everything back and closing the truck door again. "This old thing does get pretty pungent sometimes."

The other cop met them halfway back to the diner, holding two carryout cups of coffee. "You ready, Carl?" he asked.

"Yeah," the cop said, stopping and taking one of the cups. "Have a good evening, ma'am."

With that, they headed toward their squad car. "You, too," Caroline murmured after them. Shivering once, she glanced at the row of silent trees lining the parking lot and went back inside.

The malts had been delivered in her absence, and Sylvia was sipping thoughtfully at hers through a straw. "Did you find the certificate he needed?" she asked as Caroline rejoined her in the booth.

"Yes," Caroline assured her, unwrapping her straw. "It all seems to be in order."

"Good." Sylvia gestured to her glass. "Interesting drink, this."

"It's very popular among my people," Caroline said, taking a sip. It was rich and thick, as only a homemade malt could be. "You were taking something of a chance there, weren't you?" she added casually.

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," Caroline said. "Having one of your Warriors use the Shriek on a couple of state cops would have bought you far more attention than you would have liked. Especially since Roger will probably be raising various roofs himself sometime in the next few hours. If someone made the connection between his story and that of these cops, you could have had all sorts of unwanted visitors descending on you."

Sylvia eyed her over the malt. "Yet you said nothing."

"Are you guessing about that?" Caroline countered. "Or are you admitting you have someone on guard out there?"

The other smiled wryly. "Touche," she said. "Is that the correct term? Touche?"

"It is," Caroline assured her. "Is that a yes?"

Sylvia pursed her lips. "I misjudged you," she admitted. "You're smarter than you let on. Also more... sympathetic, I think."

Caroline shrugged. "We took in a girl we didn't even know and tried to protect her," she pointed out.

"We're obviously suckers for people in trouble."

"Yet we're the ones who tried to kill her," Sylvia reminded her. "You might not feel so sympathetic toward us."

"You're still people in trouble," Caroline said. "And we still want to help."

Sylvia didn't reply.

The waitress appeared a minute later with their food, and they set to with a will. Sylvia's first tentative nibbles at her chicken quickly became larger bites, with the mashed potatoes and gravy getting an equally quick and enthusiastic vote of approval. Caroline attempted to probe a little into the history and organization of the Green estate as they ate, but learned nothing except that they'd owned the property since 1932. Most of the conversation ended up centered on Caroline, with Sylvia skillfully drawing out her life story in general and the events of the past week in particular.

Caroline also had to deflect three separate attempts to learn who exactly it was who had given Melantha to them that fateful Wednesday evening. "I don't know why you're so determined to protect him," Sylvia said a bit crossly after her third and least subtle probe. "We know Melantha's parents weren't involved, so it can't be out of any perceived loyalty to her family."

"I just don't want to see someone punished for saving her life," Caroline said evasively.

Sylvia shook her head. "You have it backwards. We, of all the Greens, would be the most grateful for the saving of her life. My concern is for her current safety; and knowing who took her might help us learn where she is." She shook her head. "I just hope Roger isn't foolish enough to tell the police that she's here. If he does, the Grays are bound to hear about it."

"You think they'd attack?" Caroline asked, frowning.

"Of course they would," Sylvia said in a tone of strained patience. "This place is our last hope, the refuge where any survivors would be gathered together. If they took it away from us, we would have no choice but to face them in Manhattan, where all the advantages are theirs."

"But this is hardly the last place in the country where there are forests," Caroline objected. "How could the Grays taking this particular plot of land hurt you?"

"Because this particular plot is ours," Sylvia said quietly. "Would you want to live in someone else's home the rest of your life? Or, worse, in an anonymous hotel room somewhere?"

Caroline grimaced. "Not really."

"Neither do we." Sylvia set her last chicken bone back onto the plate and began wiping her fingers.

"We need to get back."

"I suppose," Caroline said. "No, no," she added as Sylvia reached for the small shoulder bag she'd brought in with her. "My treat, remember?"

"I've reconsidered," Sylvia said. "I've decided I wouldn't be a fitting host if I allowed you to do that."

"I insist," Caroline said, producing her credit card. "I invited you to dinner, and it wouldn't be hospitable for me to let you pay. If you'd like, you can think of it as compensation for that chair we burned."

Sylvia snorted. "That chair has been ready for the fire since 1968," she said. But she nevertheless let the shoulder bag fall back to her side. "Very well, then, I accept. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Caroline said, turning halfway around and gesturing to the waitress.

The Laborers they'd passed on their way out of the estate were nowhere to be seen as Caroline maneuvered the pickup back up the winding drive. "Very neat," she complimented Sylvia as they passed the spot where the Warrior had first stopped them. "I know that side road was right there, and I still can't see a thing."

"Green Laborers are the best workers in the world," Sylvia said proudly. "I only wish I had more of them to work with."

"How many do you have?"

"Only twenty," the other said. "And we have a smattering of the other Gifts, too."

"Ah," Caroline said, her mind flashing back to that last confrontation with Nikolos and the name he'd accidentally dropped. "And Damian? Which is his Gift?"

There was a short pause. "Damian?" Sylvia asked, her voice suddenly odd. "Who's that?"

"I assumed you knew," Caroline said. "Nikolos mentioned him back in the cabin."

Sylvia hissed softly between her teeth. "Did he, now. That was... unfortunate."

Caroline frowned at her. "Why? Who is he?"

"No one who concerns you," Sylvia said evenly, pointing as Caroline drove around the final curve and came within sight of the house. "Park in back of the house. Then I'll show you to your room."

Caroline's room turned out to be a third-floor suite at the back of the house's central section, with a private bathroom, a multi-angled ceiling, and two expansive dormer windows. It smelled slightly of age, but otherwise seemed freshly cleaned and made up. "I trust you'll be comfortable here," Sylvia said as she went around the room turning on lights. "If you need anything, just come downstairs and find someone."

"No guard posted at my door?" Caroline asked, trying to make it a joke.

"I think you've proved we can trust you, at least a little." Sylvia smiled faintly. "Besides, you know as well as I do that you wouldn't get very far."

"And I still want to learn more about you and your people," Caroline countered. "Thank you for letting us go to dinner tonight."

"You're welcome," Sylvia said. "Perhaps we can do it again before you leave us."

"I'd like that," Caroline told her. "Good night."

"Good night." Sylvia bowed slightly and left, closing the door behind her.

It had been a long day, full of tension and fear and emotion, and the first thing Caroline did after she'd pulled the shades was to head straight to the bathroom for a good soak. The tub was an oldfashioned cast-iron job, deep and wide, set up off the floor on little molded feet. The water-heating system, fortunately, had apparently been upgraded since the tub was installed, and once the hot water finally made it up three floors there seemed to be plenty of it. A few minutes later, she was soaking gratefully in the steaming water.

And as she soothed away the lingering tightness in her muscles, she tried to sort out what exactly was going on. And, more importantly, where exactly she stood in the middle of it.

She and Roger had obviously been right about the Greens having a forest hideaway. But how many of the rest of the Greens actually knew about it was another question entirely. Aleksander had certainly never hinted that they had any recourse but to make their stand in Manhattan. Had he deliberately left out this fallback position for security reasons, or to bolster his argument for wanting Melantha back?

Or was Nikolos the one who was playing games with this place, possibly against Sylvia as well as everybody else?

And where did Damian fit into this? Nikolos had seemed chagrined that he'd let the name slip, and Sylvia had reacted even more strongly. That implied he was someone important.

But who?

She scooped up some of the hot water in her cupped hands and rubbed it across her face. It didn't matter, really, at least not to her. Whoever Damian was, there was little she could do about it here.

What she could do was continue the path she'd started on tonight. If she could nurture her new relationship with Sylvia—if she could spark even a little empathy toward the humans Nikolos might soon order her and her Warriors to kill—maybe the Command-Tactician who had quietly defied Cyril's peacemaking authority might find himself facing a minor rebellion of his own.

Leaning back in the tub, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. She could only hope she would have enough time to teach Sylvia what it meant to be human.