SHADES of GREEN ↬ m. wheeler

XIX. RECONCILIATION

CHAPTER NINETEEN
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❝RECONCILIATION❞

　
　

JADE LEANED AGAINST the house, her sneakers buried beneath the snow. She clasped a mug of hot-chocolate between her hands; Karen had managed to talk her into it, and Jade did not regret it. It felt almost alien to feel warmth surge in her chest, a warmth that did not come from within her veins.

　Only a couple of hours had passed since Jade had first entered the Wheeler house. Between that time, Mike had called Lucas and Max, and they had both arrived within minutes. That was the easy part. However, Jade's supervision had been absolutely required when the time had come for Mike to call Dustin.

　Dustin had made no promises, but he had not declined the invitation either. Now it was just a matter of waiting—for Jade, at least. Mike was enjoying himself, teaming up with Lucas and Will against Steve; they were gathering snowballs and hurling them at the quickest pace they could manage. Extra points if they could knock down Steve's hair.

　Nancy and Jonathan seemed to be amused as well, arcing their arms and legs against the snow, creating the shapes of winged angels. Although she thought about it all the time anyway, the sight reminded Jade of the boy she had saved. His voice echoed in her mind.

　I died, and I saw Jesus, and He said that I was coming back.

　Jade knew the stories. She knew of God's earthly son, Jesus Christ, who had worked wonders. According to the Bible (and Sarah Oaks' knowledge of it), Jesus had given sight to the blind, had cured disease and disability and evil. He had returned life, to others and even to himself.

　She remembered the first words the boy had said: Thank God. She had wanted to say that she wasn't God, not for the selfish desire for credit, but because it had almost seemed as though he had been directing the words to her, and she didn't want it to even sound like she was being compared to God. Still, it was odd...

　Jade's memories of Genesis Oaks, her father's mother, were faint. But one of Jade's most prominent memories of her grandmother was the woman's intricate stories. Jade still dreamed, sometimes, of a lush green land, of hills studded with rare flowers and entirely new species of animals and insects hidden in trees and sparkling waters. She saw the tall, beautiful people of this land, with glowing eyes and the hands of warriors. There was a castle, too, one that didn't look it but could fit all of Earth's people inside.

　Some of Genesis' stories had been darker, however. Stories of cold enemies, monsters and evil. They all coincided with the dream world of hers, whose residents existed to protect Earth against certain evil. Stories of fire and darkness, of life and death. Jade thought that, if Genesis had ever wanted to become a writer, she definitely could have given Stephen King a run for his money.

　Jade had been a small child when her grandmother was alive, so young that she could not remember most of the stories. She did, however, remember the one about a time when a broken-hearted woman had used necromantic magic to raise her lost daughter. It had been one of the worst stories Genesis had ever told, and Jade now wondered why she ever would have thought it wise to tell such a story to a small child.

　The story had ended in tragedy, but Genesis had said something at the end of it. Jade tried to remember it word-for-word, but Genesis had used terms that Jade didn't recognize. She had said something about only God possessing the power to raise the dead without upsetting the balance of nature, without causing chaos—only God and those He chose to grant the gift, if it was necessary.