Luccio frowned, disturbed. “Truly?”

“You had to have seen it,” I said. “I’ve never seen anyone…You had to have seen it.”

“If she’s that powerful,” Michael said quietly, “can she be contained?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “Absolutely. But it would take a greater circle—heavy-duty ritual stuff in a prepared location. And it would have to be freaking flawless, or she could break it.”

Molly screwed up her face in distress. “She won’t…won’t take one of the coins. Will she?” She glanced back and forth between Luccio and me and shrugged a little. “Because…it would be bad if she did.”

I looked at Michael. “The Fallen can’t just jump in and overwhelm someone, can they? Outright, nonconsensual possession?”

“Not normally,” Michael replied. “There are circumstances that can change that, though. Mentally damaged people can be susceptible to it. Other things can open a spirit to possession. Drugs, involvement with dark rituals, extended, deliberate contact with spiritual entities. A few other things.”

“Drugs,” I said tiredly. “Jesus.”

Michael winced.

“Sorry.”

“Even if a soul is made vulnerable to assault,” Michael said, “the mind and will can fight against an invasive spirit. Surely the Archive qualifies as a formidable mind and will.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that Ivy does. Since she was born she’s been the Archive. She’s never had a chance to develop her own mind, her own personality.” I stood up, shaking my head, and started to pace restlessly around the room. “She’s going to be helpless, probably for the first time since she could walk. Alone. Scared.” I looked at Michael. “You think that those…people…won’t know how to terrify a little girl?”

He grimaced and bowed his head.

“And then along comes the Fallen and tells her how it can help her. How it wants to be her friend. How it can make the bad people stop hurting her.” I shook my head and clenched my hands. “Maybe she’ll know the facts. But those facts aren’t going to be much comfort to her. They aren’t going to feel tr—”

I blinked and looked at Michael. Then Molly. Then I stormed past them into the kitchen and grabbed the pad of paper Charity kept stuck to the fridge with a magnet to use to make grocery lists. I found a pencil on top of the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table, writing furiously.

Ivy,

You are not alone.

Kincaid is alive. I’m all right. We’re coming after you.

Don’t listen to them. Hang on.

We’re coming.

You are not alone.

Harry

“Oh,” said Molly, reading over my shoulder. “That’s clever.”

“If it works,” Luccio said. “Will she know it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t know what else I can do.” I rubbed at my forehead. “Is there any food?”

“I made pot roast,” Molly said.

“But is there any food?”

She swatted me on the back of the head, though not too hard, and went to the refrigerator.

I made a sandwich out of things. I’m an American. We can eat anything as long as it’s between two pieces of bread. With enough mustard I almost couldn’t taste the roast. For a few minutes I paid attention to eating, and was hungry enough to actually enjoy part of the experience—the part where Molly’s pot roast finally terrified my growling stomach into silence.