Murphy lives in a teeny little house that belonged to her grandmother. It was just a single story, with two bedrooms, a living room, and a little kitchen. It was meant for one person to live in, or possibly a couple with a single child. It was certainly overloaded by the mob of Wardens who had descended on the place. Luccio’s reinforcements had arrived.

There were four Wardens in the little living room, all of them grizzled veterans, two young members in the kitchen, and I was sure that there were at least two more outside, standing watch behind veils. I was challenged for a password in an amused tone by one of the young Wardens when I came in the kitchen door. I told him to do something impolite, please, and asked him where Luccio might be.

“That’s anatomically unlikely,” the young man replied in a British accent. He poured a second cup of steaming tea and said, “Drink up. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

I was sipping tea and sitting at Murphy’s table when Luccio came in a few minutes later. “Give us the room, please, Chandler, Kostikos.”

The younger men cleared out to the living room—a polite illusion, really. The house was too small to provide much in the way of privacy.

Luccio poured herself a cup of tea and sat down across from me.

I felt my shoulders tense up a little. I forced myself to remain quiet, and sipped more tea.

“I’m concerned,” Luccio said quietly, “about the Archive.”

“Her name is Ivy,” I said.

She frowned. “That’s…part of my concern, Harry. Your personal closeness with her. It’s dangerous.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Dangerous? I’m in danger because I’m treating her like a real person?”

Luccio grimaced as if tasting something bitter. “Frankly? Yes.”

I thought about being diplomatic and polite. Honest, I really did. But while I was thinking about it, I accidentally bumped the button that puts my mouth on autopilot, because it said, “That’s a load of crap, Captain, and you know it.”

Her expression went still as the whole of her attention focused on me. “Is it?”

“Yes. She’s a kid. She’s alone. She’s not some computer database, and it’s inhuman to treat her like one.”

“Yes,” Luccio said bluntly. “It is. And it’s also the safest way to deal with her.”

“Safest for who?” I demanded.

Luccio took a sip of tea. “For everyone.”

I frowned down at my cup. “Tell me.”

She nodded. “The Archive…has been around for a long time. Always passed down in a family line, mother to daughter. Usually the Archive is inherited by a woman when she’s in her early to mid-thirties, when her mother dies, and after she’s given birth to her own daughter. Accidents are rare. Part of the Archive’s nature is a drive to protect itself, a need to avoid exposing the person hosting it to risk. And given the extensive knowledge available to it, the Archive is very good at avoiding risky situations in the first place. And, should they arise, the power available to the Archive generally ensures its survival. It is extremely rare for the host of an Archive to die young.”