around her daughter, pulling Molly in close to her side.
“He’s in recovery,” the doctor said. “The procedures went…” The doctor sighed. He looked at least as tired as either of the Carpenter women. “As well as could be expected. Better, really. I hesitate to make any claims at this point, but he seems to be stable, and assuming there are no complications in the next hour or two, I think he’ll pull through.”
Charity bit her lip hard. Molly threw her arms around her mother.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Charity whispered.
The doctor smiled wearily. “You should realize that…the injuries were quite extensive. It’s unlikely that he’ll be able to fully recover from them. Brain damage is a possibility—we won’t know until he wakes up. Even if that isn’t an issue, the other trauma was severe. He may need assistance, possibly for the rest of his life.”
Charity nodded calmly. “He’ll have it.”
“That’s right,” Molly said.
“When can I see him?” Charity asked.
“We’ll bring him up in an hour or two,” the doctor said.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Doc. Is he going to be on a respirator?”
“For the time being,” the doctor said. “Yes.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
The doctor nodded to us, and Charity thanked him again. He left.
“Okay, grasshopper,” I said. “Time for us to clear out.”
“But they’re going to bring hi— Oh,” Molly said, crestfallen. “The respirator.”
“Better not to take any chances, huh?” I asked her.
“It’s all right, baby,” Charity said quietly. “I’ll call home as soon as he wakes up.”
They hugged tightly. Molly and I started walking out.
“Oh,” Molly said, her voice very tired. “I did that homework.”
I felt pretty tired, too. “Yeah?”
She nodded and smiled wearily up at me. “Charlemagne.”
I called Thomas, and he gave me and Molly a ride to Murphy’s place.
The night was clear. The cloud cover had blown off, and the moon and the stars got together with the snow to turn Chicago into a winter wonderland months ahead of schedule. The snow had stopped falling, though. I suppose that meant Mab had turned her attention elsewhere. Thomas dropped me off a short distance away, and then left to drive the grasshopper back to her home. I covered the last hundred yards or so on foot.
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.”