Page 52 of The Last Kelpie

“Then we'll investigate further.” Julian's tone was soothing. “But let's not assume malice when incompetence might be to blame. Someone made a mistake. We'll find out who and correct it.”

Agnes looked as if she wanted to argue. Instead, she picked up the ledger and headed for her desk at the entrance to the Archive.

Julian watched her go, then turned to me. “She takes the Archive's integrity personally.”

“She should.” I couldn't help it. I was angry. The Great Archive was the most important part of the Velasca. It held the written myths. It should have been more secure than a prison. “If someone can remove a book without proper authorization—”

“If.” Julian held up a hand. “We don't know that's what happened. Give it time, Ethan. These things usually resolve themselves.”

“I don't have much time, Julian.” Áedán leveled a hard stare on Julian.

I took his hand and faced Julian with him.

“I know.” Julian's calm facade cracked, and his eyes twitched with pain. “But I don't think one missing book is going to change things.”

“How many books go missing from the Archive every year?” I raised an eyebrow.

Julian glanced at our joined hands. “Not many.” He held up his hand before I spoke. “I will continue looking for the missing journal. But there is rarely one copy of a book. You have the title, Ethan. Maybe you could find mention of it in other books?”

“You're right!” I let go of Áedán's hand and hurried toward the Scottish Collection, Áedán close behind.

“Good luck!” Julian called after us.

I spent the next three hours searching through related materials, looking for any mention of the Kilmartin Journal. I even looked for a copy online, but it was a rare book that had never been copied. Áedán fetched us dinner, including tea and a plate of shortbread that Mateo had insisted we needed to fortify our endeavors.

“Any luck while I've been gone?” Áedán settled into the chair beside me, close enough that our knees touched, and took a bite of his fish.

“No.” I gestured at the stack of books to my right. “I found several references to Kilmartin as a location—standing stones, ancient settlements, the usual. But nothing about the journal itself.”

“Maybe that's the point.” Áedán picked up one of the books, a nineteenth-century survey of Scottish folklore. “If someone wanted to hide information aboot kelpies, they'd start by removing the primary sources.”

“But why?” I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion creeping in. “What's in that journal that's worth stealing?”

“The truth, probably.” He set the book down and ate another forkful of fish. “The version of us that doesn't fit the monster narrative.”

“I don't think so. There are lots of books containing the original stories. Why leave all of those behind?”

“I don't know, but you need to eat.” Áedán pushed my plate toward me. “Now, Ethan.”

I gave in and ate. Every time I glanced at a book, Áedán growled at me. Even after I finished, he insisted I have a cookie before I got back to work. Luckily, Zoe showed up as I was finishing my cookie and took Áedán off for some fresh air, saying, “Kelpies shouldn't spend so much time indoors.”

With them gone, I sank into my work without interruption. Unfortunately, research can only continue as long as you have sources to investigate. My sources were limited. In other words, I ran out of books.

It was late by then anyway, and Áedán had yet to return. So I put the books away (no one had touched the mess we'd left the night before). On my way back to the table, I noticed Agnes standing beside the shelf where the Kilmartin Journal should have been. She had one hand extended, her fingers hovering over the empty space. She wasn't searching. Wasn't checking the surrounding volumes. She was just standing there, perfectly still, her hand tracing the absence.

I stopped walking. Something about the moment felt private, as if I were witnessing something I shouldn't. Then she noticed me. Her hand dropped. For a moment, we just looked at each other.

“The Archive remembers everything.” Her voice was soft, almost conversational. “Every book that's ever passed through its doors. Every hand that's touched them. Every word that's been read within these walls.” Agnes's gaze returned to the shelf. “The enchantments aren't just protective, they're also preserving.” She paused, her finger returning to trace the gap between the books. “Which means someone wanted this forgotten.”

The words hung in the air between us.

A shiver soured my stomach. “You think someone deliberately removed it. Not just took it out. They removed it from the Archive's memory.”

“I think someone tried.” Her expression turned troubled. Not confused or uncertain—troubled. “But the Archive is as old as the Velasca itself. Caelum laid the first wards into these walls himself. You can't simply erase something from its memory without leaving scars.”

“What kind of scars?”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw something in her eyes that made my stomach drop. Fear. Agnes Whitlock, who could reduce senior Velascans to nervous children with a single glance, was afraid.