Page 72 of The Last Kelpie

“You cannot improve porridge by adding whiskey.” Mateo's arm shot out, and his hand slashed above the bowl.

“You can improve anything by adding whiskey.” Brannoc's beard bristled with indignation. “It's a scientific fact.”

“It's a dwarven delusion.”

“Same thing.”

Mateo threw his hands in the air and stormed off.

At the next table over, Zephyr had his front paws up on the bench, his eagle eyes fixed on a plate of bacon that belonged to Professor Hassan. The moment Hassan looked down at his book, Zephyr's beak darted forward.

“Zephyr!” Mateo's voice cracked across the hall like a whip. “If you steal one more piece of bacon, I'm banning griffins from the dining hall forever.”

Zephyr froze, a strip of bacon dangling from his beak. He looked at Mateo with an expression of profound innocence, as if to say he had no idea how the bacon had gotten there.

Hassan sighed and pushed his plate toward the griffin. “Just take it. You've already contaminated it with your beak.”

Zephyr chirped happily, devoured the bacon in two bites, and snatched another.

I felt Áedán relax beside me. The normalcy of it all, the comfortable chaos, was a balm to the wound his years alone had left. We went to the pass-through window, filled our breakfast plates, and swung by the beverage station to pour our drinks. We found seats near Mei Lin, who was explaining something to Eleanor about a festival she wanted to organize.

“We could do it in the spring.” Mei Lin motioned expressively. “Invite some of the local myths. Make it a proper celebration.”

“As long as you don't invite the pixies again.” Eleanor grimaced. “They stole half the silverware last time.”

“They were just borrowing it.”

“For six months?”

Áedán laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was bright and genuine, and I felt something in my chest unclench. He caught my eye and smiled, and for a moment, the fear from that morning seemed very far away.

After we finished breakfast, Caelum appeared at our table. The summer-green leaves in his auburn hair rustled as he came to a stop. His gaze settled on Áedán. “Would you walk with me?”

Áedán glanced at me.

I nodded. “I'll be in the Archive. Take your time.”

“All right.” Áedán stood up.

They left together, Caelum's hand resting lightly on Áedán's shoulder as they walked toward the doors. I watched them go as I got up and gathered our plates. I had already gone through every kelpie book in the Archive, but I wanted to skim through them again in case I had missed the spiral symbol sketched in a margin. I knew now that the water had shown us that symbol twice for a reason. I'd been thinking about it since Ed had asked if the water had changed. I wasn't sure, but I didn't think the water had been tampered with. I was more inclined to believe that the water's vanishing memories were a natural response to the changed stories. It had shown Áedán the spiral to warn him. He had a connection to the water. Of course, it would try to tell him what was happening, and it would do so in the only way it knew how to communicate with him—visually.

I put our plates, utensils, and mugs in the bins near the kitchen, then headed to the Great Archive. It was just to the right of the main hall's back door. I angled around to the front and stepped inside.

The Archive was quiet when I entered. Agnes was at her desk, on her computer. I nodded to her and made my way to the kelpie books within the Scottish Collection. After gathering a few, I took them to a table, brought out my notebook, opened it to my sketch of the spiral, and started searching.

After a few minutes, I realized how foolish my search was. The original kelpie books remained unchanged. It was only after a second or third publication that the changes showed up. So, of course I wouldn't find the spiral in them. I quickly changed course and went looking for books on ancient symbols and prehistoric art. There were computers set up on pedestals around the first floor, with a search portal for the Archive. So, I didn't have to an archivist to find the section I needed. I took a few books and returned to my table. An hour later, I still had nothing. Frustrated, I sat back and glared at the spiral. It was so simple. How could it cause so much harm?

“What is that?”

I looked up. Agnes stood beside the table, her pale blue eyes fixed on my sketch. She'd moved so quietly I hadn't heard her approach.

“That's what I'm trying to figure out.” I picked up the notebook and handed it to her. “I saw it in the water twice, once in a pond and once underwater within some standing stones in Loch Lomond. Then I saw it in an altered manuscript. I've been searching for it in these books on symbols, but I can't find it. The only spirals in it are whole.”

Agnes lifted my notebook and frowned at the spiral. “If it's a mark of alteration, you wouldn't find it in the Archive.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Archive is protected.” She straightened, adjusted her spectacles, and handed me the notebook. “Magically protected. Nothing changes the books in here. Not in condition or content. If someone is using this symbol to magically alter stories, it would only appear in texts outside these walls.”