Chapter Twenty-Seven
Julian met us at the airport. He didn't ask questions, just helped us load the luggage into the trunk and backseat and then drove us to the estate.
The sun was setting by the time we passed through the gates.
The metal arch with its inscription—Ne Obliviscaris—caught the last of the light.
Do not forget. The words felt heavier now than they had before, more of a warning than a motto.
Caelum was waiting outside when we drove up.
He helped us carry the luggage into the Great Archive.
Agnes jumped up from her desk when she saw us.
Her face flushed as she followed us, her gaze on the luggage.
As soon as we set them down on a few tables, she rushed to one, opened it, and her breath left her with a sigh.
“Dear God,” Julian murmured.
“Show me the books of lies.” Caelum sat down at a table.
We opened all the suitcases. I pulled out the modern books while Agnes carefully began to remove the scrolls. I set the seven books before Caelum, laid in a line, so he could look at each of them. He inhaled sharply. On every cover was that spiral. Caelum stared at it as if it were a snake.
Caelum set a finger on the first book and slid it closer. He opened it and stared at the name written at the top of the first page. “Agnes, would you retrieve one of Velas's journals? The one from 1486, I believe.”
Agnes disappeared into the Archive without question. The rest of us waited in silence. áedán's hand slipped into mine, his fingers colder than normal. I leaned into him, sharing my warmth. Caelum turned the page. Nearby, Julian scowled at the books.
When Agnes returned, she carried a leather-bound journal. She set it beside the modern book Caelum was reading. Caelum opened the journal. His gaze went back and forth between the books. He turned a page in each and continued in that manner for several minutes.
I read over Caelum's shoulder. Velas's journal contained notes about a forest spirit in what would become Germany.
There were lists of sources—oral and written accounts as well as regional variations.
There was also a careful analysis of which elements appeared consistently across all versions, and which were later additions.
The core truth, Velas had written, emerges when you strip away the embellishments, like revealing bone beneath flesh.
I looked at the modern book, noting the way the words didn't just add things, but also changed the core of the stories. “Oh, God,” I whispered.
“You see it.” Caelum leaned back in his chair and looked at me.
“It's the same process.” My hands were shaking. “Velas developed a method for finding the truest version of a myth. He gathered every source he could find, then carefully removed the newer additions until only the original remained.”
“And whoever wrote these—” Agnes hovered a finger over the modern book, as if it might burn her.
“Reversed it.” áedán stared at the books, his face drained of all expression. “They took the original and twisted it with additions, one word at a time.”
Caelum nodded slowly. “They aren't inventing monsters. They're editing reality.”
The words hung in the air between us. I thought about Edmund Ashford's printer's proof, about the careful changes marked in red ink.
Each change had been small enough to seem insignificant.
But together, they transformed an entire myth.
The same had been done with áedán's life.
Editing reality. Yes, that was it. That was the subtle difference I hadn't noticed.
This wasn't just changing human belief about a written myth, it was also changing the myth itself—not by making the myth forget, but by making them remember something else.
Change the story, and you change the myths it birthed.
“áedán wasn't affected until he read the lies about himself.” I looked at Caelum. “So, as long as he stays away from that book, will he be all right?”
“I don't know.” Caelum opened each book until he found áedán's.
Then he frowned and looked at another book.
“I remember this myth.” He flipped through the book.
“The Velascan assigned to her assumed her stories had changed naturally over time. But this proves him wrong.” He looked at áedán.
“I believe when you read the lies about yourself, you quickened the spell, giving it direct access to your memories. If you had never found the book, the stories would have been printed, and the lies read by humans—the source of our existence. The effect would have been the same, but slower.” He shifted his gaze to me.
“Will áedán be all right? Yes, I think he will recover, as long as we destroy this spell.”
“You can destroy it?” My heart leapt.
“I believe so.” Caelum held up his hand.
“This will not stop the changes already made to the kelpie myth. We will have to continue fighting them through traditional means. But it should stop the lies from settling into áedán, and that should slow down his fading.” He turned toward Agnes. “The box, if you please.”
Grim-faced, Agnes nodded and then headed toward the back of the Archive.
Julian looked relieved, and that calmed me. Breaking the spell wouldn't solve everything, but it would help áedán. It would slow his fading until we could destroy the new kelpie stories. While we waited, I took one of the older books to Caelum.
“These are different. They have that spiral on the cover and the truth-sentence, but they tell good stories. “ I opened one of the older books and set it before him.
Caelum scanned a few pages, noted the sentence at the end of a story, and nodded. “I'm assuming this was the work of a group of individuals who passed their knowledge down to others who then continued the work. They began as benevolent guardians, but through the years, that must have changed.”
“Or maybe the group who once used the spiral and sentence died out, and this evil editor twisted their work.” Julian's gaze swept over the suitcases full of books. “At least it appears to have begun relatively recently.”
Looking at Caelum, I said, “You were right.
This editor rewrote books from the past. They altered the folklorist's memories because they came into direct contact with him, but it didn't affect Moira because that would mean changing her entire life.” Then I remembered Ed's printer's proof again. “The red ink!”
“What red ink?” Julian asked.
“In Ed's book.” áedán nodded. “It wasn't old. That printer's proof was faded, but the alterations weren't.”
“The editor made them recently.” Caelum frowned. “Perhaps they paid your friend a visit.”
A shiver ran down my back as the image of Ed and little Tommy came to mind.
That someone had invaded their home and editted Ed's work, maybe even his memories, was terrifying.
The editor hadn't just altered áedán's memories.
They'd altered Ed's too. And that meant .
. . “The editor's magic works on humans.”
“Of course it does,” Julian said. “Magic can target anything. It's not limited to myths.”
“Oh, yes, I understand.” I felt like an idiot.
áedán squeezed my hand, and I smiled sheepishly at him.
Agnes returned with a glass box about two feet across. Archaic symbols covered the glass panes, and silver framed them. A clasp at the top secured the lid. She set it down beside Caelum.
Caelum stood up and set the older book aside. “I'll read through the earlier manuscripts later. Right now, we need to focus on áedán.”
Caelum opened the glass box and set áedán's book inside. As he chanted something in a language I didn't recognize, he closed the lid. The silver frame began to glow. It brightened with every word Caelum spoke until I had to close my eyes against the glare. Then he went silent, and the light died.
I opened my eyes to find the box empty. Eyes wide and hopeful, I spun toward áedán. “How do you feel?”
áedán's gaze went distant for a moment, and then he smiled. “I remember saving those people. The false memories are gone!”
With a whoop, I pulled him into my arms. áedán bent his head over mine and sighed. It wasn't over, but at least his mind was free of that terrible magic.
Then Caelum's voice drew us apart. “I want the reports from every failed Velasca mission.”
áedán and I looked over to see Agnes nod once and head toward her desk. Julian followed her without being asked.
“How far do you think it goes back?” I asked. “There are only six other books.”
“That doesn't mean there aren't more. I have to be sure.”
Caelum picked up one of the modern books and turned it over in his hands. The broken spiral on the cover caught the light, the tail end severed as if someone had erased part of the pattern.
áedán and I sat down and waited as Caelum skimmed the book. Several minutes later, Agnes and Julian returned carrying boxes, set them down, and left for more. They made two more trips. As they did, Caelum opened the first box. Inside were thick files. He removed one and went through it.
“What are we looking for?” I took a file out of the box.
“That.” Caelum pointed at the spiral on a book cover.
áedán grabbed a file. We searched every photograph and sketch.
By the time Julian and Agnes had finished bringing the rest of the boxes, Caelum had found the first file with a spiral inside.
It was the same spiral with a separated tail.
He showed it to us. It was small, scribbled in the margin of a page.
The Velascan assigned to the case hadn't noticed it.
Agnes brought us magnifying glasses, and we all set to work. An hour later, we had found the myths from the modern books and four more. They had all faded within the last ten years.
“Oh, God,” Julian whispered. “It's been happening for years. No one but Ethan noticed.”
“We haven't found anything further back than a decade, though.” Caelum looked at the other boxes.
“Hopefully, these will be the last of them.” He looked at me.
“Unlike the books outside the Archive, these records can't be altered from the present.
So they'll give us an approximate date for when this began.”
áedán let out a soft sound and bent his head.
I pulled him close and tightened my arms when I felt him tremble.
Before us, the evidence of a conspiracy that had been running for at least a decade lay exposed in the lamplight.
Someone had been rewriting myths and getting away with it because the people who were supposed to protect myths hadn't noticed.
“We're going to stop this.” I leaned back to meet áedán's eyes. “We're going to find who's doing this and we're going to stop them.”
Caelum looked at me. Something in his expression shifted—approval, maybe.
Or hope. “Yes, we are. We know about them now, and we will find them.” He turned to Agnes and Julian.
“I want every Velascan notified about this. We need every eye watching for the editor, starting with those on assignment. Bring every lead to me, every sighting of that spiral or the truth-sentence. And call our friends in law enforcement. I want them looking too.”
“Which ones?” Agnes asked.
“All of them.”
“All of them in the U.K.?”
“All of them in the world. Notify the training centers and all our offices. The editor is a threat to everything we stand for.”
“That will take days,” Agnes said.
“Then start now. Get all the archivists to help you.” Caelum's voice was gentle but absolute. “We've lost too many already. We're not losing any more.”
Agnes nodded and hurried away. Julian shared a look with Caelum and did the same.
“Ethan.” áedán looked at me.
“We're all with you.” I took his hand. “You're going to be all right.”
Caelum looked up from the files. His eyes met mine across the table, and I saw something in them I hadn't seen before. Not just determination. Not just anger. Grief. “We should have seen this sooner. If not for you, Ethan, we might have gone another decade, maybe longer, before we noticed.”
“A fresh pair of eyes always helps.”
“That was more than a fresh perspective. You looked deeper. You worked harder. Thank you.” Caelum inclined his head to me.
“I had motivation.” I looked at áedán.
His gaze tightened, and he looked away. It felt like a rejection, and that tore my heart up. But I pushed aside the pain. It wasn't important. I was going to save áedán whether or not he loved me.
“It ends here.” Caelum stood up. “We're not losing you, áedán.”
áedán nodded. “I think I need some rest.”
“Of course. Ethan, look after him. He's had a shocking day. We'll talk more in the morning.”
“Okay.” I took áedán's hand and led him away.