Page 46 of The Last Kelpie

I blinked. “What?”

“Just a saying.” He looked at me. “You were right.”

I tapped the screen. “This book was republished with an altered version.”

“A wee change here, another there.” Áedán handed me another book. “Try this one.”

I looked up the book online. He leaned in closer, and we searched page by page for any discrepancies.

“There!” Áedán pointed. “It says kelpies have magic that can stick people to their backs. Page 213.” He flipped to the same page in the physical book. “It's different!”

“Small changes that no one notices.” I shook my head. “This is unbelievable.”

“Look at this one.” He grabbed a slender book from the pile to his right. “It's called 'The Kelpie's Revenge,' published in 1983.”

“The Kelpie's Revenge? That sounds bad as it is.”

“It's not. It's aboot a kelpie avenging a human who was robbed and beaten near his loch.”

“Oh, all right.” I looked up the book. “Oh, fuck. This is entirely bad.”

He read aloud in a theatrical voice, “'The beast rose from the depths, its eyes burning with hellfire, its mane dripping with the blood of children—'“

“That doesn't even make sense.” I made a face at the screen. “How could a kelpie's eyes burn and its mane drip blood when it was coming out of the water? And children? Really?”

“It gets better. Look. 'Its terrible hooves struck sparks from the stones as it galloped toward the screaming maiden—'“ He broke off, laughing. “Sparks. From hooves. On wet stones?”

I couldn't help smiling. “Maybe they were magic sparks.”

“Magic sparks.” He shook his head, still grinning. “The author clearly dinnae ken the first thing aboot combustion. And he certainly never met an actual kelpie. We dinnae gallop dramatically. We're much more subtle.”

“Subtle?” I raised an eyebrow. “You showed me your horse-form at our second meeting.”

“I knew you were a Velascan. And I wanted to make an impression.” He pointed at the screen. “Listen to this bollox, 'Its fangs dripped with venom, each tooth as long as a man's forearm.' Kelpies dinnae have fangs. We have normal teeth. Bonnie teeth, actually.”

He smiled at me, showing those bonnie teeth, and something warm unfurled in my chest.

I cleared my throat. “And your mouths aren't large enough to hold teeth that big. You'd have to be giant horses.”

“Writers always prefer dramatic lies to boring truths.” Áedán rolled his eyes and motioned at the screen once more. “Look at that. It claims kelpies can shoot fire from their nostrils.”

“Can you?”

“If I could shoot fire from my nose, do you think I'd have spent the last three centuries hiding in a loch?” He grinned at me. “I'd have become a circus attraction. Made a fortune.”

“Áedán the Fire-Breathing Kelpie.” I gave him an impressed nod. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“I'd need a top hat.” He mimed tipping an invisible hat. “Ladies and gentlemen, witness the most fearsome creature in all of Scotland—now with added pyrotechnics.”

I laughed, and he grinned at me. The Archive felt smaller suddenly. Cozier.

“How do you even know that word?”

Áedán made a face at me. “I read, Ethan.”

“Read! Oh, damn it all! We need to document this.” I pulled out my notebook.

“What's the laptop for, if not for taking notes?”