“Your Stories are living Stories. That means that they are still in the process of being written,” the Librarian said. “It makes them extremely volatile. Only experts can handle such temperamental books, much less make the necessary updates.”

“What experts? Can we talk to them?” Otto asked.

The Librarian’s nostrils flared. Now he was definitely getting annoyed. “Absolutely not. The Editor’s work is delicate, and she does not like to be interrupted.”

“We couldn’t even take a look?” Pip pressed.

“No, you may not. The Editor is not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Now if that is all—”

“Yes, of course. We’re very sorry for bothering you,” Eleanor said quickly. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

“The youths these days,” the Librarian said to himself, and wafted out of the room with an air of deep aggrievement.

“I guess we have to find the Editor,” Pip said.

“I think I know where she is,” Eleanor replied. She crooked a finger to indicate the others should follow her, and walked out of the side room, back to the landing that wrapped around the outside of the library. She pointed across the way, to the huge spiral of shelves.

“What we need is in there,” she said. “Right in the center.” It sang to her, a humming along the threads of the world. There was something there. A secret way. The world-walker knew the way to secret things, and so Eleanor knew as well, as vividly as she knew her own name.

Except that wasn’t exactly true.

Because for one terrifying moment, as Eleanor looked toward the spiral and saw, somehow, the whole interior of it, all the pieces that were hidden from her eyes, she knew the spiral far better than she knew her own name.

For one moment, hardly the space of a heartbeat, she didn’t know her name at all.

Eighteen

“Keep an eye out for the Librarian,” Eleanor instructed Pip as they hurried across the walkway that connected the outer ring of the library to the inner spiral.

“Technically we’re not doing anything wrong,” Otto said. “He didn’t say to stay out of the spiral.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong yet,” Pip said, a little gleam in her eye.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” Thea asked. She held the hedgewitch’s hand once again. The hedgewitch did not seem thrilled about this but hadn’t pulled away.

“It’ll be okay,” Eleanor assured her. “Right now we’re just exploring.” Somewhere inside the spiral were the real Stories. Before they could figure out how to get them, they had to find them. The spiral wound and wound, the walls curling gradually tighter around them.

Categories were printed in tiny gold letters on the shelves. They passed lies—comforting and left-handed authors and has a dog in it. Otto read each one as they passed—out loud, until Pip shushed him.