Page 45 of The Last Kelpie

Instead of going to the Archive as I'd intended, I headed for the main hall. But as I did, movement caught my eye. Someone was standing at a fourth-floor window in the Archive, watching me. I stopped and squinted up at them. But they were gone.

Just another Velascan going about their day. The estate was full of people, after all. Or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I shrugged my shoulders and headed inside. I needed to find Áedán. The thought made my stomach clench, but I ignored it. We'd come here for help and answers, but so far, we'd only found more questions.

Chapter Fifteen

Instead of playing chess with Zoe, I found Áedán in the Archive, surrounded by books. It was where I was supposed to be, where I'd told him I'd be, and that brought on a twinge of guilt. But the guilt slipped away, drowned by infatuation as I looked at him. Áedán had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The sight of his forearms shouldn't have affected me the way it did. With his hair bound by a cord, his jawline and the column of his neck drew my gaze. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing back my desire before it became physical.

“There you are.” Áedán looked up with a welcoming smile. “Agnes showed me the kelpie books. So far, the stories recorded look accurate.”

Zephyr jumped onto a nearby table, his lion's tail swishing dangerously close to an illuminated manuscript left near the edge. Agnes appeared from between the stacks, gave the griffin a withering look, and relocated the manuscript to a safer spot on the table.

“Mr. Clarke.” She adjusted her spectacles as she returned to her work. “I trust you'll keep better control of your companion.”

“He didn't even touch it.” I motioned to Zephyr, but she was already gone. “And I fail to see how I'm responsible for him.”

The griffin sneezed and rolled onto his back, paws in the air. I reached out to scratch his furry belly. His purr was loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling.

I pulled my laptop out of my leather satchel and set it down on Áedán's table. “We should work chronologically forward so we don't miss anything.”

“Always so organized.” But Áedán was already reaching for a leather-bound volume, his fingers careful on the ancient pages. “This one's from 1342. Written by a monk who lived near Loch Awe.”

We settled into the work. The Archive was quiet except for the whisper of turning pages and the scratch of my pen. Light slanted through the tall windows, catching dust motes in golden shafts. This was my happy place—in a library, surrounded by piles of books. Áedán's presence only added to my joy. But Zephyr was unimpressed. He lasted approximately twenty minutes before he huffed, stretched, and bounded off toward the door.

“Looks like your friend is bored,” Áedán said without looking up.

“Probably for the best. Agnes did not look happy.”

“Listen to this.” He read, “'The water-horse came when the river flooded and guided the children to safety. The village gave thanks with flowers and songs.' No mention of drowning. No teeth or violence.”

I leaned closer to read over his shoulder and tried not to breathe too deeply. If I did, I might end up sighing over his smell. “Still accurate. Maybe we should go backward from the modern stories instead of starting with the past. Your clan didn't start fading until recently. So the change couldn't have happened too long ago.”

“You're right.” Áedán peered over the books until he found the oldest. He slid one to me and opened the other.

We flipped through the two books, scanning the stories. Nothing. After six more books, I sat back and sighed. Something felt off. So, I opened my laptop.

“What are you doing?” Áedán leaned closer.

“I have a weird feeling. I'm going to check something.” I drew a book to me and searched for it online. Then I frowned. “Damn it.”

“What?”

“I was just wondering if maybe the books were republished and the newer versions were different.”

Áedán went still. “Look up another.”

“Okay.” I grabbed another book and looked it up. “No, it's the same. It was just a thought.”

“Give this one a go.” He handed me another book.

I tried again. The book was written in 1943. I realized I'd been looking up the oldest books in our pile when I should have started with the more recent ones. Oh, well, I was already in the middle of it.

I brought up an online copy and scanned the book. “Holy shit.”

Áedán leaned closer. “I don't see it.”

“Right here.” I pointed at the page on the screen. It's just a little change. It portrays kelpies with red eyes. It's a single line, but it's wrong.”

He flipped open the physical book and brought up the same page. “In the name o' the wee man!”