Chapter Six
I returned to the same spot the next evening with a notebook I didn't expect to use and a torch I kept switched off.
The sun had set an hour before. The mountains were black shapes against a sky still holding the last blue of twilight.
Beside me, the loch stretched out like hammered metal, dark and still. I searched for ripples.
All day, I'd gone back and forth about returning. Was it too obvious to go to the same location? Or was being obvious a good thing? áedán would know I was looking for him. But maybe I shouldn't push him like that. Finally, I'd given in to the urges and gone.
Back where I'd met áedán, I sat on the same flat rock where I'd stood the night before.
The stone was cold through my jeans. Even during August, night in Scotland meant layers, but I'd dressed too lightly.
My jacket wasn't enough. I pulled it tighter and waited, staring across the water, searching again for ripples.
I saw a few, but they were normal movements, not those that hinted at something large below. The ones I'd seen the night before.
Then he was there. Not walking up from the shore or emerging from the water. Just there, standing ten feet away in the grass, as if he'd materialized out of the darkness itself.
“You came back.” áedán came forward a few steps. “I wasnae sure you would.”
My mouth went dry, and I had to swallow before I could speak. “I wanted to see you again.”
He moved closer and stopped about five feet away. “Why?”
I shrugged.
áedán's gaze held mine. “You're staring.”
I looked away, heat rising in my face. “Sorry.”
“Dinnae fash yourself. I'm used to it.” He came forward and sat down on the rock beside me, cross-legged. “People stare at me a lot.”
I bit my lip. I'd been more honest than I'd intended but I was still hiding something. I didn't enjoy doing that to him. “What's your name?”
“áedán.” He pronounced it like a song. Ay-dawn. “So, you said that you're interested in folklore. Let me guess. You're writing a thesis. Something aboot water spirits. You've read all the books, studied all the accounts, and now you're here to see if any of it's real.”
“Something like that.”
“And is it?” He looked at me sideways. “Real?”
I made a face at him. “I only got here yesterday.”
He laughed. It was a beautiful sound, low and genuine. “You're right. Finding the truth takes time.” He turned toward me. “Tell me what you've learned aboot kelpies and I'll tell you if it's utter pish or not.”
My brain did what it always did when I was nervous—started cataloging facts.
“Kelpies are Scottish water spirits that take the form of horses.
They're associated with lochs and rivers. They were known to be guardians of the water. The name probably derives from the Scottish Gaelic cailpeach or colpach, meaning heifer or colt.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow.
“They killed people who polluted their water or committed violence near their shores. They were beloved by the people who lived around their lochs.”
“That's not the story I've heard lately.”
“It isn't? I've seen a few odd things in Luss. Like that pamphlet I had last night. I thought maybe a few people had made the myth scarier to attract tourists.”
“It's more than a few. Honestly, I'm surprised you know the true myth.”
Oh, this wasn't good. The myth had changed, and it was more widespread than I'd thought. How had the Velasca missed this? “I'm surprised the village beside a loch known to be inhabited by kelpies would have inaccurate stories about them.”
“Aye, it surprises me as well.” He stood up in one fluid movement.
“Let me tell you what the books dinnae say, Ethan.
They dinnae say what it feels like to watch your entire species disappear.
They dinnae say what it's like to be remembered as a monster when you were always a guardian.
They dinnae say that the worst part isnae the killing—it's the forgetting.”
My heart was pounding. “You're saying you're a kelpie?”
“I'm saying the books I've seen are wrong aboot almost everything.” He walked to the water's edge. “They're wrong aboot why we killed. Wrong aboot what we protected. Wrong aboot what we were. You're the first person I've heard speak the truth in a long time. But I doubt even you know all of it.”
Legs shaking, I stood up. “Tell me then. What were you?”
He looked back at me over his shoulder. The moonlight caught his face, and for a second he looked dangerous and wild and utterly inhuman.
“Necessary,” áedán said.
The word hung in the air between us.
I took a step closer. “The tourism here. The boats, the crowds, the toys. The lies and the noise. Does it bother you?”
“Does it fash me?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“They've turned my home into a business. They sell plastic versions of me to children. They take boat tours and throw trash in the water. They have no idea what this place is.” He turned to face me fully.
“But nae, Ethan. It dinnae bother me. Because at least they remember something.
Even if it's wrong. Even if it's monstrous. At least I still exist in their imagination.”
The pain in his voice was so raw it made my chest tight. “How long have you been here?”
“At this loch? All my life.” He walked back toward me. “I've watched civilizations rise and fall. I've seen forests become fields only to become cities. I've outlived everyone I've ever known. And now I'm all that's left of my people, and the world has decided I'm a monster.”
“You're not a monster.”
“How would you know?” áedán stopped right in front of me. “We've had two conversations. You dinnae ken what I've done or what I'm capable of.”
“I know you haven't hurt me.”
“Yet.” He smiled, and it was sharp. “The night is young.”
Maya Angelou once said that if someone shows you who they are, believe them. And I did believe him. I believed what he was showing me, not what he said. áedán's words were menacing, but he wasn't. He had already shown me who he was. Not all of him, but enough for me to know he wouldn't hurt me.
Instead of saying all that, I asked, “Why did you come back tonight?”
“Curiosity.” He reached out and touched my jacket, fingering the fabric. “You smell like old books and something else. Something I havenae smelled in a very long time.”
“What?”
“The Velasca.” áedán's eyes met mine—steady and certain. “You're one of them.”
My stomach dropped. “A lot of people smell like books.”
He cocked his head as his expression hardened. “I can smell it on you. That estate. The magic they use to preserve their books.” He stepped back. “You're not here for research. You're here for me.”
I couldn't breathe properly. “áedán, look, I—”
“Why are you here?” Each word was precise. Sharp. “Tell me the truth.”
I thought about lying, but there was no point. I was going to tell him eventually anyway. “I'm here to help you survive.”
áedán stared at me for a long moment. Then he laughed, and it was the saddest sound I'd ever heard. “Then you've come far too late.” He turned and walked away.
“áedán, wait! Please, I can help you.”
He didn't stop. Didn't look back. He walked straight into the loch, and the water accepted him as if it had been waiting for his return. It closed over his head, and then those ripples appeared. Moving away from me.
I ran to the edge of the loch. “áedán!”
I stood there for an hour, waiting for him to surface. Waiting for some sign that he was still there. But the water gave me nothing. So, I walked back to the village. My hands were numb, and my chest felt hollow.
I'd found the last kelpie. And I'd lost him in the same night.