Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, I opened my eyes to find áedán already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the notebook in his hands. His shoulders were rigid, and his head bowed. He turned the pages slowly, methodically.
“áedán?”
He didn't look at me. “They're gone.”
I sat up, the blankets pooling around my waist. “What's gone?”
“The pages.” áedán's voice was flat. Empty. “I wrote twenty pages. Maybe more. I don't remember exactly how many, which I suppose is the point.” He turned another blank page. Then another. “They've all vanished.”
I moved to sit beside him. The notebook was open to what should have been the middle, but the pages were pristine. Untouched. As if he'd never written a single word. I had hoped they might last a little longer.
“I'm pure feart.” His words came out quiet, almost conversational, which made them worse somehow.
“You're what?”
“Terrified. I'm feart that one day I'll wake up, and I wullnae remember you either, that I'll look at you and see a stranger. What if everything we've done, everything we are, just flows away from me like water over stone?”
My chest felt tight, and my shoulders burned. I took the notebook from his hands and set it aside, then turned him to face me. áedán's normally glittering green eyes were dark, haunted, and dull. I cupped his face in my hands. “Memory isn't the only place we exist.”
“Ethan.”
“It's not.” I stroked my thumb across his cheekbone.
“We're right here, right now. You and I are in everything we do.” I slid my hands down to his shoulders and then over his chest. “What we've shared is in our skin. It has sunk into our souls.” I took his hand and placed it over my heart.
“You are right here, áedán. Always. And I will always be with you.
Even when your mind forgets, your body will know my touch.
Memory is just one way we hold on to each other. It's not the only way.”
His eyes searched mine. Looking for certainty, maybe. Or hope. “I dinnae ken if I believe that,” he whispered.
“Then believe in me believing it.” I leaned forward and kissed him. Soft at first, then strong, steady. Through my lips, I offered to ground áedán to the present and the world. His hands came up to grip my shoulders, holding on as if I were the only solid thing in an intangible universe.
When we eased out of our kiss, I wrapped my arms around him and held him close. His face pressed into the curve of my neck, and his breath caressed my skin.
“I've got you,” I said. “I won't let you forget. I will remind you every day, every hour if I have to.”
áedán didn't answer. Just held on tighter.
We stayed like that for several minutes, and then I led áedán to the bathroom, and we showered together.
He especially needed the water on his skin.
I washed him, then massaged him under the spray, letting him soak it in.
Afterward, I started to dry him off, but he stopped me and used his magic to dry us both.
Then we got dressed and went to the dining hall for breakfast.
The dining hall was in full chaos when we arrived. Brannoc stood at one of the long tables, gesturing emphatically at a bowl of porridge while Mateo stared him down with arms crossed over his chest.
“You cannot improve porridge by adding whiskey.” Mateo's arm shot out, and his hand slashed above the bowl.
“You can improve anything by adding whiskey.” Brannoc's beard bristled with indignation. “It's a scientific fact.”
“It's a dwarven delusion.”
“Same thing.”
Mateo threw his hands in the air and stormed off.
At the next table over, Zephyr had his front paws up on the bench, his eagle eyes fixed on a plate of bacon that belonged to Professor Hassan. The moment Hassan looked down at his book, Zephyr's beak darted forward.
“Zephyr!” Mateo's voice cracked across the hall like a whip. “If you steal one more piece of bacon, I'm banning griffins from the dining hall forever.”
Zephyr froze, a strip of bacon dangling from his beak. He looked at Mateo with an expression of profound innocence, as if to say he had no idea how the bacon had gotten there.
Hassan sighed and pushed his plate toward the griffin. “Just take it. You've already contaminated it with your beak.”
Zephyr chirped happily, devoured the bacon in two bites, and snatched another.
I felt áedán relax beside me. The normalcy of it all, the comfortable chaos, was a balm to the wound his years alone had left.
We went to the pass-through window, filled our breakfast plates, and swung by the beverage station to pour our drinks.
We found seats near Mei Lin, who was explaining something to Eleanor about a festival she wanted to organize.
“We could do it in the spring.” Mei Lin motioned expressively. “Invite some of the local myths. Make it a proper celebration.”
“As long as you don't invite the pixies again.” Eleanor grimaced. “They stole half the silverware last time.”
“They were just borrowing it.”
“For six months?”
áedán laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was bright and genuine, and I felt something in my chest unclench. He caught my eye and smiled, and for a moment, the fear from that morning seemed very far away.
After we finished breakfast, Caelum appeared at our table. The summer-green leaves in his auburn hair rustled as he came to a stop. His gaze settled on áedán. “Would you walk with me?”
áedán glanced at me.
I nodded. “I'll be in the Archive. Take your time.”
“All right.” áedán stood up.
They left together, Caelum's hand resting lightly on áedán's shoulder as they walked toward the doors.
I watched them go as I got up and gathered our plates.
I had already gone through every kelpie book in the Archive, but I wanted to skim through them again in case I had missed the spiral symbol sketched in a margin.
I knew now that the water had shown us that symbol twice for a reason.
I'd been thinking about it since Ed had asked if the water had changed.
I wasn't sure, but I didn't think the water had been tampered with.
I was more inclined to believe that the water's vanishing memories were a natural response to the changed stories.
It had shown áedán the spiral to warn him.
He had a connection to the water. Of course, it would try to tell him what was happening, and it would do so in the only way it knew how to communicate with him—visually.
I put our plates, utensils, and mugs in the bins near the kitchen, then headed to the Great Archive. It was just to the right of the main hall's back door. I angled around to the front and stepped inside.
The Archive was quiet when I entered. Agnes was at her desk, on her computer. I nodded to her and made my way to the kelpie books within the Scottish Collection. After gathering a few, I took them to a table, brought out my notebook, opened it to my sketch of the spiral, and started searching.
After a few minutes, I realized how foolish my search was.
The original kelpie books remained unchanged.
It was only after a second or third publication that the changes showed up.
So, of course I wouldn't find the spiral in them.
I quickly changed course and went looking for books on ancient symbols and prehistoric art.
There were computers set up on pedestals around the first floor, with a search portal for the Archive.
So, I didn't have to an archivist to find the section I needed.
I took a few books and returned to my table.
An hour later, I still had nothing. Frustrated, I sat back and glared at the spiral.
It was so simple. How could it cause so much harm?
“What is that?”
I looked up. Agnes stood beside the table, her pale blue eyes fixed on my sketch. She'd moved so quietly I hadn't heard her approach.
“That's what I'm trying to figure out.” I picked up the notebook and handed it to her.
“I saw it in the water twice, once in a pond and once underwater within some standing stones in Loch Lomond.
Then I saw it in an altered manuscript. I've been searching for it in these books on symbols, but I can't find it. The only spirals in it are whole.”
Agnes lifted my notebook and frowned at the spiral. “If it's a mark of alteration, you wouldn't find it in the Archive.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Archive is protected.” She straightened, adjusted her spectacles, and handed me the notebook. “Magically protected. Nothing changes the books in here. Not in condition or content. If someone is using this symbol to magically alter stories, it would only appear in texts outside these walls.”
That made sense. Frustrating sense. “So that's why books online don't match those here. I assumed it was because the ones online were republished.”
“No, I suspect even original publications will bear those changes outside these walls.” She shook her head. “It angers me to no end that someone could alter published works. Thank goodness the Great Archive is protected.”
“Yes, indeed,” I murmured, staring at the spiral.
“Wait here.” Agnes stalked off.
Several minutes later, she returned carrying a large book.
It was a modern book with a glossy jacket.
The image on the front was of stone ruins.
Unlike other ruins I'd seen, this one looked sunken, the stone walls set down into the earth.
I was no archaeologist, but to me, they looked like the remains of a basement.
Agnes set the book on the table to my right.
The title read: Skara Brae, Scotland's Pompeii.
“This is an archaeological survey of Skara Brae.” She opened the book and flipped through the pages. “It's in Orkney. If I'm remembering correctly, there is a symbol on one of these—ah, yes. Here it is.” She turned the book toward me.
A photograph took up most of the page. It showed a weathered gray stone with a single carving on it—a spiral with the tail end separated. My heart started pounding.
“That's it!” I looked from the image to my notebook.