Page 70 of The Last Kelpie

Áedán went still beside me. “When it touched me, I saw something. An echo.”

I turned to look at him. “You didn't tell me that.”

“I wasn't sure what it was until now.” He looked from me to Caelum. “I saw myself through someone else's eyes. I was younger, maybe a century so. I was laughing about something. And there was this feeling of—” He stopped and swallowed. “Love. Whoever was looking at me loved me.”

My chest tightened. “Who do you think it was?”

“I think it was my brother, Coll.” His voice was barely audible. “The love felt like that of a sibling. I don't know how to explain it, but that's how it felt.”

Caelum reached across the table and placed his hand over Áedán's. “I'm so sorry. It's very possible it was one of your family members. The Forgotten usually linger around their home for several years before drifting away. And I imagine if they remembered you even in the slightest, they would fight the urge to absorb you.”

“But they're gone.” Áedán's hands clenched in his lap. “And the Forgotten don't remember anything. They're just empty, right?”

“Not exactly.” Caelum withdrew his hand and sat back. “Something in that Forgotten recognized you. Something held them back long enough for you to see that echo. That's not empty, Áedán.”

I wanted to reach for Áedán, but I didn't know if he wanted to be touched right then. His face had gone carefully blank, the way it did when he was trying not to feel something. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't want to break down in front of Caelum either. It felt like the antithesis of what Caelum was.

“Do all myths become Forgotten when they fade?” The question had been building in my mind since the attack.

“No, and I don't know why. I can only theorize that those who become Forgotten have more determination to cling to life. That they have more will to exist, even in that diminished state. Others,” Caelum made a drifting gesture, “fade entirely. They cease to be.”

“Which is worse?” Áedán's voice was flat.

“I don't know,” Caelum said. “Velas saved me before that could happen.” He stood up. “What I do know is that if I were a Forgotten, and I found my brother, I wouldn't want him to mourn me. I would want him to focus on surviving so he wouldn't become like me. I imagine whatever your brother showed you, it was to help you survive, Áedán.” Caelum left as quietly as he'd arrived.

I looked at Áedán, trying to read his expression. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He stood abruptly. “We should go to bed. I'm sure you're tired, and we've gone through all three books.”

He wasn't fine. That was evident. But I didn't push. I gathered the books and returned them to Agnes, then followed Áedán out of the Archive. We walked along the path beside the garden, heading toward the apartment buildings. The sun was setting at last, turning the sky pink and gold. Áedán walked slightly ahead of me, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Áedán—”

“I don't want to talk aboot it.” He didn't look back at me.

“All right.”

When we reached my room, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, expecting him to follow. Instead, he hesitated in the doorway.

“I think I'll go for a walk.” He still wouldn't look at me.

“Do you want company?”

“Nae, I need to think.”

“Okay, I'll leave the door unlocked.”

Áedán left, closing the door behind him. I went to the window and watched until he stepped out of the building and walked around the corner. Something felt wrong. But I hated when people didn't give me space when I needed it. So, I wouldn't do that to Áedán.

I got undressed and sat on the bed, thinking about what Caelum had said about the Forgotten lingering near their homes and how they had to fight the urge to absorb the ones they loved. I didn't have any siblings, but if I did, it would crush me to learn that one of them was a Forgotten. Even worse was the possibility that Coll had been trying to warn Áedán while Áedán beat him into the loch. Yes, it was understandable that Áedán needed some time to himself.

An hour passed. I showered and got into bed with a book—one that had nothing to do with kelpies. Then another hour passed. Áedán didn't return. I waited in bed, propped against pillows, reading purely for pleasure for once. I was starting to worry when I heard footsteps in the hallway. The door opened and Áedán stepped inside. He was carrying a small leather notebook.

“Sorry.” He finally met my gaze. “I didn't mean to be gone so long.”

“It's fine.” I watched him set the notebook on the desk. “What's that?”

“I thought I'd write some things down. Memories. In case—” He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.