Page 94 of The Last Kelpie

“Hey, now!” I pushed at him. “You didn't have to get dirty.”

“You liked it.”

“Yeah, all right. I liked it.” I beamed at him.

“There are no numbers between us, Ethan. It's just you and me. A perfect fit.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

All my fears about losing him, not to fading but to another lover, flew away. He was right. I'd been an eejit. We were perfect together.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The festival ran for three days. By the end, thousands of people had come through Luss. They heard the stories, saw the exhibitions, tasted the traditional foods, and listened to the music. They accepted Áedán into their hearts, and that acceptance empowered him.

All the social media platforms were full of videos of Áedán. Several people had posted their videos, and then others reposted them until Áedán gained two million more followers. Conspiracy theorists made YouTube videos about the original kelpie myth being demonized on purpose. We laughed the most over those. Who would have thought that it would be the conspiracy theorists who got it right?

The Velasca held more festivals. Áedán and I attended one every two weeks until we covered all of Scotland and England. Then Julian presented Áedán with a forged passport, and we flew out of the country. America, Spain, Greece. They threw a parade for him in Japan. The last kelpie had gone international.

The stories spread. Online, yes. But more importantly, they spread by word of mouth. Children splashed through streams, pretending to be playful water horses instead of knights. A teacher in Glasgow incorporated kelpie mythology into her curriculum. A librarian in Edinburgh created a display about Scottish water guardians. Local storytellers revived forgotten Highland tales. They talked about how the kelpies were still there, helping in new ways. Kelpies protected the lochs from pollution, watched over swimmers, and maintained the balance.

Musicians wrote songs about kelpies and even Áedán specifically. A folk band from America released a song called “Guardian of Loch Lomond“ that climbed the Celtic music charts. A singer-songwriter from Spain performed a ballad about water horses at a festival in Madrid, and the video went viral. Artists painted kelpies watching over rivers instead of dragging travelers beneath them. A mural appeared in Stirling showing a kelpie in both forms, horse and human, with the caption: “Respect the water. Respect the guardian.”

Every new telling strengthened Áedán until at last, he woke one morning in Korea, turned to me, and said, “I remember my family. I had two brothers and a sister. I remember my best friend. My clan. It's all so vivid!” Then he fell into my arms and wept.

I held him and stroked his back. “Tell me everything. Then we both can remember.”

He pulled back to look at me. “My mind was in pieces, and now, I feel whole again.”

I kissed his shoulder. “I think it's over. I think we've won.”

“Aye.” He pressed our foreheads together. “That bastard can't touch me now.”

I leaned back to look at him. “Let's go home.”

We left Korea that very day. At the airport, we checked in for our flight and then headed to the lounge. I grabbed a table while Áedán went to buy our drinks. He was making money from all his social media accounts, and he took pride in paying for things. There was flier on the table I chose—it was for the folklore festival we had just attended. Smiling, I picked it up. Then I froze.

There, in the bottom corner, almost hidden within the decorative border, someone had drawn a spiral with its outer line separated. I spun in my seat, searching the lounge, then peered at the people passing by. But no one was staring at me. No one looked suspicious or out of place.

When Áedán joined me, I showed him the flier.

He did as I had and looked around, but then he smiled. “They know they've lost.”

“What? But the Editor had to have been here.”

Áedán nodded. “They followed us. But there's nothing they can do now. We've won, Ethan.”

“Then why leave this for us to find?”

“Because they're not done.” He sighed. “They know we have their books. They know we're fighting back. This is them telling us that we may have saved my story, but their story has only just begun.”

“We have to tell Julian.”

“Yes, he needs to know that we've won the battle, but the war is far from over.”

I pulled out my phone and called Julian. “We have a problem,” I said when he answered.

“What's happened?” Julian asked.

I told him about the spiral and what Áedán said.