Page 47 of The Last Kelpie

“Oh, I'll use it as well.” I took some screenshots of the books, going back to the earlier ones to document those as well. “But I like to write things down. You never have to charge a notebook.” I frowned. “I mean a notebook with pages, not the device.”

“They have notebook devices?”

“I thought you read?” I teased. Then I explained. “It's just what they call a type of small computer.”

“Oh, I see.”

I opened my notebook to a fresh page and recorded the earliest date of a change: 1943. Then I scowled at the page. “We should record the differences and when they were first published. Or rather, republished.”

At the top of the page, I wrote the word “Original. Then, on the page to the right, I wrote “Altered.” I went through the books, noting their titles and publication dates in my notebook under Original. Then I noted the republished dates and the changes under the Altered column.

Áedán frowned at the proof, written on my pages, but didn't say anything.

We kept looking for more altered books, but the atmosphere had shifted. Our banter came easier, punctuated by Áedán's running commentary on the absurdity of the alterations. My stomach forced us to take a break and grab a quick lunch in the dining hall. But after we ate, we went right back to the Archive. We had proof that someone was altering the kelpie stories, and that was a huge step forward.

“This one claims we can control the weather.” Áedán shook his head at an online copy of a book from 2014. “I can barely control my hair.”

“Your hair looks amazing.”

“Does it?” He ran a hand through it, and I watched the dark strands fall back into place. “In the old days, everyone just wore it long. But I see a lot of men with short hair now. Except for you, that is.”

“Mine isn't as long as yours, though.”

“It's long enough to make me feel more comfortable aboot mine.”

“You should feel very comfortable. Confident, even. The long hair suits you.”

The corner of Áedán's mouth lifted, and his eyes went sultry. “Does it?”

“Yes.” I was proud of myself for holding his gaze. And for not blushing.

We had moved closer while we worked, leaving only a few inches between us, and the afternoon had stretched into evening without my noticing. The Archive's windows showed deep blue twilight. Áedán had made the time seem short.

“Maybe we should make sure we got all the kelpie books,” I said, my voice unsteady.

Áedán nodded and stood up. “There's another shelf back here.”

I got up and followed him into the stacks. The shelf he stopped before was high enough that I had to stretch, my fingers just brushing the spine of the first leather-bound volume. Áedán reached up at the same moment, and our hands collided.

Neither of us pulled away. Áedán's hand slid over mine, his fingers longer, their pads smooth despite his age. I could feel the pulse in his wrist, or maybe that was my heartbeat.

“Ethan.” Áedán's breath brushed my cheek.

I turned my head. He was close enough that I could see the glittering striations that brightened his green eyes.

“I should—” I started, but didn't finish the sentence.

The moment stretched. His thumb moved against the back of my hand. My breath caught. I turned toward him, my body stretched taunt, feeling strangely vulnerable. I was about to kiss him when I noticed a gap on the shelf. A space where a book should be. In any other library, I wouldn't have thought anything of it. But this was the Great Archive, and we should have been the only ones reading those books.

“Something's missing.” I lowered my hand. Losing contact with him felt like cold water thrown in my face, but this was more important than romance.

Áedán blinked, following my gaze. “You're right. There should be a book there. Maybe it's been moved?”

“I don't think so.” I looked around the Archive for Agnes, but spotted Eleanor Finley approaching, her charm bracelets jingling softly.

“Looking for something specific?” Eleanor looked from us to the shelf.

“There's a gap here.” I pointed to it. “Do you know what belongs there?”