Egress: Six of One, #4

By DeAnna C. Zankich

Evan's apprehension of what he will find in Scotland keeps him away for seventeen years. It's not lake monsters and fairies that concern him; it's the two people he loves most.

He has never known Kathryn and Kellan without the magical manipulation of their witch grandmother. When they are in Mount Iolite, Ginny conceals their supernatural gifts so the vessel and outcaster can rest. That cloak prevents Evan from understanding their true powers, leaving him to his own dark and fearsome imaginings.

His engagement to Kathryn emboldens him enough to finally experience the wild land his Brochs adore, and to accept however he finds them in it. But someone else finds him first, prompting an unforeseen path of self-discovery.

The anxious excitement of his trip is overshadowed by the impending death of a deeply influential friend. The three are called to return to Mount Iolite, but a hard winter complicates their journey.

Kellan's integral role in the passing of this great man amplifies his spiritual gifts ten-fold as he and his sister embark on a new life chapter. With their destinies continuing to emerge, the paths of the six further intertwine, drawing them ever closer to their collective purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DeAnna C. Zankich
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999293553

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© DeAnna Zankich 2019. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or were used fictitiously. No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means without prior written permission from the copyright owner.

For more information or to contact the copyright owner visit:

www.deannaczankich.com

ISBN: 978-0-9992935-5-3

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Acknowledgements

‘Peace is always beautiful.’

~ Walt Whitman

Continued from Six of One: Snow Globe

PROLOGUE

December 14

Current year

THUNDER GROWLED AS Mae Guthrie tightened her rain hood over her head and dashed across the street from the car park. At just after 10:00pm, there were few passengers in Inverness Airport, so Evan wasn’t hard to spot among the weary arrivals.

He hadn’t seen her yet so she stopped to snap a photo of him waiting for his luggage at the carousel. She’d planned to document every detail of these secret days of his. Kathryn and Kellan would want to know all of it once they got over being mad at him for coming to Scotland early and on the sly.

She stood near the entrance, out of the way of the departing passengers and snapped a few more photos of Kathryn Broch’s handsome fiancé. They were a good match, Mae thought; the best possible on all accounts. And it was about bloody time they tied the knot.

Raising her phone’s camera again, Mae frowned when her view across the baggage claim area was blocked. Through the lens, a man stood between her and Evan, but when she peered over top of the phone, no one was there.

Right, Mae muttered. Who’ve we got ‘ere, then? She squinted through the camera lens again.

A man in a fine suit of heavy brown tweed stood with his hands in his pockets and his back to her. All Mae could see of him was thick, dark hair neatly trimmed and combed against his head with pomade. He was a good height, around six-foot, and broad shoulders held up his nicely tailored suit coat. His shoes were fine, polished brown leather.

All of this would have been unremarkable if he weren’t glowing a soft, muted gold tinged with pink, and if Mae couldn’t see the baggage carousel through him. She knew that color—it was vessel light. But she’d never heard of any spirit vessel lingering in this dimension after death. Then again, she knew a lot, but she didn’t know everything. Like Henry Hunter, Mae was a constant student.

She glanced around for the foreboding greenish purple aura of this man’s outcaster, but she neither saw nor felt any such presence. Vessels and outcasters stuck close together at all times—Mae assumed, even in death. But this vessel seemed to be out there alone.

Three other passengers were waiting for their luggage on the opposite side of the carousel and Evan was on his own on the side closest to the entrance. Through the lens, she saw that this spirit’s attention was fixed entirely on the tall, blond American watching for his bags.

Who are ye, mate? She was at least twenty feet from the spirit, but he turned to her in response to her whispered question. His dark eyes locked on hers through her camera, and in her head, Mae heard him answer in a formal Scot’s accent. It reminded her of her grandfather’s voice, both in word choice and cadence.

I need him to lead me, Miss. I mean him no harm. And then the spirit vanished.

Mae blinked through the lens, then swept her eyes around the baggage claim area, but to no avail. She felt that the vessel spirit was gone for the moment, but she’d sensed something when their eyes met that put a chill in her blood. He wasn’t dangerous, of that she was sure, but he was most certainly lost.

How in the fookin’ hell does a vessel get lost during crossing? They know the way through the veil better than anyone. The suspicious glances of a young couple passing her on their way toward the exit reminded Mae that standing in an airport talking to yourself could be misconstrued. She offered them a lighthearted laugh then headed toward Evan who had just collected his jam-packed duffle bag off the carousel.

She snapped a photo of him as he turned around, just before he noticed her and bloomed in a gorgeous smile.

There’s our little tree hugger! Evan dropped his bag and scooped her up.

Look! Wolfie’s in fookin’ Scotland! She laughed into the welcome embrace, very happy to finally see him on her shores. She decided to wait to mention the vessel’s spirit. Evan was tired from travel and they still had a lengthy drive ahead that night. It could wait. She would only bring it up if the spirit returned.

And after what the vessel had said to her, Mae didn’t think that would take too long.

CHAPTER ONE

Isle of Skye

December 15, current year

RAIN PELTED EVAN’S face like spraying needles.

The hurricane force winds made standing upright difficult and hiking precarious, but it was worth it. Reaching into the dense mist, the spear of volcanic rock before him hid its jagged apex in the low clouds. He blinked frigid water from his eyelashes trying to keep his vision clear. After everything he’d gone through to get there, he couldn’t miss one thing about this moment.

Boots caked with mud, waterproof polar jacket nearly soaked through, his heavy wool cap sodden even under the protective hood, Evan could not have been happier. His legs ached from the rocky trail, his lungs pulled for the icy wet air, but his heart pounded with exhilaration. He made it. He was there. The Old Man of Storr jutted before him, majestic and imposing on the Isle of Skye. He was finally roaming the windswept Highlands of Scotland.

With slick, frozen fingers, he fished his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the spiking stone monolith in front of him. The wild wind buffeted him as he fumbled out a text message attached to the image.

The Old Man says you hike like a girl. You close?

A moment later, a hard swat to the back of his head made him spin around, laughing. Packed into a fur-lined parka that shed rain water in sheets from its hem, Mae fell in beside him, gasping for breath as she took in the stone pillar on the steep hillside. He could barely hear her over the wailing wind, but her electric smile had a light of its own.

Look at that beast!! Mae took out her little camera and started snapping, then handed it to Evan. Take a lass’ photo?

He smirked at the insubstantial, albeit expensive, device in his hand and couldn’t resist teasing her. Is this a disposable?

Disposable as your head, Mae said with wink. Her accent made the word sound like ‘haid’ and Evan chuckled, his teeth instantly bitten by the chill, pounding weather.

Hold your arms up like you just summited Everest.

I feel like we did, for fook’s sake. That was more of a quicksand gauntlet than a trail! She lifted her arms in a high, wide V and stuck her tongue out through her massive grin.

Evan made sure to frame her with the rock spike right above her head and just enough sloping wet grass to show how high on the hill it stood. Getting right next to it was too dangerous in that weather, but he was pleased as punch to have made it this close. This was the second bucket list item he’d checked off in the thirty-six hours he’d been in country. The first was simply setting foot on Scottish soil—something Evan feared he’d never be brave enough to do. It wasn’t the place that frightened him; it was what awaited him there.

When he was twelve, Virginia Broch began hinting about the ways she ‘protected’ her grandson when he was in Mount Iolite. During her private visits with Evan, she alluded to keeping most of the spirits at bay who would normally rush upon Kellan in hopes of deliverance from their transcendent limbo. It was her grandson’s nature to help everyone and everything that asked, but doing so too often exhausted him. Ginny wanted him to rest when he visited their mountain sanctuary, so she created a sort of cone of silence around him. She also dimmed his radiant aura considerably to help conceal him from seekers of his gift.

Ginny told Evan that even though he could see Kellan’s light all the time, what he saw in Mount Iolite wasn’t the truth of it. Evan experienced the same modified, muted version she presented for everyone nearby, but when Kellan was away from her, his light glowed unhindered. That brought all manner of spirits and entities toward the vessel in an almost constant flow. He was only able to maintain some semblance of order because Kathryn insisted he not take in more than one spirit per day.

Per day.

In all the years Evan had known the Brochs, he’d never seen them do more than a handful of extractions over the three months they were usually in Mount Iolite. Some of those were simple, but certainly not all. He couldn’t begin to imagine how they would manage one extraction every single day. Kellan was often drained after them. How could he survive that pace?

More nerve-racking to Evan, though, was the idea of seeing Kellan in his raw, natural form. It had taken him years to grow accustomed to the constant soft magenta radiance around the vessel that reached about three inches away from Kellan’s body in every direction. Evan saw it reflected in those beautiful amber eyes. It was there all the time, sometimes a little brighter and deeper in color when he slept.

When they were very young, Evan would lie beside his friend on the living room floor of their cabin and investigate that light while Kellan napped. He would dip his fingers into it to see the ripple effect his touch created, as though the aura were made of water. Kellan had always been very warm-blooded, his skin like satin left out in the sun. But his aura had no additional heat, no substance, sensation or sound. Evan had been looking at that mesmerizing pink-gold glow for twenty-six years, but he’d never been able to make sense of it.

Ginny’s only explanation was that it was a beacon to the lost souls so they could find him in the dark where they wandered. When Evan allowed himself to imagine what the aura might look like without Kellan’s grandmother’s diminishing force, he’d have to stop himself. What he pictured scared the living hell out of him. That reason alone could have kept him from getting on a plane to Scotland where his Brochs had made their home for seventeen years, but that wasn’t all that held him back.

Right, Mae said, stuffing her camera back into her rain-drenched coat. That’s done. We’ve only got about ninety minutes of daylight left, so let’s head back to Portree. I’ve made us a booking for dinner.

Evan smirked. Felt like we were the only people on the island when we drove in. Was that necessary?

The tour buses will be coming in shortly. You’ll see; that tiny town will be crawling with wandering tourists hunting for a hot, scruffy man in a kilt and somewhere to fill their bellies. She grinned. If you owned a kilt, you could make a mint in that town just standing on a street corner for photo ops.

Evan just laughed. Kathryn often teased that she’d have to send him out with a body guard should he ever don a traditional kilt in Scotland. Bloody Yank or not, he had the perfect coloring and physicality of a rugged Scotsman. He’d be mauled by hungry tourists of all genders trying to learn what he had on underneath that traditional garment.

Mae lead the way back down the slick, muddy trail, both of them stopping to snap photos of the dramatic waning daylight through the ever-changing weather. The clouds would part in the wind, letting shreds of faint blue sky peek through before rejoining in a mean, gray huddle to chuck down more rain. Everywhere he looked, Evan was awestruck by the landscape. He’d grown up among the jagged granite crags of the Eastern Sierra, the entire range still moving and shifting in seismic tumult. The sloping peaks of Scotland were nowhere near as tall, but that was because of their age. They’d stood eons longer than the Sierras; time and the relentless weather had worn them smooth.

Squinting through the gusts toward the peaks to the east of them, Evan called to his companion ahead on the trial. Those are the Cuillin Mountains, right?

Mae stopped, winded, turning so he could see her face under her snuggly tied hood. Aye, but that word has two syllables here on Skye, not three. ‘COO-lin’, not ‘coo-ILL-in’, despite how it’s spelt.

Evan repeated the word as instructed and Mae beamed. Well done, Wolfie! We’ll have you speaking the Highland Gaelic in no time. Come on, now. I’m peckish.

The trek back to Mae’s little SUV took just short of an hour and they were both drenched to the skin. They peeled off their wet gear and wrung it out before throwing it in the back, then Evan started toward the right side of the vehicle before he caught himself. Mae, of course, chuckled.

Planning to drive, are we? I’ll teach you, if you like. This weather may not be the best for learning the other side of the road, but we can give it a go.

Shaking his head, he laughed and went around to the passenger side. No, thanks. I’ve only been here a day; give me a minute to get oriented.

Mae was still grinning as they buckled up. I taught Goldie to drive over here—even taught him how to drive a standard, but our Esmeralda couldn’t get the hang of it. She’ll drive automatic, but that’s all. At least she drives.

Evan knew that Kath and Kellan rented cars to get out of town or for gigs a short distance from Edinburgh, but they didn’t need vehicles inside the city. He’d have to get used to public transportation after spending his whole life driving to get anywhere. This first trip was for him to get the lay of the land and see what he’d need to know to feel like a local during future stays.

Back at the hotel in Portree, Evan got cleaned up to meet Mae for dinner. Rifling through the photos he’d taken since he arrived, he grinned at the image of his traveling companion at the airport in Inverness. She’d been his partner in crime planning his early arrival in Scotland. He’d wanted to be there and explore for a few days on his own before he connected with the Brochs. Evan felt he’d be better prepared if he got his bearings first.

Plus, the things he wanted to do in the Highlands were too rugged for Kathryn. He might even have trouble getting Kellan to join him on some of the hikes, but Mae was excited for the chance to get outside without her wife and young sons, even in the shit weather of mid-December.

Keeping the secret that he’d be coming over earlier than planned was tricky during Evan’s daily communications with the Brochs. He knew Kathryn had seen his plane ticket on his kitchen table the day before she and Kellan left Mount Iolite for the season, but she hadn’t looked close enough at it to see the departure date. If she had, she’d have been all over him about it. Mae considered it a gorgeous surprise for her dear friends to deliver Evan to them a day before he was expected.  

With a few minutes to spare, Evan zipped his coat high and headed into the rough wind to see the last of the daylight over Portree harbor. The town was decorated in festive lights, oversized Christmas ornaments and strands of garland. Candles glowed in the windows of the shops and restaurants around the town square, and carols drifted on the icy wind. A row of brightly painted houses hugged the shoreline as the fishing boats rolled in for the evening. Warm lights gleamed on the frigid water. The parking lot in the square had indeed filled up with tour buses, pouring sightseers into the small, quaint streets with cameras at the ready.

Despite the howling wind, Evan stood still and took in the lovely glow of the chill Highland early evening. When he’d left Mount Iolite two days ago, it was covered in snow and glistening with holiday lights, making the tiny town look like a Christmas card. He smiled to himself that he was already pining for the extended twilight of his mountain home. He certainly adored the vibrant, picturesque autumn, but winter was his favorite time of year in the Sierras, even if his Brochs were usually gone by then.

He hoped that would change after the wedding, but knew it wouldn’t happen right away. Kellan needed to stay in Scotland—in Edinburgh, particularly—because he felt his work there wasn’t done yet. Kath had to stay with him wherever he chose to be. They’d begun discussions on adjusting the amount of time the Brochs stayed in M.T.I., but the success of those plans rested entirely on their father’s consent.

Still, Evan hated driving by their cabin on Sylvan Road and seeing it shuttered and dark, even if he would see them soon. But it was comforting to know the house was never truly empty. Ginny’s presence surrounded their lakefront lot like a warm embrace.

The Brochs usually stayed through Christmas Eve, but they’d received a last-minute opportunity to play a huge pre-holiday wedding in Aberdeen that would bring in a much-needed pile of money. Ticket sales were low for the two Los Angeles shows they had scheduled in January, so KKB sent their regrets to those fans with a promise to make up the performances in late summer.

Them leaving early also meant their time with their parents down south was cut short, something that hadn’t gone over well with either Big Jackson or Michelle. They wanted time to properly celebrate their daughter’s engagement.

Evan had sensed their mother’s disquiet when he and Kathryn called her with their big news. Michelle had wept and congratulated them, but something in the tone of her voice had given him pause. He assumed he was hearing her anxiety that she’d never really met him, except for that week he spent visiting Kath and Kellan over spring break when they were teenagers. Evan had grown up with Big Jackson, but Michelle having never been to Mount Iolite, hadn’t known him at all.

Big Jackson had taken the engagement news via Facetime with his customary bear-like affection, tears gleaming in his hazel eyes as he raised his coffee cup to toast the happy couple. Evan told him he looked forward to finally being able to call Big Jackson ‘dad’ and they’d all laughed about that, but he’d seen the flash of uncertainty in Kathryn’s father’s eyes. Given their strange lifelong history, Evan couldn’t really blame him.

His thoughts were jarred by Mae’s voice calling out behind him. Oi! You tall blond man there! Let me buy you a meal and then jump yer lovely bones!

Laughing, Evan turned to see her across the street in a fresh gray coat, and a bright red scarf and hat. She beamed a smile at him, waving wildly for him to join her. Several people around the square glanced at this improper young woman in stunned surprise, which had of course been her intention. Evan crossed the road—remembering to look left, then right—and hooked his ornery friend’s delicate arm. You can’t resist making a scene, can you?

Mae chortled.

He nodded toward the crowded parking lot as they approached the center of town. You were right about the buses. Look at all these people.

Aye. Portree is the only place on Skye with enough hotels and restaurants to support loads of guests like this—and they’re still falling short with the popularity of that Highland time-travel series. They even do specific tours that go to the filming locations and such. It’s kind of a mixed blessing for the residents. People are expecting hotels on the caliber they’d find in one of the mainland cities, but the few that are on par with that out here are mightily dear.

I’d have been okay camping, Evan said as they approached a crowded restaurant called The Granary. The rain had picked back up in the last few minutes and people scurried on the sidewalks to get out of it.

Mae snorted. If you had gills, perhaps. Your tent would be floating in an hour. She opened the door and they pressed inside the warmly lit, slightly stuffy establishment. All the tables appeared full, but the host led them to a quiet spot right inside the front window. Rain pelted down on the now-full parking lot that teemed with a parade of wet umbrellas.

They ordered a bottle of Merlot, some salmon and braised beef, then nibbled on a plate of chips (or fries, as Evan kept insisting) before the meal came. Evan was still waiting for jet lag to clobber him, but for the moment he felt good; excited to continue his explorations of this beautiful, wild land.

We’ll go to the fairy places tomorrow, Mae said. Their glen and pools—which are a good bit apart from each other. This crap weather will make for grubby hiking, like today, but these are places you’ve got to experience while you’re here.

That’s what Ginny said. Evan munched a crispy fry.

And we don’t argue with that particular ghost. Mae winked.

For sure. So, are fairies like sprites?

Like, but different, she said. They look a bit more human and are larger than your floaty little mountain friends, but they move in and out of our dimension in much the same way. Scots are extremely superstitious about the fae folk.

I noticed when you were driving us across the Skye Bridge that you murmured something in Gaelic, Evan said. Was that a greeting to them?

As a professional chef, Mae was a snobbish lover of wine. She took a slow sip of her Merlot and gave it a good swish in her mouth to taste it, then swallowed before picking up the bottle to scowl at the label. That’ll do, I reckon. What I said on the bridge wasn’t exactly a greeting. I was asking permission from the Fairy Queen to come onto the Isle. She lives there, ye ken. It’s customary to ask before entering so she won’t bedevil your stay.

I see. Should I have done that, too? I don’t want to offend her.

Mae waved her hand. I covered us both, don’t worry. Besides, it’s the drivers who need to honor her—the ones actually in control of entering the island. Passengers are generally exempt from her mischief.

As was always the case with Mae Guthrie, Evan wasn’t entirely sure she was being serious. When in doubt, he’d found it wise to clarify. Have you seen this queen yourself?

No. Mae’s cobalt eyes twinkled. But the Hebrides are their own brand of mysterious. You’ll definitely feel something strange out here on these islands—especially on Skye. There are always eyes on ye.

Evan smirked. I’m used to that feeling. Grew up with it every damn day.

True. Your M.T.I. is full o’ eyes, for certain. But we get a lot fewer proper monsters in these parts. Strange and mysterious beasties, yes, but malicious intent isn’t as prevalent as it is in your mountain vortex. She glanced out