Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)

“Yes, he died in the London bombing in 1995. Twenty Parliament members were killed that day.”

Sophie only knew the bare bones about the terrorist bombing, just sound bites from media articles. This was the first time she had met anybody personally connected to such an event.

Even more mystified than ever about what any of this had to do with her, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It happened a long time ago.” Kathryn paused. Then in a brisker tone she continued. “He was dedicated to another cause that he began in the early eighteenth century, when he rescued his first group of children. It was something he felt passionate about, so he continued with rescues throughout the years. His efforts were sporadic and situational. Whenever he heard of trafficking or of children being abused, he would investigate, and if the situation called for it, he would take action. Sometimes the rescues involved children of the Elder Races, and sometimes they involved humans.”

While she listened, Sophie realized she was gripping her hands so tightly her fingers had gone numb. Loosening her grip, she whispered, “Interesting.”

Kathryn picked at the edge of her rolled linen napkin. “If he couldn’t return the rescued children to their families, he would work with agencies all over the world to place them in appropriate homes. Security was a consideration for those placements. He always took care to make sure nothing could be traced back to the children’s homes of origin so they never ran the danger of being found and exploited again.”

Sophie took a deep, unsteady breath. Certainty settled into her bones.

She said, “I was one of those children, wasn’t I?”

Kathryn cleared her throat, a quiet, delicate sound. “Yes, you were one of his last rescues.”

“Does that mean I’m British?” She blinked, her perspective undergoing a massive shift. The searching she had done, both through traditional means and magical ones, had all been based in the United States. It had never occurred to her to search outside the States.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I don’t have any information on the details of your rescue either.”

Exploited, Kathryn had said. Trafficking. Sophie had been five years old—or younger, when he had found her. God, she had been a baby. A sudden wave of revulsion chilled her skin, and her blood pounded in her ears.

Her voice a harsh, uncertain scrape in her throat, she said bluntly, “I was a virgin when I first had sex.”

She was also an asshole magnet, and every jerk she had ever dated had been a loser or worse. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

The other woman’s expression lightened with a gentle smile. “It sounds like my father rescued you in time.”

Their waitress came with their lunches. Sophie’s salad looked exquisite, and Kathryn had ordered steak. For the next few minutes, they ate in silence, which gave Sophie a chance to recover her poise.

After she had eaten enough to placate the empty hole in her stomach, she said, “The names of my birth parents in my records. Are they fake?”

Kathryn picked up the top manila folder. “I think so. This is the file my father kept on you. I’m sorry, there isn’t much in it.”

Sophie had been eyeing the files while she ate. As Kathryn offered it to her, she snatched at it and flipped it open.

Like Kathryn had warned, there wasn’t much information. Just a few pages of notes, along with a photograph of a small, serious-looking girl with a mop of unruly black hair, pale skin, a light dusting of freckles, and a delicate pixie face.

Somewhere in the conversation, Sophie had lost most of her capacity for skepticism, and the photograph laid the last of it to rest. As she had matured into adulthood, the delicate pixie face had lost its youthful roundedness and turned more angular, but the girl was clearly, indisputably her.

She scanned the contents quickly, taking in key words.

Precocious. Highly magical. Mostly human child, approximately four years old.

Mostly human. Yeah, that about summed it up.

Parents, unknown. Domicile, unknown. Nonverbal, possibly trauma induced.

There were more notes, along with a few handwritten numbers—the number of digits and the way they had been written made them look like American phone numbers—then the name of an adoption agency in Kentucky. The adoption agency that had handled her case. She flipped over the last page, but there was nothing more.

“That’s it,” she muttered as her stomach sank. “That’s everything.”

Everything about her early childhood, jotted down on a few yellowing pages. It felt unreal, like something out of a Dickens novel or a Spanish soap opera. But it wasn’t a story. This was her life.

She hadn’t verbalized it as a question, but Kathryn responded as if she had. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could tell you.”

The back of Sophie’s eyes burned, but she had stopped shedding tears over ancient history a long time ago. Snapping the file shut, she forced herself to think.

“You tracked me through the adoption agency in Kentucky,” she said. “When I turned eighteen, I accessed my records and left contact information.”

“Yes.” Kathryn set her empty plate to one side.

The waitress stopped by. Kathryn ordered coffee, and when the waitress returned, she refilled Sophie’s cup as well.

“Well, this has been fascinating,” Sophie said when they were alone again. She met the other woman’s eyes. “Even if there isn’t much information, I’m grateful to have the file. The most important thing is that it shifts the geography of where I need to search if I want to try to find out anything more about my past—which is something I might decide to do. But I still don’t understand why you’ve gone to the expense and trouble to meet with me. So far, we haven’t talked about anything that couldn’t have been said over the phone or FedExed to me.”

“That’s true.” Kathryn smiled. “But everything we’ve discussed was just the prelude to what comes next. You see, I’m the executor of my father’s specific, detailed, and quixotic will.”

Sophie bit her lip as a bolt of quick, unexpected laughter shook through her body. She thought, if Kathryn says I’ve inherited something, I might lose it. Because it really would be just like an email scam.

She said, “Your father died over twenty years ago, and you’re still not done executing the terms of his will?”

“Unfortunately, no, I’m not.” Kathryn’s smile turned dry. She picked up the second manila folder and offered it to Sophie. “Almost everything was settled years ago, but there is one last task yet to be completed. There’s an old property that—really, I don’t know how else to put it—remains stubborn. The estate has been in the family for hundreds of years. The last time my father was in the house was when he was a young man, which was a very long time ago.”