Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)

The incredulous laughter threatened to come back. She repeated, “A trust. You mean actual money?”

“Yes,” Kathryn said. “The trust is tied up in investments, so the annual income is self-perpetuating. It isn’t an outrageous fortune, but it’s enough to pay the property taxes, cover the cost of grounds upkeep, and there’s perhaps twenty-five thousand pounds a year over that. Depending on fluctuations in the exchange rate, that’s roughly around thirty-seven thousand dollars a year. Let’s face it, after so long, the interior of the manor house must be unlivable, but I’ve actually stayed in the gatekeeper’s cottage, and while the furnishings are dated, it’s cozy enough. If you buy a Pocket Wi-Fi, you can even get Internet service inside the cottage itself, although there’s too much land magic in the countryside to get reliable connectivity everywhere.”

“Thirty-seven thousand dollars,” Sophie repeated flatly. “A year. Just for breaking into a house.”

Kathryn laughed. “Keep in mind, nobody has managed to do it so far. And yes, we will pay to get rid of the family albatross.”

“A trust that can generate thirty-seven thousand dollars a year is a hell of a generous payment.” Sophie traced the edge of the photograph with a forefinger.

“It’s only a portion of the family estate, and England is an expensive place to live,” Kathryn warned. “That kind of annual income wouldn’t go nearly as far as it would in, say, the American Midwest. Although the cost of living is much cheaper outside of London. If somebody were interested and wanted to make a go of it, I think they could live well enough if their needs were modest and they were frugal. There would be no rent or mortgage to worry about. That would already be taken care of, which would make the money stretch a lot further. But in order to receive the inheritance, you—or someone—would have to prove that they had actually gotten inside the house.”

“What kind of proof would you require?”

“Photos would be sufficient, if a camera would work inside the house, but the broken crossover magic might prevent that. If a camera would work, given the position of the buildings, you should be able to get a clear photo of the gatekeeper’s cottage as you look out the front windows. Or if you could get someone to take a photo of you standing inside the house, that would also work. Failing that, a signed affidavit from reliable witnesses would be acceptable.”

Sophie touched the edge of the roofline to feel the tingle of magic again. “Ninety days is a long time,” she said slowly. “For a lot of people, taking a two-week vacation overseas is stretching their resources, let alone taking that much time away from their jobs.”

Kathryn nodded. “I’m afraid I can’t help with the issue of taking time off work, but as far as the rest of the trip goes, the estate would provide a temporary living stipend along with travel expenses.” One corner of her mouth tilted up. “Honestly, I think most people have taken the challenge just to get a three-month paid vacation. They either had no interest or any ability in trying to get into the main house itself.”

Instead of looking angry at the possibility of exploitation, the other woman still looked amused. Since the same thought had occurred to Sophie, she asked carefully, “That doesn’t bother you?”

Kathryn shrugged. “The money comes out of the trust that was set up specifically for this property. Since it’s entailed, I couldn’t access those funds for myself even if I wanted to. If somebody could just break into the house, I can stop hunting down people my father rescued and making the same offer over and over again, but other than that, it doesn’t particularly bother me one way or another.”

“You have been doing this for over twenty years,” Sophie murmured reflectively. She was almost unaware of how her fingers stroked the photograph. Almost. “You must be very tired of it.”

“Actually, it’s become something of a hobby.” Kathryn sipped coffee and set her cup carefully back on its saucer. “My career is stressful and demanding. If I’m not careful, it can suck the life out of me. This takes me outside of that, and it even gives me a reason to travel. Finding people whom my father rescued when they were children has become rewarding and even comforting in a way. It has been heartwarming to see how far his influence spread. He saved a lot of lives, and I’m really proud of that. Of him.”

Sophie rearranged the photos in front of her, watching her hands. “I’m sure not everybody would have welcomed it. Until I had a friend at the LAPD trace the phone number you left in your message and run a background check on you, I was certain you were running some kind of scam.”

“True.” Kathryn nodded. “And sometimes it’s hard to discover that not everybody has thrived after being rescued. One died in a car accident, and someone else joined the army and was killed in battle. But more often than not, people are like yourself.”

I never said I was thriving, Sophie thought. Her body throbbed again, the three points of fire in her thigh, shoulder, and abdomen.

But then wasn’t that exactly the kind of impression her good linen suit and chunky jewelry was supposed to convey?

Kathryn studied her curiously. “The notes in your file said my father couldn’t discover what your inhuman side was, so he chose to place you with magical humans. Your adoptive family in the witches’ demesne—were they a good match for you?”

Sophie’s hand fisted where it rested on the photograph.

Oh, they were a great match. Mom baked homemade cherry pies and sprinkled them with sugar laced with magic wishes. Dad came home from work every day at 4:30 P.M. They let me pick out the family dog, Snuggles, and every year, it took me until midafternoon to open all my presents under the Christmas tree.

She couldn’t voice such sarcasm in the face of Kathryn’s kindness. Instead, she said somewhat huskily, “Yeah. They were great.”

So great she left the moment she could when she was eighteen. After a brief attempt to find out who her birth parents were, she had struck out on her own, and she’d been blowing like a tumbleweed ever since.

Kathryn smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. And now you’re a consultant for the LAPD.”

“That’s right,” Sophie replied. “I was until about a month ago.”

One month ago, when good people I knew and cared about died. When I almost died.

But she didn’t say that either. None of that was any of Kathryn’s business.

“That says something about the quality of your work. They don’t hire just anybody.” Kathryn asked, “What are you doing now?”

Trying to recover, to figure out what to do next with her life. Slowly panicking as the medical bills roll in and the money runs out. Consulting jobs didn’t come with paid sick leave.

To give herself time to reply, Sophie reached for her coffee and let the dark, roasted flavor roll over her tongue.