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.”

The two-natured Wyr could be extremely long-lived. Some rare breeds were among the first generation of Elder Races and considered to be immortal. They could be killed, but they would never die of old age.

“You’ve never been there yourself?” Sophie asked. She opened up the file to scan the contents.

Photographs of a massive medieval house lay inside. Part stone fortress, part monstrous architectural folly, it brooded against a backdrop of ancient, tangled forest. The land fell away behind the house, and in one corner a lake or the edge of a river glimmered. She looked through each of the photos, studying the different angles. The palms of her hands tingled as she handled the pictures.

The photos themselves weren’t magic, not exactly. But something about the house was, or the land, and the camera had managed to capture a hint of it.

Kathryn told her, “Oh, I’ve been there several times, but I’ve not been inside the house. Nobody has since the last time my father went in. It… stopped letting people in.”

Sophie rested her left palm on one of the photographs and searched for that elusive hint of magic. When she connected with it, her palm tingled again. She sensed a distant breeze blowing through the trees in the scene. The house had five gables.

A subtle, almost indefinable shift rippled under her palm. She leaned forward, her attention sharpening.

No, not five gables. There were seven.

What the hell.

Belatedly, what Kathryn had said sank in, and she looked up at the other woman. She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, the house won’t let anybody in?”

Kathryn let out a soft laugh. “I know how that sounds. I’m anthropomorphizing a building, but I don’t know how else to say it. It’s a strange place. You would have to experience it to believe it.”