Kotza House - a butch/femme paranormal shifter tale

Kotza House - Part 1

Tara Nicolson watched the huge wrought iron gate swing shut in her rearview mirror, swallowing nervously as it closed behind her with an ominous clang. Taking a deep breath, she cautiously pressed the gas pedal and continued slowly along the dark, winding driveway—trying to ignore the menacing shadows that were being thrown across her old SUV by the massive trees—and hoped the house wasn't too far away.

For about the five millionth time in the past two weeks, Tara wondered exactly what the fuck she'd been thinking when she agreed to this batshit crazy proposal.

When she had received the letter—on very expensive stationary—from Lillian Grimshaw's solicitor, her first reaction had been to dismiss it as a joke. Lillian, an elderly distant relation whom Tara had never heard of, was looking to pass on an old estate she owned in southwest Florida to a member of the family. Tara's name had come up through a genealogy search.

First of all, Tara remembered thinking with an eyeroll, that was some bullshit right there. An elderly English relation—who probably drank tea, wore sturdy tweed coats, and lived in a cute little Agatha Christie-like village called Faversham Hollows or some shit like that—owned an estate in southwest Florida?

Right. If you believed that, Tara had some swamp land she could sell you.

Second, the letter had specified that Tara had to take possession of the estate by October 1—just two weeks from the day she'd received the letter—with the understanding that she was to maintain continuous residence at the estate until midnight on October 31. Tara would not be able to leave the estate grounds under any circumstances. A delivery service would be at her disposal for groceries, supplies, and anything else she might need.

The third stipulation was that Tara would live there completely by herself. Neither friends nor family would be permitted to visit, call, or write to Tara during those thirty-one days. There was no cell phone service at the estate, and internet access was severely restricted to information sites only. Tara would, in essence, be completely cut off from the outside world.

If she met all of the outlined conditions, the letter said, the estate would be hers. The inheritance included the actual estate, a ten million pounds lump sum payment, plus a monthly stipend of ten thousand pounds.

Despite her disbelief, Tara had felt the bottom of her stomach drop once she had grabbed her calculator and converted the pounds into dollars. Approximately $13.8 million dollars in a lump sum, then a monthly allowance of almost $14,000?

There was no fucking way any of this was real. Tara didn't know who had set up this prank, but she was going to kick their ass when she found out.

Frankly, she had thought with a resigned eyeroll, it was probably her asshole ex, Jessie—or Jessie's asshole new girlfriend, Veronica—trying to cause trouble for her. Again.

Whatever.

Just as Tara had been about to discard the letter, admittedly with a pang of regret that it wasn't real, her phone had rung. The very proper English voice on the phone—what gender, Tara couldn't tell—had asked to speak to Tara Nicolson about a letter that had been sent to her.

After assuring Tara that the letter was no prank, the voice—who had only identified themselves as Smythe, the solicitor's assistant—had asked Tara if she would be free to take possession of the estate in two weeks' time. It was September 16, Smythe had informed her, and as Tara was required to arrive at the estate on October 1, Smythe needed to know Tara's decision immediately so arrangements for her stay could be made.

Tara's senses were reeling, and she didn't quite know what to do. She was between jobs at the moment, so her employment wouldn't be an issue. Her very Christian parents had disowned her when she had come out as a lesbian eleven years ago, and she didn't have any brothers and sisters, so she had no family to worry about.