“Should I satisfy your curiosity?” She paused, then nodded. “Zoltan was a man I met in the Village in New York. He played chess in Washington Square, played the violin in a sidewalk café, and made love to me like I was a Stradivarius. He taught me things, Agent Savich, so many things before he died from a curse he knew was coming for him. He awakened his powers in me before he died, in what he told me was an ancient ritual. His family was originally from Erdély, a part of Hungary before it was taken and given to Romania.”
Her voice was low and musical, mesmerizing. Savich found himself staring into the smoldering fire, the occasional sparking flame. Her words seemed to flow smoothly into his mind. Something wasn’t right. He pulled his eyes away from the fire and back to her face. “Zoltan died of a curse? Is that a tale for your clients’ benefit? And now mine? To give you credibility? To make yourself out to be a sorcerer’s apprentice?”
10
“Sorcerer’s apprentice? As vastly romantic as that sounds, I did not have to invent Zoltan. He was a living, breathing man, my mentor and lover, and he bestowed his gifts on me.”
Savich knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, which felt odd. He rose and walked to stand against the mantel, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest. He said very precisely, “There is no such thing as transferring psychic power. I’m surprised this claim would impress anyone, Zoltan, or should I remind you your name is Weatherspoon and you grew up in Willicott, Maryland?”
“Weatherspoon is my parents’ name. What a common name it is. Naturally you investigated me the moment Rebekah told you about our visit with her grandfather. If I had the resources you do, I suppose I’d have done such a check on you. As for Willicott, it’s a sad little town near Lake Massey, where I remember listening to my parents scream at each other, and where I learned to hug my secrets close. Ah, old history. I left for New York when I was eighteen, attended City College, and met Zoltan. There’s really not much more to say about my past, Agent Savich.
“I changed my name six years ago, after Zoltan died. I took his name to honor him, to show the depth of my love for him. And thank him for what he’d given me. Can we get on with it? You look rather tired. You’ve had a long day. Your saving Rebekah Manvers from kidnappers is all over the news, and of course that’s why you’re here. You believe I may have had something to do with her attempted kidnapping, since Rebekah was with me last night.”
Savich decided to take a shot in the dark. “It’s obvious her attempted kidnapping was precipitated by your having her here for a séance, telling her her grandfather had come, having him tell her things she didn’t want to hear.” He watched her closely.
Zoltan threw back her head and laughed. “A frontal attack, that’s good. If I were responsible, you’d have me quaking. But alas, I’m a simple medium, my only purpose to connect the Departed with the living, nothing more, nothing less. So Rebekah told you about what her grandfather told her. I’m surprised. She told me she wanted it to stop here, never speak of it again.”
“Evidently she changed her mind after someone tried to kidnap her. It wasn’t lost on her that what happened was only hours after her meeting with you. And that makes what she and her grandfather discussed a motive, doesn’t it?”
Zoltan fanned her hands in front of her. “Agent Savich, I had nothing to do with anything. I was only the conduit for her grandfather. It was he who told her about the Big Take that happened so long ago.”
Savich kept his face impassive. “Do you think her grandfather murdered his supposed best friend, Nate Elderby, because of the Big Take?”
“Well, it appears Rebekah told you everything. But not murder, that wasn’t ever discussed.” She frowned. “Although her grandfather’s words about his friend were somewhat ambiguous. A falling-out among thieves, then, that’s what you believe.”
Savich said, “I imagine Rebekah was quite surprised, didn’t want to consider her grandfather could have been involved in something like the Big Take, much less murder.” He took another sip of his tea.
Zoltan shrugged. “So who would care one way or the