Page 24 of Who Cries for the Lost

“Both, although he preferred the cards.”

“So what did you see in his cards?”

Her smile firmly back in place, she gave a slight shake of her head. “My readings are like a Papist confessional: I don’t reveal the secrets I learn.”

“Even when the man you told them to is dead?”

“Especially then.”

Sebastian found his gaze drawn to a hollow blue glass ball that hung over the mantel of the room’s empty hearth. It was some six or seven inches in diameter, its lower half filled with a layer of salt strewn with what looked like lavender and marigold buds, bits of moss and cinnamon bark, and chips of amethyst and obsidian.

“It’s called a witch’s ball,” she said, following his gaze. “Have you ever seen one before?”

“Not quite like that.” He paused. “I understand Sedgewick had a particular interest in folklore—especially that involving witches. Do you know why?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

He came to wrap his hands around the carved top of the chair facing her and leaned into it. “Who do you think killed him?”

She stared up at him, meeting his gaze openly. But she was an actress with years of experience, and he could not begin to read her. “I have no idea. Who told you to ask me?”

“A friend.”

“A friend of Sedgewick’s, or of yours?”

“Both.”

She nodded. “McPherson, I assume.” She paused, a slow smile curling her lips when Sebastian said nothing. “He has a very beautiful wife named Isabella; did you know?”

“Yes. I assume that’s supposed to be relevant in some way?”

“You tell me. They say Sedgewick had his face shot off and his sex organs removed. Is it true?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“It’s known.”

“Not by many.”

“Obviously by more than you think.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the shuffling of the cards. Then she said, “So tell me this: Did you know Sedgewick well?”

“I knew him four years ago.”

She shrugged. “I doubt he’d changed much since that time. Some men grow from the experiences they encounter in life, while others are diminished. Which it is sometimes depends on the character of the man, but not always. Sometimes it’s the nature of the experiences that determines the outcome.”

“And Sedgewick?”

“With Sedgewick, I’d say life didn’t so much change him as...” She paused as if searching for the right word. “Accentuate him.”

“In a good or a bad way?”

“I suppose that depends on your perspective.” She set the deck of cards on the surface of the table before her, cut it three times, then looked up at him. “Shall I read for you now?”

He took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides. “No, thank you. Next time, perhaps.”