Royal Academy
London
Present Day
‘Hunt her down, Vaughn,’ Sir Charles had instructed through tight lips, his hand already on the phone to convene an emergency meeting of the European Council of Guardians. ‘Whatever it takes, find Henrietta de Court and that tapestry.’
Hunting rogue Guardians and Animare was familiar ground to Vaughn Grant. As an agent of Orion, the secret organization of Animare hunters scattered through the world, Vaughn spent much of his time on similar missions. It was how he had first met Sandie, when Sir Charles had charged him with tracking her and the twins when they had gone into hiding in the early days.
He’d done his job too well back then. Rather than betray Sandie, he had helped her survive. It was at that time Vaughn had also agreed to help Renard, his friend and mentor, by spying on Sir Charles lest he and the Council make any rash decisions about binding the twins after Sandie had fled to Scotland with them.
This mission, however, felt more serious than most. Henrietta de Court was a senior Guardian on the European Council, the remaining members of which would need at least a day to answer Sir Charles’s summons and gather at the Royal Academy. But Vaughn didn’t have to wait.
Glancing at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, Vaughn wondered if he would make it to the National Gallery of Scotland before it closed for the night. It was already 4.40 p.m., and he was still in London. He had twenty minutes left in which to do it.
It was dangerous, but not impossible.
He stared irritably at a group of schoolgirls who’d broken away from the last public tour of the day to root themselves in front of the painting Vaughn needed. Samuel Morse’s Gallery of the Louvre was a huge canvas that stretched across most of the wall between the Royal Academy’s two primary staircases. Vaughn tried to will the girls away from the art, but he was not a Guardian. Inspiriting them to move from the painting wasn’t in his skill set.
Adrenaline surged through Vaughn’s veins. He let it. He’d need every bit of energy for what he was about to do.
‘This is the one I wanted to tell you about,’ said a curly redhead to her classmates in a loud voice.
A dark-haired girl jabbed in the direction of the painting with her pen. ‘Looks lame to me,’ she said.
The redhead folded her arms. ‘You’re just annoyed because Mr James put me in charge of our group for a change.’
Vaughn leaned forward, glancing down the hallway. Come on, girls, please move. Opening and closing his fists, he cracked his knuckles in anticipation. His stomach rumbled and a headache was starting to pound behind his temples. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Tapas near the Prado in Madrid yesterday? Or was that the day before?
‘The artist painted a room at the Louvre and put all his favourite pictures on its walls,’ the redhead continued as the pen-wielding girl grumbled on. ‘See, there’s the Mona Lisa next to the door and the—’
‘That’s really not where the Mona Lisa is in the Louvre,’ snapped the pen girl. ‘I’ve seen it.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said the redhead stubbornly. ‘The point is… this painting is haunted. My sister’s friend knows one of the night guards. He’s seen things.’
‘Will all patrons begin to make their way to the exits,’ boomed the public address system as the girls exploded with laughter. ‘The Royal Academy of Arts will be closing promptly in fifteen minutes.’
Vaughn knew he was cutting this far too close. He’d made the journey from London to Edinburgh in nine minutes once, but his mind had been sharper then, and his imagination singularly focused. Unlike this afternoon. He’d already been travelling for close to thirty-six hours, and a lack of sleep compounded with his worry – about the twins, about Sandie, about Henrietta de Court – meant he was exhausted. An exhausted Animare could screw up, and when travelling by these means could be dangerous. Even fatal.
‘My sister’s friend,’ continued the redhead, raising her voice over the disbelieving laughter, ‘said that sometimes the guard can hear laughing and giggling from the painting and—’
‘What utter rubbish,’ the other girl said scornfully, flouncing towards the stairs with the rest of the group.
If Vaughn arrived after the National Gallery in Edinburgh had closed, he’d have to animate something to avoid triggering the alarms or disturbing their guards, and the more he had to animate when he was feeling this drained, the riskier it was. Vaughn glanced at his watch again.
The redhead shoved her gallery map into her backpack and stomped after the others. ‘Yeah, well… the artist who painted this invented Morse Code. And that’s amazing,’ she shouted after them, grasping for one last tidbit before she lost her audience entirely. ‘And if it wasn’t for him, well… well, we wouldn’t have… have… smartphones.’
At last, they were gone. Vaughn stood, stretched, slipped on his leather jacket and pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder. Checking the hallway was completely empty, he stepped in front of Morse’s painting.
The Gallery of the Louvre had never brought Samuel Morse the fame he’d hoped for as an artist, but it had brought him a more important kind of renown, among a certain group, at least. Morse had used his unique abilities as an Animare and a code maker to serve a greater cause. Thanks to Morse’s skills, Vaughn and a small number of uniquely trained Animare were able to travel between various Guardian Councils and galleries. Because of Morse, a series of paintings around the world were linked to this painting as a kind of hub.
Vaughn slipped his sketchbook from his messenger bag and began to draw. Those girls would never know it, but the redhead was on to something about the nature of the painting. Haunted wasn’t even the half of it.