Em was shivering, even though the sun was streaming in through the stained-glass window above their heads.
‘I think we all need a cup of tea,’ said Matt.
‘I’d rather have a latte,’ said Rémy, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Haven’t had one since I’ve been on the streets.’
When Matt returned with a tray, Rémy and Vaughn had shifted to the couch and Em was cross-legged on the reading chair.
Rémy stared at the musical note Matt had drawn in the foam of his latte. ‘Is this real or supernatural?’
‘I’m insulted,’ said Matt, grinning. ‘I do have one or two normal talents, you know.’
‘Tell us what you can about the men in the painting, Rémy,’ said Vaughn, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
‘The man on the left was once the most famous castrato in history, Don Grigori de Cordoba,’ Rémy said with effort. ‘The other man was his patron, Cardinal Rafael Oscuro, a Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Whoa, hold the bus,’ said Matt. ‘A castrato? You mean he had his junk cut off so he could sing like a girl?’
‘Not exactly. His endocrine duct was severed, which meant his testicles shrivelled up and his voice stayed high. Women were banned from singing in Vatican choirs, and the Pope needed castrati to sing the soprano parts during mass.’ Rémy’s face twitched. ‘In Spain, butchers did the procedures because they were skilled at preparing pigs for market. Pigs’ testicles still are a delicacy in lots of places.’
‘I think I just threw up in my mouth,’ said Matt.
‘Making boys castrati was also a way for many poor families to curry favour with the Vatican and its cardinals,’ Vaughn added. ‘They sold their boys to the Catholic Church.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Em. ‘The Church has done a lot of nasty stuff.’
Vaughn studied the portrait again. ‘This was painted when, early sixteenth century?’ he said. ‘And you all say one of these men was out of the painting?’
‘Don Grigori,’ said Rémy. His face hardened. ‘He killed my mother and Tia Rosa four weeks ago, and now he’s after me. Apparently these two abominations in the portrait can’t fulfil their destiny if I’m still alive.’
‘What destiny?’ asked Em.
‘A lot of Mom’s journal makes no sense to me,’ Rémy admitted. ‘She wrote in some kind of code. But in a few places she writes about a secret organization called the Camarilla’s plans for something called the Second Kingdom, and that when it comes she writes that the “dead will rise and the fallen will rule”. Their destiny must have something to do with this Second Kingdom.’
‘Do you think these guys are the ones stealing instruments from paintings?’ asked Em.
Em!
Startled by Matt’s scream in her head, Em choked on her tea, spurting it out through her nose.
Vaughn held up his hands. ‘What? Who told you instruments were being taken from paintings?’
‘One of Vermeer’s young women,’ said Matt, covering for Em while she mopped tea from her cardigan. ‘When we faded from the museum.’
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really? I’ve sent you both on precisely two uncomplicated missions,’ he said. ‘You’re trainees. You remain on probation from the Council. You aren’t supposed to be involved in cases like this.’
Em shrugged. ‘What can I say? We’re fast learners.’
Vaughn threw his hands in the air. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, tell me everything you know.’