Hollow Earth (16 page)

‘In some cases the binding of their imagination resulted in the artist’s death,’ said Renard in a low voice. ‘To be bound, to lose their imaginative powers, reduced other artists to madness or worse. Sometimes it simply left them empty, a shell of a human being.’

‘Oh man, I saw Van Gogh’s painting
Starry Night
down there,’ Matt gasped.

‘So was Van Gogh an Animare then?’ Em asked, thrilled by the connection to such a famous artist.

Renard sighed, resigned to all he would have to tell them. The time had come, and he didn’t like what lay ahead one bit.

TWENTY-NINE

W
hen Matt had walked into the vault, the room had astonished him but not overwhelmed him the way it had overwhelmed his sister.

‘The room was filled with paintings,’ he explained to Em enthusiastically. ‘Each one was glowing, like it had a halo of light coming from it.’ He jumped off the bed again, as if pacing would help him find the words more easily. ‘Em, when I looked into that picture –
Starry Night
– I felt like … well, I don’t even know what it was I felt.’

Sandie stepped in. ‘You felt bliss, Matt. Euphoria. Joy. Van Gogh’s painting transported you beyond reality for a fleeting moment.’

Confused, Em looked at her mum. ‘But how come it’s down there? We’ve seen
Starry Night
in a museum.’

‘It’s down in the vault because Van Gogh’s imagination is bound within it,’ Renard explained. ‘But it’s a copy. You see, when the binding decision is made, the Council of Guardians can either bind the artist’s imagination or the artist’s entire being, depending on the circumstances. If an artist is bound, he or she can choose which painting to be bound in. The
Starry Night
in the vault is not identical to the original, but it’s close, and Vincent himself painted it.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Poor Vincent was an unusually sad case. He went mad before his imagination was bound. His own mind was never able to come to terms with his Animare powers. Sadly, Europe in the nineteenth century didn’t appreciate him much either.’

‘Is that what happened to the old monk in the tower?’ asked Em.

Renard tilted his head. ‘Perhaps, but I’m inclined to think that the old monk was, quite simply, old. His mind had lost its sharpness, and even his Guardian could do nothing to help.’

‘You said before that some Guardians on the Council want to lock us away like that,’ said Matt. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Your mum and I will not let that happen,’ said Renard firmly. ‘One of the wonderful things about being an Animare is that when you create a work of art normally, without animating it, your art can move anyone who views it to the same heights of joy and pleasure that Matt experienced in the vault. For most Animare that is enough, and they live happy, productive lives, creating great art.’

Sandie snuggled closer to her daughter. ‘Your grandfather and I just want you both to be happy, to be able to live your lives without any fear, no matter what you choose to do,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, when you were born, some Guardians wanted to bind your powers right away because your dad is a Guardian like your grandfather.’

Matt was about to interrupt, bursting with questions about the vault, about his dad. His grandfather lifted his hand. ‘Let your mum finish.’

‘A Guardian – like your dad – and an Animare like myself are forbidden to have children. But we did. I came to the Abbey as a young woman to learn under your grandfather’s guidance and to have a place where I could work on my art—’ Sandie’s voice broke.

‘And you fell in love with our dad,’ Em jumped in, squeezing her mum’s hand.

Sandie nodded. ‘But a few years later, when you two were born …’ She stopped, looking to Renard for help.

‘Some on the Council suggested separating you instead of binding you,’ said Renard, leaning back in his chair, ‘because they feared how strong your imaginations could become if you grew up together.’

‘Kind of like in
Star Wars
,’ said Matt.

Em rolled her eyes, deliberately this time.

‘Was our dad one of those Guardians who wanted to hurt us?’ asked Em.

Renard looked frozen in his chair. Sandie answered quickly. ‘Of course not!’

For most of their early years, the twins had held on to the belief that their dad was caught up in some grand scheme for good that kept him away from home. But as more birthdays had come and gone, they’d started to entertain the idea that their dad was not in their lives for some other reason. Sandie’s story that he had simply abandoned them hadn’t sat well with Matt when he was small. It wasn’t resting any easier at almost thirteen.

‘One afternoon,’ Sandie continued, ‘not long after we’d arrived in London, your dad left the flat and never returned. No one has heard from him since.’

She’s lying, Matt.

How do you know?

I can feel it … like a clicking in my head.

‘So will this happen to me again?’ Em asked, letting her mum’s lie stand for now. She was feeling sleepy.

‘For a Guardian, the intensity of the emotions, the rapture, that emanate from a bound painting can be hard to absorb,’ explained Renard. ‘Where Matt felt only the positive that came from the painting, you absorbed everything Van Gogh felt when he was painting, Em – his sorrow and his joy. You were overwhelmed. Your brain crashed, like one of Zach’s computers.’

‘But why me and not Matt?’ said Em.

‘You seem to be developing your Guardian side – your empathy – more strongly at the moment,’ said Sandie.

‘Your imaginative powers are evolving differently in each of you,’ explained their grandfather.

‘So can we go back down to the vault some other time?’ asked Matt.

‘Of course, when Em’s stronger,’ said Renard. ‘But looking at the art of an Animare in full control of his or her imaginative power can be just as exquisite. So, for a while, we’ll stick with the works on public display in art galleries and museums.’ Renard lifted Em’s hand to his cheek. ‘I’m so sorry for your pain. Now get some sleep. In the morning, Simon’s going to take the three of you shopping in Glasgow.’

‘But aren’t we going to be punished for what we did today?’ asked Em, snuggling under her duvet.

Sandie went over to Em’s desk, picking up the pencil case stuffed with their ill-gotten gains. ‘Not if we give this money to Seaport Primary School for art supplies,’ she said. ‘Then I think we can call it even.’

‘Okay,’ said Em, just relieved to be able to put the injured little boy out of her mind.

THIRTY

D
inner was a quiet affair that evening. Matt said very little, digesting what Renard had told them. He was also snubbing Zach, believing he had poured out the full details of what they’d done in the caves under minimal pressure from the adults.

At the other end of the table, Zach was sulking because of the dressing-down he’d received from his dad for crashing the Abbey’s network. He was also anxious about Em. She’d looked so terribly pale when Renard had carried her upstairs to her room.

It was a relief when finally they all went to bed. En route to her own room later, Sandie stopped to check on the twins, easing open the door to Matt’s room first. He was wrapped in his duvet, mumbling in his sleep. Sandie untangled his cover as best she could without disturbing him, then stepped down the hall to her daughter’s room.

She laughed aloud at what confronted her. Stepping into Em’s bedroom after she’d fallen asleep was like falling into a wonderful 3-D movie. Favourite characters from Em’s imagination were shooting back and forth above her bed like colourful comets – a young Victorian girl chasing a street urchin, two teenage boys with wands, a gothic-looking witch on a broom, a superhero in a green cape, a beautiful mermaid riding a kelpie.

Sandie perched on the edge of the bed, resting her hand on Em’s forehead. One by one, the characters exploded in vivid bursts of light, leaving tails of silver stardust in their wake. Sandie waited until the room was free of all Em’s imaginings, before getting up and leaving, gently closing the door behind her.

Crouching in the corner, the changeling grinned, licking its thin, cracked lips, its yellow eyes piercing the darkness.

The next morning, a heavy atmosphere covered the whole Abbey. Matt was the last one to come downstairs for breakfast. Grunting to Jeannie, he poured himself a bowl of cereal, splashing milk all over the counter. Picking up the
Times
crossword and pen that Renard had left on the table earlier, Matt began to scribble across the page, lightly at first. He was remembering how embarrassed he had felt when Em and Zach had ganged up on him at the beach, when that weird couple had asked to see their performance. Zach and Em had been doing that a lot recently. He didn’t like it.

His doodling became more aggressive. Suddenly, one of the characters from the Rice Krispies box jumped off, sprinted across the kitchen counter and leaped on to the sink in front of Jeannie, who screamed, picking up the pan she was washing and splatting the little figure in an explosion of colour.

Matt grabbed his head, howling in pain when the character exploded. He rubbed his temples, shocked that he’d felt the character’s demise in his head. That had never happened before.

Renard, Simon and Sandie rushed into the kitchen. Zach and Em came running too.

‘What on earth is wrong wi’ everyone this morning?’ Jeanie yelled at no one in particular, waving the pan back and forth in the air as if she was batting away imaginary missiles. She glared at Matt. ‘What if I hadn’t caught that wee man and he’d headed outside? The gardeners are here!’

‘Matt, for pity’s sake!’ snapped Sandie, as Renard gently eased the pan from Jeannie’s grip. ‘After everything we talked about yesterday, you’re still not getting how serious this kind of messing around is, are you?’

For Matt, this was the last straw. ‘I’m tired of you telling me what to do, what to think, what to eat!’ He swept his cereal bowl from the table, sending it crashing against the wall.

‘Stop yelling at Mum!’ screamed Em. ‘It’s all you ever do.’

‘Something bad is coming, Simon,’ said Renard, guiding Sandie away from the enraged and shaking Matt. ‘I can feel it. It’s affecting all of us.’

Sandie looked appalled that she’d lost her temper. ‘I’m so sorry, Mattie. I’ve been feeling weird all morning.’

Renard gathered everyone in the sitting room. Mara he left alone in her studio, merely sending Jeannie to check on her.

‘What’s happening, Grandpa?’ asked Em, feeling the tension in the air like something dark pressing down on her.

‘Someone or something is psychically affecting us all, you and Matt more than the rest of us,’ Renard told her. He turned to Simon. ‘Take the children to Glasgow as we’d planned. I’ll see what I can discover from here. It may be nothing. We may all just need a break from each other, that’s all.’

‘No surprise there then,’ said Matt, stomping out of the room.

Stuff it
, he thought, and kept his silence.