Prologue
Florence, Italy.
February 1497.
He lovingly slides his finger over the outline of the face.
She is so beautiful.
He continues along the body, softly touching the bare forms.
He must at all costs hide it until the religious hysteria calms down.
The painter decides to wall up his work, the Madonna con vista sull' Arno, rather than let it end its days in the flames of the Bonfire of the Vanities, as ordered by Savonarola, the Dominican friar who took control of Florence.
Reluctantly, Sandro Botticelli covers his painting with a heavy cloth and leaves his studio.
...Not knowing that five centuries will pass before anyone sets eyes on it again.
CHAPTER ONE
1.
Kristin threw an exasperated glance at her watch.
22:30.
- Of course, she's late! she grumbled to her friend Samantha.
The two young women had pushed the furniture and the carpet against the wall to free-up a large space at the center of the room.
She dialed the number of Marie-Nadège.
- Where are you? grunted Kristin. We've been waiting for you for more than half- an-hour.
- Sorry, I'm still in the Louvre. I had to review a restoration invoice and...
- You have a copy of the candidates files ? interrupted Kristin.
Marie-Nadège swallowed.
- Yes. The fifteen of them... But I wonder if it's a good idea... If my bosses find out about this, I'll get fired on the spot...
- Stop that. It's for your own good. And for your information, Samantha is as nervous as you are. She can never predict how things will turn out.
- OK... I'll be there in a few minutes.
- Don't delay. Sammy and I are just completing the set-up, she added before cutting off.
Samantha carefully laid twenty-one candles in a circle around them which she lit one by one. With a chalk, she then drew a pentagram on the floor.
As she was completing the five-pointed star, Kristin flinched : she had felt something hitting her in the stomach.
- What was that, Sammy?
- Don't worry, everything's under control. Just make sure that you stay inside the circle of candles.
2.
Clack-clack-clack-clack.
Marie-Nadège's heels were clapping sharply in the Grand Hall of the Denon wing on the second floor of the Louvre.
Like her father twenty years earlier - who never left the museum without this detour - the young curator went to the salon Carré.
She held her breath while laying her eyes on the Madonna con vista sull' Arno.
Botticelli, she thought. A genius.
With a twinge of sadness, her eyes glanced over the empty space at the right of the painting. She pulled herself together before the emotions overwhelmed her.
They'll behead me if I don't hurry.
She flew to the Sully wing, went down the stairs to the basement of the museum and rushed towards the exit.
March drew to a close and a new wave of bad weather was sweeping over Paris. She tightened the light blue scarf around her neck and crossed Rivoli street.
A decade earlier, Marie-Nadège Augustin had met Kristin Baumann and Samantha Payne-Wright at the Sorbonne while the three of them were sweating at their master's program.
Marie-Nadège had specialized in history of painting. Her outstanding record - and her father's unique relations - had opened her the doors at the Italian section of the Louvre.
Kristin Baumann, a petite German with spirited eyes and thick black hair, had plunged voraciously in the Renaissance history. She also had landed a job at the Louvre, but as a guide.
As for Samantha Payne-Wright, a magnificent blonde curly-haired American, it was experimental psychology that she dived into. Her thesis on spiritualism had rooted her for good at the Sorbonne, where she taught now.
Over the years, three young women became inseparable.
Marie-Nadège let a taxi go by and crossed Saint-Honoré. The evening ahead filled her with apprehension.
But do I have any other options ? she thought.
A month earlier, Gervais Thevenet, director of the Italian collections at the Louvre and Marie-Nadège's mentor, had been hit by a motorcycle while crossing the street on the Ile de la Cité. The old man had been left on the pavement, his neck broken, while the bikers quickly disappeared into the distance. The death of Gervais had moved the world of arts and culture, but it was Marie-Nadège who had been the most shaken, as the old man had been the best friend of her father.
And two days earlier, the young police lieutenant in charge of the investigation had given her a crushing blow: according to a witness, the men on the motorcycle seemed to be waiting for the collections director ; this version had been corroborated by a florist. The agression could then have been premeditated.
Her friend Kristin had decided to take hold of the situation. And nothing could resist the young German when she had something in mind.
Marie-Nadège went up the Croix-des-Petits-Champs street to the Place des Victoires, where her friend Samantha had this magnificent apartment offered by her Texan father for her long stay in Paris, and especially to keep her away from the new stepmother.
The young woman looked up at the second floor. The curtains were drawn.
What are we up to ? I don't like this...
Marie-Nadège entered the building and gave herself a critical glance at the mirror in the hall - I don't have enough buttocks nor breasts - and with a nervous nod replaced her short auburn hair. Her face with a perfect oval and classic look attracted hordes of males, but the coldness of her stare made them all as quickly run away. Her eyes, an unusual emerald color with fine aquamarine streaks, most often seemed like polar ice, and too rarely the South Seas.
Marie-Nadège left the elevator and did not ring. Samantha had left the door ajar.
The curator closed behind her and walked slowly toward the candle placed on the floor, just down the hall.
She always manages to throw me the jitters with her stagings.
- You're there, girls?
Silence.
Hesitantly, she slid the heavy black curtain that hid the room.
Kristin, her back held very straight and sitting on the floor facing the pentacle, was barely visible in the semi-darkness with her long ebony hair. Samantha, at her left, was finishing gathering her blond locks under a black scarf ; she raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.
The curator did not move. The candles' acrid smoke was stinging her eyes.
- What do I do ? she shouted nervously.
- Sit down here, Kristin ordered designating a point of the star.
Marie-Nadège breathed deeply and sat with the bag containing the files.
- Kristin told me, Samantha said softly. The death of your boss would then be criminal?
- Yes. Just thinking about it makes me feel dizzy. Gervais was so nice, everyone loved him. But I'm sure there's more to it. Kristin and I have discussed at length and, in our opinion, the only thing that comes out of the ordinary... Two days before he died, I had managed to pull from him the authorization for the Botticelli project...
After months and months of discussions, during which the old director had opposed a firm but affectionate refusal to her protegee, Gervais had finally yielded to the insistence of Marie-Nadège : the Louvre would celebrate the five hundred years of the death of Sandro Botticelli, the Renaissance genius. A temporary exhibition would be installed in the museum around a centerpiece, the Madonna con Vista sull' Arno, discovered two decades earlier.
- He would have been so proud of this project. Daddy and him where the ones behind the Louvre's finding of this painting, and I'm just mad at the idea that neither of them will see the project coming alive...
Twenty years earlier, Vincent Augustin, her own dad, had exhumed the Inferno, a painting by Florentine painter Luca Signorelli, in the Louvre's vast reserves. The work of art was quietly waiting, ignored by everyone because of an inventory error. Shortly after the Inferno had been restored and exhibited in the Salon Carré, it had been stolen. The father of Marie-Nadège had been destroyed by the robbery, and a few months later, gave himself death.
- It's like a curse: my father and his best friend, passionate of the Renaissance painters, both died prematurely ...
- Are you still replacing Gervais as head of Italian collections?
- Yes, temporarily. And it arouses jealousy.
- What would you like to do next? asked Samantha.
Marie-Nadège thought for a second:
- This is how we'll proceed: Kristin will work on the Botticelli project, part time for the first month and then full time afterward. The trainee that we'll hire, she said while pointing at the records she had brought, will work with her on the project.
Kristin's eyes were shining.
- When we're finished, the whole of Europe will be at the gates of the Louvre!
Samantha raised her finger:
- And what brings us here tonight is ...
Kristin interrupted
- ... is that you help us to choose the trainee who will work on the Botticelli project.
- But with the pentacle on the ground, asked Marie-Nadège, aren't you afraid that it could bring a bad spirit ?
- But that's what we want! joked Kristin. Our singles lives are so annoying ...
- Don't worry, reassured Samantha, everything is under control, I'm used to this. Do not forget I am a researcher in experimental psychology, including spiritualism and paranormal.
- Let's go, girls! shouted Kristin, fanning herself with the back of her hand. Before we see nothing with this dawn smoke, how about if we get started ? Pass along the candidates files, Marie-Nadège.
The curator opened her bag and handed the stack of documents to the young German. She undid the clamps, cut out the pictures while taking care of leaving the names, then handed them one by one to Samantha.
Samantha had already placed half in the pentacle when she turned her head and peered into the darkness behind her.
- You felt a presence?
Kristin swallowed slowly. A shiver had run through her back.
- Yes, she answered in a whisper.
The atmosphere in the room changed subtly. The traffic noise from the Place des Victoires gradually faded away while the air behind Samantha was becoming opaque.
- There is now a nice spirit among us, the American said with a falsely confident voice. A gentle spirit that will help us find...
She paused. The candles were almost providing no light. They still could see the flames, but the lighting was dimmed to the point where the furniture and the carpet were barely visible.
The room kept darkening until it was plunged into full darkness. The three young women then heard the floorboards creaking behind them. The noise stopped behind the American.
In the dark, Marie-Nadège reached out and grabbed the lighter that was used to light candles. She only succeeded in producing tiny sparks ; it stubbornly refused to light up. With a nod, Samantha ordered her to continue while she was putting the last pictures in the circle.
- We have with us, she said in a slightly tensed tone, a gentle spirit that will help us choose the next...
She paused.
- There's not fifteen pictures but sixteen, she whispered, leaning towards Marie-Nadège.
- Can't be! I recounted everything before leaving.
Samantha looked up nervously : the candles had suddenly regained their strength. Frightened, Kristin looked behind her without seeing anything.
- Don't worry, I know what I'm doing, confidently asserted Samantha with a note of relief in her voice. It's perfectly safe.
She handed the sixteenth picture to Marie-Nadège.
- Tonio Morente, murmured the curator. I am convinced I didn't include him in the lot.
- A Florentine! said Kristin while looking at his record.
- The spirits have spoken, asserted Samantha. Tonio Morente will be your next trainee.
Florence, Italy.
February 1497.
He lovingly slides his finger over the outline of the face.
She is so beautiful.
He continues along the body, softly touching the bare forms.
He must at all costs hide it until the religious hysteria calms down.
The painter decides to wall up his work, the Madonna con vista sull' Arno, rather than let it end its days in the flames of the Bonfire of the Vanities, as ordered by Savonarola, the Dominican friar who took control of Florence.
Reluctantly, Sandro Botticelli covers his painting with a heavy cloth and leaves his studio.
...Not knowing that five centuries will pass before anyone sets eyes on it again.
CHAPTER ONE
1.
Kristin threw an exasperated glance at her watch.
22:30.
- Of course, she's late! she grumbled to her friend Samantha.
The two young women had pushed the furniture and the carpet against the wall to free-up a large space at the center of the room.
She dialed the number of Marie-Nadège.
- Where are you? grunted Kristin. We've been waiting for you for more than half- an-hour.
- Sorry, I'm still in the Louvre. I had to review a restoration invoice and...
- You have a copy of the candidates files ? interrupted Kristin.
Marie-Nadège swallowed.
- Yes. The fifteen of them... But I wonder if it's a good idea... If my bosses find out about this, I'll get fired on the spot...
- Stop that. It's for your own good. And for your information, Samantha is as nervous as you are. She can never predict how things will turn out.
- OK... I'll be there in a few minutes.
- Don't delay. Sammy and I are just completing the set-up, she added before cutting off.
Samantha carefully laid twenty-one candles in a circle around them which she lit one by one. With a chalk, she then drew a pentagram on the floor.
As she was completing the five-pointed star, Kristin flinched : she had felt something hitting her in the stomach.
- What was that, Sammy?
- Don't worry, everything's under control. Just make sure that you stay inside the circle of candles.
2.
Clack-clack-clack-clack.
Marie-Nadège's heels were clapping sharply in the Grand Hall of the Denon wing on the second floor of the Louvre.
Like her father twenty years earlier - who never left the museum without this detour - the young curator went to the salon Carré.
She held her breath while laying her eyes on the Madonna con vista sull' Arno.
Botticelli, she thought. A genius.
With a twinge of sadness, her eyes glanced over the empty space at the right of the painting. She pulled herself together before the emotions overwhelmed her.
They'll behead me if I don't hurry.
She flew to the Sully wing, went down the stairs to the basement of the museum and rushed towards the exit.
March drew to a close and a new wave of bad weather was sweeping over Paris. She tightened the light blue scarf around her neck and crossed Rivoli street.
A decade earlier, Marie-Nadège Augustin had met Kristin Baumann and Samantha Payne-Wright at the Sorbonne while the three of them were sweating at their master's program.
Marie-Nadège had specialized in history of painting. Her outstanding record - and her father's unique relations - had opened her the doors at the Italian section of the Louvre.
Kristin Baumann, a petite German with spirited eyes and thick black hair, had plunged voraciously in the Renaissance history. She also had landed a job at the Louvre, but as a guide.
As for Samantha Payne-Wright, a magnificent blonde curly-haired American, it was experimental psychology that she dived into. Her thesis on spiritualism had rooted her for good at the Sorbonne, where she taught now.
Over the years, three young women became inseparable.
Marie-Nadège let a taxi go by and crossed Saint-Honoré. The evening ahead filled her with apprehension.
But do I have any other options ? she thought.
A month earlier, Gervais Thevenet, director of the Italian collections at the Louvre and Marie-Nadège's mentor, had been hit by a motorcycle while crossing the street on the Ile de la Cité. The old man had been left on the pavement, his neck broken, while the bikers quickly disappeared into the distance. The death of Gervais had moved the world of arts and culture, but it was Marie-Nadège who had been the most shaken, as the old man had been the best friend of her father.
And two days earlier, the young police lieutenant in charge of the investigation had given her a crushing blow: according to a witness, the men on the motorcycle seemed to be waiting for the collections director ; this version had been corroborated by a florist. The agression could then have been premeditated.
Her friend Kristin had decided to take hold of the situation. And nothing could resist the young German when she had something in mind.
Marie-Nadège went up the Croix-des-Petits-Champs street to the Place des Victoires, where her friend Samantha had this magnificent apartment offered by her Texan father for her long stay in Paris, and especially to keep her away from the new stepmother.
The young woman looked up at the second floor. The curtains were drawn.
What are we up to ? I don't like this...
Marie-Nadège entered the building and gave herself a critical glance at the mirror in the hall - I don't have enough buttocks nor breasts - and with a nervous nod replaced her short auburn hair. Her face with a perfect oval and classic look attracted hordes of males, but the coldness of her stare made them all as quickly run away. Her eyes, an unusual emerald color with fine aquamarine streaks, most often seemed like polar ice, and too rarely the South Seas.
Marie-Nadège left the elevator and did not ring. Samantha had left the door ajar.
The curator closed behind her and walked slowly toward the candle placed on the floor, just down the hall.
She always manages to throw me the jitters with her stagings.
- You're there, girls?
Silence.
Hesitantly, she slid the heavy black curtain that hid the room.
Kristin, her back held very straight and sitting on the floor facing the pentacle, was barely visible in the semi-darkness with her long ebony hair. Samantha, at her left, was finishing gathering her blond locks under a black scarf ; she raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.
The curator did not move. The candles' acrid smoke was stinging her eyes.
- What do I do ? she shouted nervously.
- Sit down here, Kristin ordered designating a point of the star.
Marie-Nadège breathed deeply and sat with the bag containing the files.
- Kristin told me, Samantha said softly. The death of your boss would then be criminal?
- Yes. Just thinking about it makes me feel dizzy. Gervais was so nice, everyone loved him. But I'm sure there's more to it. Kristin and I have discussed at length and, in our opinion, the only thing that comes out of the ordinary... Two days before he died, I had managed to pull from him the authorization for the Botticelli project...
After months and months of discussions, during which the old director had opposed a firm but affectionate refusal to her protegee, Gervais had finally yielded to the insistence of Marie-Nadège : the Louvre would celebrate the five hundred years of the death of Sandro Botticelli, the Renaissance genius. A temporary exhibition would be installed in the museum around a centerpiece, the Madonna con Vista sull' Arno, discovered two decades earlier.
- He would have been so proud of this project. Daddy and him where the ones behind the Louvre's finding of this painting, and I'm just mad at the idea that neither of them will see the project coming alive...
Twenty years earlier, Vincent Augustin, her own dad, had exhumed the Inferno, a painting by Florentine painter Luca Signorelli, in the Louvre's vast reserves. The work of art was quietly waiting, ignored by everyone because of an inventory error. Shortly after the Inferno had been restored and exhibited in the Salon Carré, it had been stolen. The father of Marie-Nadège had been destroyed by the robbery, and a few months later, gave himself death.
- It's like a curse: my father and his best friend, passionate of the Renaissance painters, both died prematurely ...
- Are you still replacing Gervais as head of Italian collections?
- Yes, temporarily. And it arouses jealousy.
- What would you like to do next? asked Samantha.
Marie-Nadège thought for a second:
- This is how we'll proceed: Kristin will work on the Botticelli project, part time for the first month and then full time afterward. The trainee that we'll hire, she said while pointing at the records she had brought, will work with her on the project.
Kristin's eyes were shining.
- When we're finished, the whole of Europe will be at the gates of the Louvre!
Samantha raised her finger:
- And what brings us here tonight is ...
Kristin interrupted
- ... is that you help us to choose the trainee who will work on the Botticelli project.
- But with the pentacle on the ground, asked Marie-Nadège, aren't you afraid that it could bring a bad spirit ?
- But that's what we want! joked Kristin. Our singles lives are so annoying ...
- Don't worry, reassured Samantha, everything is under control, I'm used to this. Do not forget I am a researcher in experimental psychology, including spiritualism and paranormal.
- Let's go, girls! shouted Kristin, fanning herself with the back of her hand. Before we see nothing with this dawn smoke, how about if we get started ? Pass along the candidates files, Marie-Nadège.
The curator opened her bag and handed the stack of documents to the young German. She undid the clamps, cut out the pictures while taking care of leaving the names, then handed them one by one to Samantha.
Samantha had already placed half in the pentacle when she turned her head and peered into the darkness behind her.
- You felt a presence?
Kristin swallowed slowly. A shiver had run through her back.
- Yes, she answered in a whisper.
The atmosphere in the room changed subtly. The traffic noise from the Place des Victoires gradually faded away while the air behind Samantha was becoming opaque.
- There is now a nice spirit among us, the American said with a falsely confident voice. A gentle spirit that will help us find...
She paused. The candles were almost providing no light. They still could see the flames, but the lighting was dimmed to the point where the furniture and the carpet were barely visible.
The room kept darkening until it was plunged into full darkness. The three young women then heard the floorboards creaking behind them. The noise stopped behind the American.
In the dark, Marie-Nadège reached out and grabbed the lighter that was used to light candles. She only succeeded in producing tiny sparks ; it stubbornly refused to light up. With a nod, Samantha ordered her to continue while she was putting the last pictures in the circle.
- We have with us, she said in a slightly tensed tone, a gentle spirit that will help us choose the next...
She paused.
- There's not fifteen pictures but sixteen, she whispered, leaning towards Marie-Nadège.
- Can't be! I recounted everything before leaving.
Samantha looked up nervously : the candles had suddenly regained their strength. Frightened, Kristin looked behind her without seeing anything.
- Don't worry, I know what I'm doing, confidently asserted Samantha with a note of relief in her voice. It's perfectly safe.
She handed the sixteenth picture to Marie-Nadège.
- Tonio Morente, murmured the curator. I am convinced I didn't include him in the lot.
- A Florentine! said Kristin while looking at his record.
- The spirits have spoken, asserted Samantha. Tonio Morente will be your next trainee.
To contact the author : vousquicroyezmeposseder@gmail.com
