listened. He was suddenly back to being a young boy, held captivated by one of Detita’s stories. Outside he could hear a summer wind blow up, and wondered for an instant if it was blowing across the old site of the Quinta del Sordo. Maybe something
was
still there, he thought, manic with excitement. Maybe something that could be conjured up. His breathing rate increased, his skin clammy. It was almost within his reach – the respect he had craved for so long. He would be world famous; he would translate Goya’s dying works, tell posterity what the Black Paintings really meant.
‘Darling,’ Gina whispered softly, ‘if you got the skull back we could use that in a ritual. Call Goya up.’
Leon smiled, as though it was absurd. But part of him believed it.
Longed
to believe it. ‘
Call him up?
Christ, Gina, you’re joking.’
‘What if I wasn’t?’ she replied. ‘If we could contact him, Goya might help you. Guide your work.’ She stroked the back of his head tenderly. ‘For centuries people have tried to contact the dead. Many believe they’ve succeeded. I’ve been to seances and visited mediums. When my father died I spent a lot of time trying to contact him.’
Leon’s eyes were fixed on her. ‘Did you succeed?’
She nodded again, smiling. ‘Yes.’
A soft hot wind blew in from the window, sighing around them.
‘How did you know it was your father?’
‘The medium told me things only he would have known. I was in contact with my dead father.’
Unnerved, Leon shuddered. ‘I don’t think—’
‘You have to get the skull back,’ Gina went on hurriedly. ‘This means so much to you, Leon. You have a chance to make your mark now. A chance to solve a problem no one has ever come close to. You would be the most famous art historian in the world. Think about it – why did the skull come to you? Maybe you
have
to use it to contact the painter. If anyone else hears about it, they’ll want the skull—’
He thought of Gabino Ortega and panicked. ‘I know, I know!’
‘They’ll try and steal it from you. They’ll put it in a museum or some collection out of sight. They might even try to use it in a ritual—’
He turned to her. ‘
What are you talking about?
’
‘Goya was interested in the occult. Present-day believers would long to get hold of his skull, just to see if they could prove a connection.’
‘Detita said something like that once …’ His mind shifted backwards, the old woman’s voice echoing in his ears. ‘
In Black Magic people use skulls to resurrect the dead, to bring the Devil from underground. Goya’s head was stolen
…’ Leon turned back to Gina, his voice hushed. ‘Detita said that witches made Goya ill, that they made him deaf. They stole his hearing.’
‘D’you think it’s true?’
‘I don’t know … Goya was dangerously ill. He nearly died in the Quinta del Sordo. No one knows what the sickness was.’ Leon felt queasy, as if he had already gone too far and should back off now, while there was still time. But he knew he wasn’t going to. ‘Some said Goya lost his mind in that house.’
‘You think he was mad?’
‘No, I think he was desperate. He wanted to leave a testimony behind. But no one can prove it—’
‘You might be able to. You know about psychometry? That a medium only has to hold an object that the person owned to contact them? Well, think about it, Leon –
if they had Goya’s skull how powerful would that be?
’ She stroked his forehead, urging him gently. ‘Please, darling, don’t let it fall into the wrong hands.’
He was confused, his thoughts jumbling. ‘I don’t know about all of this—’
‘But I know something about the occult,’ Gina went on, soothing him. ‘Enough to fear it. Enough to know that I have to protect you. I love you, Leon – let me help you. We
have
to make sure that you keep the skull. That you keep it safe. It’s common knowledge that Aleister Crowley wanted to find Goya’s skull
was
still there, he thought, manic with excitement. Maybe something that could be conjured up. His breathing rate increased, his skin clammy. It was almost within his reach – the respect he had craved for so long. He would be world famous; he would translate Goya’s dying works, tell posterity what the Black Paintings really meant.
‘Darling,’ Gina whispered softly, ‘if you got the skull back we could use that in a ritual. Call Goya up.’
Leon smiled, as though it was absurd. But part of him believed it.
Longed
to believe it. ‘
Call him up?
Christ, Gina, you’re joking.’
‘What if I wasn’t?’ she replied. ‘If we could contact him, Goya might help you. Guide your work.’ She stroked the back of his head tenderly. ‘For centuries people have tried to contact the dead. Many believe they’ve succeeded. I’ve been to seances and visited mediums. When my father died I spent a lot of time trying to contact him.’
Leon’s eyes were fixed on her. ‘Did you succeed?’
She nodded again, smiling. ‘Yes.’
A soft hot wind blew in from the window, sighing around them.
‘How did you know it was your father?’
‘The medium told me things only he would have known. I was in contact with my dead father.’
Unnerved, Leon shuddered. ‘I don’t think—’
‘You have to get the skull back,’ Gina went on hurriedly. ‘This means so much to you, Leon. You have a chance to make your mark now. A chance to solve a problem no one has ever come close to. You would be the most famous art historian in the world. Think about it – why did the skull come to you? Maybe you
have
to use it to contact the painter. If anyone else hears about it, they’ll want the skull—’
He thought of Gabino Ortega and panicked. ‘I know, I know!’
‘They’ll try and steal it from you. They’ll put it in a museum or some collection out of sight. They might even try to use it in a ritual—’
He turned to her. ‘
What are you talking about?
’
‘Goya was interested in the occult. Present-day believers would long to get hold of his skull, just to see if they could prove a connection.’
‘Detita said something like that once …’ His mind shifted backwards, the old woman’s voice echoing in his ears. ‘
In Black Magic people use skulls to resurrect the dead, to bring the Devil from underground. Goya’s head was stolen
…’ Leon turned back to Gina, his voice hushed. ‘Detita said that witches made Goya ill, that they made him deaf. They stole his hearing.’
‘D’you think it’s true?’
‘I don’t know … Goya was dangerously ill. He nearly died in the Quinta del Sordo. No one knows what the sickness was.’ Leon felt queasy, as if he had already gone too far and should back off now, while there was still time. But he knew he wasn’t going to. ‘Some said Goya lost his mind in that house.’
‘You think he was mad?’
‘No, I think he was desperate. He wanted to leave a testimony behind. But no one can prove it—’
‘You might be able to. You know about psychometry? That a medium only has to hold an object that the person owned to contact them? Well, think about it, Leon –
if they had Goya’s skull how powerful would that be?
’ She stroked his forehead, urging him gently. ‘Please, darling, don’t let it fall into the wrong hands.’
He was confused, his thoughts jumbling. ‘I don’t know about all of this—’
‘But I know something about the occult,’ Gina went on, soothing him. ‘Enough to fear it. Enough to know that I have to protect you. I love you, Leon – let me help you. We
have
to make sure that you keep the skull. That you keep it safe. It’s common knowledge that Aleister Crowley wanted to find Goya’s skull
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