Ring of Fire

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  “As you wish,” he calls out to the policeman.

  He drops the cell phone onto the hallway floor.

  He counts to five.

  And the entire hallway explodes in a burst of flames.

  30

  THE FIREWORKS

  BEATRICE PULLS HER MINI OVER IN VIA DELL’ARCO ANTICO. THE engine steams in the crisp night air. “You need to go through that archway. Turn right,” she explains to Mistral, “and you’ll be in Piazza in Piscinula. From there, you should be able to find the hotel on your own.”

  The girl nods. She leans over in her seat to kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks for everything you’ve done.”

  Beatrice waves her hand with mock indifference. “Don’t mention it. After all, I promised you. …”

  Mistral opens the door and rests one foot on the snowy ground.

  “Be careful,” Beatrice warns her.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come, too?” the girl asks. “We could tell everything to the people who run the hotel and—”

  Beatrice stops her. “I can’t. It’s no place for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not a good person. …”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Don’t say that again.” Beatrice feels as though her insides were turning to jelly. “Or I might just change my mind.”

  Mistral gets out of the Mini. “Keep in touch, if you want.”

  “I will. Straight down that way and take a right,” Beatrice reminds her.

  She waits, watching the girl walk away, waves to her one last time and then puts the car into gear. As she’s driving away, she feels her chest pounding, tears welling up in her eyes. Her seat belt is suffocating her.

  She doesn’t know where to go.

  She doesn’t know what to do.

  All she knows is that she did the right thing.

  She reaches the Tiber, drives over Ponte Quattro Capi and takes the road along Piramide. From there, she drives down to the Colosseum, seeking out the lights of Via del Corso and the noise of bars. It’s almost midnight, the end of a very trying New Year’s Eve.

  She clicks on the radio and turns up the volume, hoping it will relax her.

  The city lights go whizzing by.

  She enjoys the sensation of the road zipping along beneath her tires.

  She checks the time. Only a few minutes left until the New Year.

  “A new year … a new life,” she whispers, waiting for the noisy burst of fireworks that will announce that it’s midnight at last.

  The capital of the ancient world awaits the sound of the bell that will toll the New Year. Thousands of people have turned on their television sets to synchronize their watches. Elettra, Ermete and the Gypsy woman emerge from the depths of San Clemente. An eerie silence awaits them. The very last minutes of the year.

  Colorful banners flutter between the buildings. Blinking lights decorate the streets. The windows flicker with the glow of TV screens. Behind the panes of glass are laughter, corks being held back, hands seeking out other hands, lips ready to be kissed.

  “This is the strangest New Year’s Eve of my life …,” says Elettra, walking through the bustling city, the Ring in her hands.

  The first windows are now being opened. The voices of television hosts echo from building to building.

  “You’re telling me!” Ermete smiles. “I’ve never been out with two girls on New Year’s Eve. What about you, Gypsy Queen?”

  The woman doesn’t answer. She walks ahead of them with the steady pace of someone who’s well familiar with the city streets and the tranquil eyes of someone who’s accustomed to watching others celebrate from afar.

  Through the open windows, they can hear people start their countdown of the last twenty seconds of the year. The three stop to listen to the chorus of people who, as a single voice, testify to the last remaining moments until midnight.

  The Gypsy woman turns to face Elettra and says, “It’s time.”

  She’s asking her to do something. Something important. Something that needs to be done.

  The seconds fly by.

  It’s a very special night. The night of San Silvestro, the pope who celebrated mass on the last day of the year 999. The day that many had believed would be the very last day before the end of the world. After that midnight, everything changed.

  Elettra stares at the Gypsy woman. And the Gypsy woman says, “It’s time for the world to change once more.”

  Elettra. Kore Kosmou. The Maiden of the Cosmos.

  She’s the one who has to decide. She’s the one who has to use the Ring of Fire. The time has come for her to do it.

  Or to refuse.

  The seconds fly by. The countdown grows louder and louder.

  Elettra’s hands snap open the seal and unwrap the linen.

  The Gypsy woman says, “Look.”

  Ermete smiles.

  And Elettra raises the mirror to look into it.

  The first ones to go are the blinking strings of holiday lights hanging over the streets. They turn bright white and burst one by one, like popcorn. Then come the streetlights, which flare up in whitish flames. The energy spreads out like a wave, transforming television screens into blinding sheets of whiteness, lightbulbs in the houses into sudden flashes, home appliances going berserk, tubes in neon signs melting. A blaze of whiteness flies over the city, bursting out from San Clemente in a giant explosion of light. Rome blanches in a single, massive electrical surge that hits it like a gargantuan gale of wind.

  Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the light vanishes. Choruses of spark plugs and circuit breakers begin to click wildly in every street, in every building, in every neighborhood. Their rhythmic snapping sets the beat, joined by the sound of champagne corks and the first celebrations.

  Exhausted and overcharged, Rome is plunged into darkness.

  The laughter comes to a sudden halt. Champagne flows out in suddenly silent rivers. After the pure whiteness that had blinded it like a star mirrored in the snow, the capital suddenly disappears in a vast pool of darkness.

  Blackout.

  “Elettra?” comes Ermete’s voice after an endless moment. “Elettra, are you all right?”

  The girl opens her eyes. It’s dark. Ermete is leaning over her.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “You looked at your reflection in the Ring of Fire and there was a giant burst of light. … Then you fainted,” the engineer explains.

  Elettra feels weak, drained. “I don’t remember anything.” She gropes around and feels cold metal. She’s sitting in Ermete’s sidecar.

  “Can you hold out until we get to the hotel?”

  Elettra stares at the windows of the buildings around them. The glow from the televisions has been replaced by the flickering glow of candles.

  Candles.

  Thousands and thousands of candles, lit on every windowsill in the city.

  “Why?” the girl asks.

  “There’s been another blackout,” replies Ermete. “It seemed like a massive power surge.”

  Elettra looks over at the street and sees the Gypsy woman dancing. But she’s not making a sound. “What’s she doing?”

  “Oh, who knows?” Ermete says softly. “But she sure looks happy.”

  “Ask her …,” whispers Elettra. “Ask her what she saw on my palm, would you?”

  Ermete shrugs. “I could try … but I’m not so sure she’ll tell me.”

  He walks away from the sidecar, leaving Elettra to contemplate the captivating sight of the candlelit street. When she looks back toward the Gypsy woman, the girl only sees Ermete.

  “The minute I asked her,” the engineer says, walking back to the sidecar, “she burst out laughing and whispered the answer in my ear. Then she ran off.”

  “What did she tell you?” asks Elettra.

  “That she saw a star on your palm. And that by looking at your reflection, you summoned it.”

  31

  THE NEW YE
AR

  FERNANDO MELODIA IS LYING ON A SOFA AT THE DOMUS Quintilia with two broken ribs. But what’s really hurting is his pride. Pride that was squashed by the thief the day before. And by Linda, who, unlike him, managed to drive him off with her broom.

  She, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a single opportunity to remind him about the embarrassing episode. “There, there, Fernando …,” she coos. “Does it still hurt where that nasty man hit you?”

  It wouldn’t hurt so much if she’d cut it out.

  He sighs.

  It’s been a very strange morning. Ever since the lights went back on, the newscasters have done nothing other than talk about the city’s second blackout, a total power outage that forced the inhabitants of Rome to celebrate by candlelight. Even at the president’s dinner. Even at the most important gala events.

  Not everyone was disappointed, though. The city was immersed in an atmosphere of times past. Some people are even suggesting that the New Year always be celebrated that way from now on, without electricity.

  Meanwhile, the local politicians are blaming the power company. The power company is blaming international politics. International politicians aren’t available for comment.

  Meanwhile, the electricity has gone back on.

  But the blackout, thinks Fernando, certainly wasn’t the strangest thing. Not as strange as the way the kids came back to the hotel.

  Including Mistral.

  Harvey’s parents and Sheng’s father had been ready to give their children a severe punishment, but the moment they saw the two scared, exhausted boys walk through the door, they ran over to hug them. And when Mistral showed up, Harvey and Sheng almost fainted from relief. They hugged her and asked her a million questions, all whispered, all out of the adults’ earshot.

  And Elettra? Elettra was the last to come home. She was somber and quiet. Linda claimed she’d been dropped off by a boy on a motorcycle. A motorcycle with a sidecar!

  Fernando decided not to say anything to her. Besides, Linda grabbed the spotlight with the story of her having driven off the intruder with her broom, even showing off the pieces of the broken broomstick like they were relics in a museum.

  Then they celebrated the New Year together, forgetting all about that afternoon’s arguments. And the threats of legal disputes and police reports. And everything else that was best left forgotten.

  Irene was the one who insisted they celebrate. Really celebrate. Fernando went down into the basement to get one of his special bottles, one from the Ulysses Moore reserve, which he’d bought with his wife during their honeymoon in Cornwall.

  There were four of them left.

  Boom! The cork shot up and hit the ceiling, which promptly inspired Linda to complain, “So, who’s going up there to get rid of that stain?”

  They had a toast.

  “Cheers!” Irene said as she clinked glasses with Sheng’s father.

  Sitting on the basement floor, Harvey, Elettra, Sheng and Mistral hold what just might be their last group meeting. Mistral’s still waiting for her mother to return, at which point they’ll leave for France. In the afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Miller will be leaving Rome to head to Naples, where Harvey’s father will be attending a conference. They’ll come back into town only to catch their flight to the United States.

  Rather than a meeting, it feels more like a sort of farewell party. In a few short hours, thousands of kilometers will divide them.

  “But I’m staying in Rome for a month!” exclaims Sheng when the general mood has become a bit too glum. “Elettra and I want to cause a few more blackouts.”

  All four smile.

  They’ve all told each other exactly what happened, minute by minute. They know they need to make some important decisions. And they go over and over the questions they still can’t answer. In particular, the second blackout has everyone baffled. Elettra has already explained that it happened right after she looked into the Ring of Fire. When Mistral asks her what she saw in the mirror, Elettra shakes her head, unsure. She’d seen herself, herself transformed into light, but she answers, “Nothing in particular, I guess.”

  The ancient mirror is lying there in front of them, perfectly harmless. All four have looked into it, contemplating their blurry reflections made grainy by time. They’ve read Seneca’s writing engraved on its back, passing the Ring of Fire around from hand to hand in awe. And they’ve told each other, in hushed voices, that it was Professor Van Der Berger’s search for the mirror that led to his years of studies—and to his murder.

  But they still don’t understand why. They feel weighed down by a feeling they can’t shake, something they aren’t able to explain, a place, a time or a face. However, the more they study the object found beneath the Basilica di San Clemente, the more they’re convinced that the mirror is only one piece of the puzzle, a starting point.

  It’s a mystery that in turn hides other mysteries, which may be found somewhere in the professor’s journal or in the books he’d been reading. Or maybe in their all having met in Rome. Whatever it is, it’s a dangerous mystery.

  “They won’t stop looking for it …,” says Harvey.

  “And they know you live here,” Mistral warns Elettra. Her part of the story, her kidnapping, was the one that impressed the kids the most. Harvey and Sheng’s part, with Jacob Mahler thrashing around in the bathtub, scared them out of their wits.

  “Maybe they arrested him …,” Sheng guesses, always the optimist. “If that woman, Beatrice, managed to call the police, I say they caught him.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see …,” says Elettra.

  No one can know what happened yet. On January 1 there aren’t any newspapers to read, and on TV they’re still focusing on the blackout.

  “In any case, he doesn’t have that violin anymore—” says Mistral.

  “He isn’t the problem,” Harvey breaks in. “Even if he’s dead or they arrested him, they’ll send someone else in his place. And whoever it is, they’ll come here. To this hotel.”

  “But this is our sanctuary. Our safe place,” Elettra protests.

  “It’s already been infiltrated,” Harvey replies. “Just ask your dad.”

  “It’s too dangerous now,” agrees Sheng. “Even if the tops told us that this place was safe, we’ve got to be careful. You’ve got to be careful.”

  Elettra nods.

  “Maybe the tops meant to tell us that it’s safe for us. But not for the Ring. Or for other people.”

  “What do we do with the Ring, then?”

  Harvey suggests donating it to a museum. “That way, it’ll be safe.”

  But Elettra has another idea. “I think we need to keep studying it ourselves. And investigate everything Ermete and the professor found out.”

  “But how?”

  “Sheng’s staying in Rome for a month. He and I could—”

  “Hao! You bet!” he says, cutting her off. “We could keep going.”

  “But with Ermete, of course,” adds Elettra. “After all, he’s the one who’s studied the map of the Chaldeans. And the two things are connected, right?”

  The kids look at each other doubtfully. Mistral, who’s the only one who hasn’t met Ermete, lets them decide. “And the Gypsy woman?” she asks.

  “She seems to know a lot more than she told me,” Elettra admits. “Not only because she followed us to San Clemente … but most importantly because of later on, when she convinced me to look at my reflection. She seemed to know that … that I had to do it. I’ll go find her. I’ll ask her why.”

  The kids sit silently for a long time.

  “Plus, there’s the question of the teeth. Who engraved all those letters on them? And why?” Mistral wonders.

  “Ermete says the teeth are really old. Over a hundred years old,” adds Elettra.

  “A hundred years, a hundred years,” Harvey thinks aloud. “The number one hundred keeps popping up in all this.”

  “Guys,” Sheng says after a bit, “there’s no point in
our racking our brains about this right now. We’ve obviously got a lot of work to do. We’ve been given some sort of gift. A dangerous gift, sure, but we can’t just pretend like nothing’s happened. We’ve got to … use it. See where it takes us. If we’re able to understand it, I mean. I think Ermete’s the only one who can help us. The only person we can trust.”

  “The only adult we can trust,” Mistral clarifies. “From what you guys have told me, he knows a lot more than we do.”

  “But he’s in danger, too. He shouldn’t stay here in Rome,” Harvey insists. “It’s not only Mahler we have to worry about. Joe Vinile is somewhere out there, too.”

  “I guess you’re right,” admits Elettra.

  “And Joe knows Ermete, too.”

  “Why don’t you invite him over to your place?” Mistral suggests.

  “What, to New York?”

  “Nobody would think to look for him there.”

  “I don’t know … I’d have to ask my parents,” says Harvey. “But that’s not such a bad idea.”

  “Otherwise, I could ask my mom,” Mistral suggests. “I could talk to her today, when she gets back. I’ve got a big, gigantic house in Paris. And it’s always empty.” What Mistral doesn’t mention is that once she’s back in France, she’ll be scared of staying all by herself in that big, empty house.

  “Do you think Ermete would be willing to leave Rome?” asks Sheng.

  “I doubt his mother would give him permission…,” jokes Harvey. “But my guess is he’d jump at the chance.”

  “If we ask Ermete to keep the mirror,” Mistral breaks in, “what do we do with the map? And the tops?”

  “We can split up the tops,” Sheng suggests. “We each take one. Then we can decide who has to keep the map.”

  Elettra shakes her head.

  “Not me. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “For the same reason I can’t keep the Ring of Fire. If there’s one name they know … it’s mine.”

  “She’s right,” agrees Mistral. “And I can’t, either. They know who I am, too.”

  “Well, that leaves the two of us …,” says Sheng.