Ring of Fire (28 page)

“A mirror …,” Ermete whispers. Then he adds, as if in a trance, “Light that turns into fire. Life that turns into destruction. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“What are you …
rrr
… babbling about?” croaks Joe Vinile.

Ermete looks at Elettra, his eyes sparkling with excitement, but this time she’s the one staring into empty space. Her curly black hair is an impenetrable barrier around her face.

The engineer continues to think out loud. “That’s what Prometheus used to steal fire from the gods! A simple concave mirror! Just what you need to concentrate the rays of the sun and transform light into fire.”

“So what …
rrr
…?” breaks in Joe Vinile.

But Ermete is a raging river. “Now I understand all those references, those incomprehensible steps that Alfred was trying to piece together. The entire history of the Ring of Fire, which reappears every hundred years … and was passed down from hand to hand. From the ancient Chaldeans, who worshiped fire, to the Greeks, who invented the myth of Prometheus, from Magna Graecia, with Archimedes using mirrors to defend Syracuse from the Romans, to the Romans themselves, who brought the mirror here. Don’t you see, Elettra? Nero didn’t burn down Rome at night, but during the day … with this!”

Joe Vinile snorts. “You’re saying …
rrr
… that this …
rrr
… piece of glass …
rrr
… is worth something?”

“It could have tremendous value,” replies Ermete. “Or none at all.”

Elettra is silent. She doesn’t look up. She’s thinking.

She thinks of Ermete and Harvey and Sheng and Mistral.

She thinks of the professor.

She thinks of the mirror.

She thinks of the Ring of Fire. Which is a concave mirror. Perhaps the most ancient one in the world. Perhaps the very first one. It’s the mirror of fire, and she’s burning up with a single desire: to get out of there.

To get outside. Under the starry sky.

Joe Vinile uses his foot to flip the mirror over. Carved into the bronze frame are a drawing and an inscription. “And this …
rrr
…? What is it? A comet …
rrr
…? And this …
latinorum?
You’ve studied this stuff
… rrr
… What the heck does it say …
rrr
…?”

Ermete leans over to pick up the mirror, but Joe sticks out his foot to stop him. “Look at it …
rrr
… but don’t touch it …
rrr
… !”

Ermete squints in the darkness. He reads the inscription on the back of the mirror and lets out a little laugh.

“What’s so funny …
rrr
…?”

“The professor had it right,” the engineer says in a soft voice, once again trying to catch Elettra’s eye. “It’s a quote from Seneca. It’s from his book about comets.”

“And what does …
rrr
… it say?”

“ ‘There is an invisible purpose behind the visible world.’”

Joe Vinile grunts. “That doesn’t mean …
rrr
… a damn thing.”

“That’s not true …,” Elettra cuts in, whirling around.

Her hair is flowing as though moved by an approaching storm.

And her eyes are completely yellow.

* * *

A man is sprawled out inside the bathtub. His hands and feet are bound, his mouth is gagged and his chest is covered in blood.

“Harvey!” shouts Sheng, bursting into the bathroom and hugging his friend. “Are you okay?”

The boy nods.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” murmurs Sheng.

“The man with the violin,” Harvey confirms in a whisper. “But what’s he doing in there?”

“Is he dead?”

The man’s eyes are closed and he seems to have lost a lot of blood. The whole tub is stained red.

“I think so.” Harvey takes a step closer.

“What are you doing?” cries Sheng.

“I just want to make sure. …”

“Harvey, don’t do it! Let’s get out of here!”

The American boy takes a second step toward the tub. And then a third. He doesn’t take his eyes off the man’s motionless face.

“Come back here!” pleads Sheng.

Harvey takes another step, leans over and touches the man’s arm with his fingertips. Then he takes a small step back, stiff with tension. He turns to look back at Sheng and murmurs, “Yeah … he’s dead.”

Suddenly, a hand tries to grab him around the waist. Harvey doesn’t even have time to turn around.

Sheng shouts, “Harvey! Look out!”

The man with the violin has opened his eyes.

Harvey trips over the plastic shower curtain, yanking out its rings. He slips and falls to the floor.

“No!” screams Sheng, running up to him and trying to drag him to his feet. The man with the violin thrashes around in the tub, trying to free himself. The boys don’t stay there a moment longer. They race out of the bathroom. They rush all the way up the hall and down the stairs, out the front door and across the path.

They don’t even stop when they’ve crossed through the front gate.

Or even when they’re past the arch.

They don’t stop. They just keep running.

When he sees Elettra’s yellow eyes, Joe Vinile backs up toward the exit of the
mitreo
. “Hey …
rrr
… kid …
rrr
… what the heck is …
rrr
… happening to you …
rrr
…?” he croaks. The moment he reaches the door, a shadow appears behind him. A dark shadow revealing a tiny glimmer of gold. Joe lets out a grunt and turns his head just enough to face the person standing behind him. “And who …
rrr
… the devil …
rrr
… are you?”

Ermete lunges at Joe Vinile, giving him a punch that the man resists as though it were a caress. Ermete tries a second time, but Joe rushes at him, head down, ramming him up against a wall of the
mitreo
. The two are locked in a desperate struggle, with Joe rushing at Ermete and Ermete trying to hoist Joe up by the belt.

Elettra just stares at the Gypsy woman, stunned.

“I came to tell you, child … that your life line is still very long,” the woman announces.

“Do something!” grunts Ermete, punching Joe Vinile in the back wildly.

“Stop!” shouts Elettra.

But the two continue to fight.

“The gun! Look out!” the girl screams.

Only then does Joe Vinile seem to remember that he still has a gun in his hand. He easily breaks free from Ermete’s awkward hold and takes a step back. He opens his mouth to say something, but without the amplifier box his voice is just a series of throaty grunts.

He raises the gun over his head and takes a second step backward.

Mistake.

His foot lands right inside the niche in the floor and he loses his balance. His head smacks against the altar to Mithra with a deafening thud. The gun falls to the floor with a metallic clatter.

A long silence fills the room.

The Gypsy woman is still standing at the door, bundled up in her thick layers of coats. Ermete pants, counting the ribs he thinks might still be intact. “Elettra?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes … At least I think so. Are you?”

The engineer coughs out a yes and then takes a few unsteady steps toward Joe Vinile. “He’s unconscious,” he says, kicking the gun away. “We’ve got to get out of here, right now. …”

Ermete looks around for the mirror, but the Gypsy darts out and stands between him and the Ring of Fire.

“Not you,” she orders, raising her hand.

The man rubs his aching bones. “Not me … what?”

“You aren’t the one who should take the Ring,” the Gypsy explains. “She is.”

Ermete shakes his head violently. “Listen, don’t you get in the middle of this, too, okay? What difference does it make who takes it?”

“The Ring belongs to the one who is to wear it. And the mirror belongs to the one who is to look into it,” the Gypsy replies adamantly.

“But I don’t want to look into it!” Elettra protests.

“You can see your reflection in the mirror even with your eyes closed,” the woman reminds her.

Ermete stares at her, not understanding. “Am I crazy, or are you two in on this together?”

Elettra walks up to him. “Are you one of them?” she asks, point-blank.

“W
HY ARE WE STOPPING
?” M
ISTRAL ASKS
B
EATRICE
.

The young woman puts on her emergency lights as she pulls the yellow Mini up to the curb.

“We’ve still got one more thing to do …,” she says enigmatically She motions to Mistral to get out of the car, and together they walk down a narrow lane. The air is cold and they can see their breath.

“Is he following us?” asks Mistral, hunching over slightly.

“No. He can’t follow us,” replies Beatrice. “At least I don’t think so.” Her lip has turned purple, and she can feel her temples throb with a dull pain.

Around them, Rome is immersed in the last chilly night of December. The night of San Silvestro. “Do you know why we call it that?” she asks Mistral.

“What?”

“New Year’s Eve. We call it the night of San Silvestro, or Saint Sylvester.” She even manages to smile. “I mean, if you mention the name Sylvester, the only thing that comes to my mind is the black-and-white cat who’s always trying to catch Tweety, but always fails.”

This even seems to amuse Mistral. “Well, we’ve got to try to be just like Tweety. And be good at not getting caught.”

Beatrice nods and lifts the lid.

“Come on, Mistral,” she orders, nodding her head toward the open Dumpster. “It’s time for a little spring cleaning.”

Mistral lifts up the violin case and throws it in.

“To hell with you!” exclaims Beatrice, slamming the lid shut.

She can feel the adrenaline in her body drain away, like hot water melting through snow. She realizes she has to move fast, before she collapses. She has to go away, far away, before she thinks back on what she’s done.

“Okay,” she says.

Mistral looks at her with her big, kind eyes. “Now what?”

“We get back in the car and I take you home.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she says. “I know what to do.”

It’s not true. But it’s something, at least.

Ermete’s eyes are open wide. His lip is trembling. His hands are nervously pressed up against his aching abdomen.

“Are you one of them?” Elettra asks him a second time.

“How could you think such a thing?”

“Isn’t that man a friend of yours?”

“He’s an acquaintance.”

“He’s one of them.”

“H-how was I supposed to know that?” Ermete stammers. “I have nothing to do with … with
them
. How could I know who was following the professor … or me?”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Just do it,” the engineer insists.

“Let the Gypsy see your hand,” Elettra orders.

Ermete De Panfilis gapes. “What are you talking about, Elettra?” he exclaims. “What could showing her my hand possibly accomplish? Be serious! Let’s … let’s just get out of this place before Joe comes to!”

“Are you scared?” asks Elettra.

“Of course not!” he protests, shocked. “Dammit, Elettra!” he cries when he realizes the girl means it. “Do you want to know my star sign, too? And my rising sign, maybe?”

“All she needs to do is read your palm.”

“Elettra! We don’t have time for this!” Then, with an exasperated sigh, Ermete lets the Gypsy woman take his hand.

“What do you see?” the girl asks her.

“What do you expect her to see? She sees a hand covered with dust!” Ermete grumbles.

At their feet, Joe Vinile lets out a gasping noise.

“What do you see?” Elettra insists.

“Have you gotten to the part where I forged my parents’ signature in high school?” Ermete says mockingly. “Or that unforgettable weekend when I had dates with two different girls on the same night?”

The woman shakes her head.

She reads his hand and shakes her head.

Seeing her so focused, Ermete yanks his hand back, trying to get free. “No funny business, okay?”

“What do you see?” Elettra asks for the third time.

The Gypsy woman’s face melts into a calm smile. “I see the hand of a man who’s never worked a single day in his life.”

“And I’m proud of it!” Ermete blurts out.

“And I see a giant string of lies. …”

Elettra and Ermete stiffen.

“But they’re all amusing lies. Pranks … and games. Child’s play,” the Gypsy concludes.

“Long live the truth!” cries the engineer, taking a deep breath. “Can we go now?”

“So he isn’t one of them?”

The Gypsy woman smiles. “No, not unless by ‘them’ you mean people who just like playing around.”

Ermete bends over to pick up the Ring of Fire and brusquely hands it to Elettra. “Here. Take this, before madame gets angry!”

“I’m sorry,” the girl tells him, accepting the Ring of Fire.

“That’s all right,” says Ermete. “It’s just … I wasn’t expecting …”

Elettra rises up on her tiptoes to hug him. “I’m really sorry, Ermete! I just don’t know who to believe anymore.”

“Well, this time, believe me: we’ve got to get out of here!” he says, returning the hug.

Harvey and Sheng are running at breakneck speed. Harvey’s racing out ahead, deciding on the spot when and where to turn, finding his way through the streets of Rome without hesitating.