Ring of Fire by Pierdomenico Baccalario

left, lost in his own little world of troubled thoughts. It’s as though walking into the library has stirred up unpleasant memories in his mind. Sheng often trails behind, drawn by one unusual, ancient book after the other, the views from the windows, doors left ajar. The backpack with the tops, the tooth and the strange wooden object bounces against his back. Mistral walks beside their guide, taking in the woman’s explanations about the library’s dismal appearance.
    The large, frescoed halls now behind them, they reach a smaller room with a steep staircase. An elevator takes the little group upstairs to a sunny loft.
    The area beneath the wooden beams is divided into several small offices with plasterboard walls. The dormer windows offer a breathtaking view overlooking the rooftops and terraces of Rome, all sparkling in the snow. The wooden flooring creaks beneath their feet.
    “These are the offices we’ve just restructured,” the librarian explains. “And here we are. Room number four. Your uncle’s private reading room.”
    She gently pushes on the door and immediately stiffens, stunned by what she sees.
    It looks like a tornado has torn through it.
    “Uh-oh …,” Mistral whispers worriedly.
    Inside the room, a large wooden table is stacked high with books lying precariously one atop the other amid mountains of papers. Sticking out from between the yellowed pages are bookmarks, newspaper clippings and sticky notes full of scribbles. The floor is carpeted with papers. It looks as if someone has ripped them up and thrown them randomly down under the chairs. Many of them are covered with bizarre drawings in ink: spirals, circles, stylized flames.
    “Whoa …” Sheng whistles.
    The window is wide open, revealing a gloomy, tea-colored sky.
    “I’ve never seen such a mess in here …,” the librarian murmurs, shaking her head.
    “Let’s go …,” Harvey whispers in Elettra’s ear. “Right now.”
    The girl nods and takes a step backward, refusing to set foot in the room.
    Mistral, on the other hand, walks into the study, trying not to tread on the papers scattered around on the floor. Without saying a word, she walks over to the window and shuts it.
    “It was left open,” she remarks. “Maybe the wind made all this mess. …”
    The librarian nods but clearly isn’t very convinced. “Something about this doesn’t make sense,” she says. “Would you wait here for a moment, please? I need to find a phone.”
    Mistral bends down to pick up a few sheets of paper from the floor.
    Harvey and Sheng walk up to her. “What are you doing?” the American boy says in a low voice. “Let’s get out of here. …”
    “Let’s just take a peek,” she suggests.
    On the professor’s table are stacks of all kinds of books. Old writings by Greek and Latin authors. Seneca, Plutarch, Apuleius, Pliny, Lucretius. And books about science, astronomy, all covered with sticky notes.
    Harvey walks around the table and picks up a book that’s been left open in front of the chair. “Okay, but let’s do it quick! What do you think? Could this be of any interest? It might be the last book the professor was reading.”
    It’s a book bound in dark leather, on which the professor had attached a sticky note with the words KORE KOSMOU—THE MAIDEN OF THE COSMOS. The book smells old. The paper is thin and yellowed. It’s written in Greek, with lettering in very dark ink. Harvey turns the pages until he reaches one marked with a piece of graph paper identical to the note they found in the briefcase. “And here’s another note,” he says.
    “So what’s it about?” Sheng asks with a sigh.
    “I don’t know,” he answers. “It looks like a sort of translation.”
    He looks up to meet Elettra’s eyes. She’s still standing stockstill on the other side of the door. “Could you come here and read what it says?”
    The girl shakes her head slowly. “No … I don’t feel up to it.”
    “You were the one who insisted