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why
we’re
going to move. I’ll wait for you here. I’m counting on you.”
    Beatrice is about to protest, but Jacob Mahler has already hung up.
    Try to think
, she tells herself.
    To get back to the Coppedè district, Beatrice would need to reach the first traffic light and turn off on the street going up the hill, on the other side of the divider.
    The cars are lined up in three lanes. An endless procession of white and red lights surrounded by snow. At this rate, just getting to the intersection might take her half an hour.
    And she doesn’t have half an hour.
    Nobody’s moving.
    That’s why
we’re
going to move.
    Find a way.
    A crazy idea flashes through her mind. Her arm shoots back and grabs the jacket from the backseat. She clasps her fingers around the door handle, her hand trembling.
    Nobody’s moving.
    That’s why
we’re
going to move.
    Beatrice takes a deep breath. She switches off the engine, opens the door and gets out of the Mini, leaving it stranded in the middle of traffic.
    “I’ve gone totally nuts,” she says, starting to walk between the other cars. “I’ve gone totally nuts.”
    Horns are blaring out behind her, but Beatrice doesn’t turn around. She starts running, reaches the traffic light and crosses the street. Just as she expected, cars are zooming down the road going up the hill.
    “The mysteries of traffic in Rome,” she murmurs with a smile.
    Just past the intersection, she starts waving her arms. A dark car pulls up beside her. “Need some help?” the young driver asks, rolling down his window.
    “Yes,” Beatrice replies.
    Suddenly, something strange happens.
    Around them, all the lights in the city suddenly go out. The traffic lights go out. Then all the streetlights. Then the shop lights. The lights in all the houses.
    Rome is plunged into darkness.
    “What’s going on?” the young man asks, looking around, astonished. Instinctively, he gets out of his car, leaving the door open.
    To Beatrice, this is a sign of destiny.
    “I’m stealing your car,” she says.
    Thinking she’s joking, he plays along. “Oh, sure. Be my guest! What are you, a thief?”
    “Maybe.” Without giving him the chance to react, Beatrice dives down into the driver’s seat, grabs hold of the steering wheeland peels out, splashing up a wave of slush behind her. The young man runs after her, shouting.
    It’s snowing.
    Her yellow Mini is abandoned in the middle of traffic.
    She’s just stolen someone’s car.
    Rome is pitch-black.
    But all she thinks about is getting to Jacob Mahler in time.

6
THE DARKNESS

    I T’S PITCH-BLACK IN E LETTRA’S ROOM .
    “Did you hurt yourself?” the girl asks Sheng, kneeling down beside him. The shattered dandelion lamp is lying on the floor in a thousand pieces.
    “No, but—”
    “Mistral?”
    “Harvey?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Me too.”
    “Is anybody hurt?”
    “No.”
    “What happened?”
    The kids move closer to each other, crawling on the floor.
    “Watch out for the glass.”
    “It’s everywhere,” says Sheng.
    Elettra feels around for the light switch. She flicks it, but nothing happens. She goes into the bathroom, but the light doesn’t work there, either.
    “No luck. We must’ve blown a fuse.”
    “A flame,” says Harvey. “It was like a flame.”
    “I—I saw it come out of Sheng’s hands,” Mistral stammers. Her voice is quavering like a violin string.
    “Man,” repeats Sheng. “Man …” It’s as though he is incapable of saying anything else.
    The room is totally immersed in darkness. The only light coming in is the reflection of the snow falling in the courtyard. A dark courtyard, like the bottom of a black box.
    “Where are you going?” asks Harvey, hearing Elettra move across the room. She sits down on the edge of the bed and slips on a pair of shoes.
    “I’m going out to check the hallway.”
    “I’ll go with you,” the American boy offers, suddenly active.
    Actually, Elettra’s mind is somewhere else.