Summer was here; the scent of loquats now wafted throughout the neighborhood. When she was young, Mr. Kakuda’s tree always had loquats. Mr. Kakuda’s tree had long ago become old and rotted, but a new loquat tree belonged to the Lieus. And the Contrerases had two. No matter what, this neighborhood would always plant and grow.

The kitchen screen door opened.

Astrid poured tea for Shizuka, then a cup for herself. For a long time, the two sat wordlessly above the lights of Monterey Park.

“I was with my grandmother,” Astrid finally said. “She was singing a lullaby.”

Ich ghöre äs Glöggli es lütet so nett

De Tag isch vergange jetz gang ich is Bett

Im Bett tuen i bäte und schlafe dänn ii

De Papi im Himmel wird au bi mir si

Astrid gathered the teacups. “Miss Satomi, I hope you were somewhere beautiful, too. Good night.”

Shizuka heard the patio door slide open, then shut. She closed her eyes and listened again. In an outdoor concert, in her first performance, with a horrible introduction, stage lights shining in her eyes …

Katrina had done that.

When had any of her previous students done that? Who among them had connected with their listeners like that?

When had she?

Did Katrina realize what she had done? Yes, she had trained so hard—and of course she heard the applause. But did she really know?

Could she?

After all, in the lights, it is very difficult to see.

Shizuka thought to her own career, to all those times spent hoping, praying that after the performance, after the encore, people might remember even a little of her music.

Yet no matter how she played, when she was finished, everything seemed to go back to just the way it was.

But now, far away from the stage, Shizuka could see the audience, hear what Katrina’s music had done—and what it continued to do.

In the darkness and silence, she realized that Katrina’s music might be with them even now.

And Katrina’s was a music that was not so different from her own.

Katrina Nguyen.

Shizuka had been right. Well, of course she’d been right, but believing and knowing are two different things. Katrina had entered that stage as a student. She had left it as a musician.

And with Katrina at this level, there was something else Shizuka knew, as well.

In an ideal world, Shizuka would never let anyone else finish her training. But in an ideal world, she wouldn’t have become the Queen of Hell.

There was no reason to put it off any longer. It was time to prepare Katrina Nguyen for Tremon.

And then it would be Shizuka’s turn to retake the stage.

23

“Here, Andrew. See the f-holes—curve should glide, then fall, in one smooth—”

Conversation stopped as the doorbell jingled. Lucy looked at her watch.

“Mr. Zacatecas—”

But it wasn’t Mr. Zacatecas.