But now she was an adult, and no one was stopping her. She beelined to the Starrgate Donut, skidded to a stop, and raced inside. Once she entered, she rushed for the bathroom door.

But no door was there.

Then she remembered something horrible. This was not Japan. This was El Monte.

Shizuka almost sobbed out loud. In Japan, donut shop bathrooms were clean and available. But here?

Shizuka had seen LA donut shops say no to children. She had seen them turn away white men in business suits. No one used donut shop bathrooms unless they were employees or police …

Also, everyone was staring.

Whether with musicians or not, Shizuka still carried herself like the Queen of Hell. Some customers looked away; others seemed frightened. An old woman crossed herself.

No, no no!

What to do next? Maybe she could find a gas station. Maybe a supermarket. Maybe a tree.

She had signed over her soul to Hell—surely she had been through worse than this?

Hadn’t she?

But just as all hope was lost, a donut lady appeared at the counter.

“Yes?”

Shizuka took off her sunglasses and bowed her head.

“Ma’am, I know it’s not for the public, but may I please use your bathroom?” she said, as politely as she could.

“Come around the back.”

In disbelief, Shizuka looked up and into the eyes of what must be the nicest Los Angeles Donut Lady in existence.

“Shirley, show her.”

“But, Mother—”

“Show her the bathroom,” Donut Lady said pleasantly, but firmly. “Just follow her, miss.”

Shizuka liked this donut lady. She really liked this donut lady.

The girl called Shirley led Shizuka down a passageway that stretched a little further back than Shizuka expected.

And there were noises here that didn’t match the sounds of a kitchen. Instead of motorized fryers, the commercial mixers, and the intermittent click of oven thermostats, the air was alive with soft whirs, hums, pure sine-wave tones, regular chirps. And these sounds came from everywhere—from beneath her and overhead.

Shizuka wasn’t going to mention it; she was the last person with the right to probe into someone else’s business.

“Thank you. I know you wouldn’t normally let someone use—”

Then Shizuka froze as her being was pierced by a gentle, yet supremely powerful, music. No, not quite music, and not only the air. It was deep and resonant and harmonious, like an Aeolian harp coursed with the strings of space itself.

“Beautiful…”

“Ma’am?”

“What is this sound?”

“Oh … it’s probably my brother,” the girl said too quickly. “He’s on his computer playing one of his games.”

The girl was lying, of course—this was no computer game.

But this wasn’t a time to pry, not with a full bladder.

Shizuka was led to a door with a handwritten sign that said FOR EMPLOYEE ONLY. Behind it lay the cleanest bathroom a woman might hope for.