“Katrina?” the dreaming Shirley called out from among the stars.

“Yes?” the figure said.

“Please play your music again for me.”

The workbench. The vise. Even the lamps that illuminated the workbench that her father and grandfather had sat on.

By night, they seemed so different. Lucy could smell the same woods, spruce and maple, old and new. But now the bite of the varnish, the heavy musk of the hide glue seemed to hover between the sacred and damned.

And the files, the saws and chisels. The little spool clamps and shiny brass finger planes. The ancient scraper her grandfather had made from an old sardine can.

They were more than tools. They were weapons. Weapons, all.

The doorbell jingled. A thin, fidgety man entered the store. In his hands, he held what appeared to be a violin in an old burlap bag.

“I—I was told you take special orders?”

“Yes, we do,” she said.

Three nights after they had visited Teatopia, Shizuka’s phone rang. Shizuka looked at her clock. It was 3 A.M.

“Hello? How is Shirley?”

Lan sounded as if she had been deep in thought.

“She’s sleeping now.”

“I would not like to see imperfect copies of myself, either.”

“Thank you, Lan.”

“May I come over to speak with her? We need her at the donut shop,” Lan paused. “Just the donut shop.”

“You may come tomorrow after breakfast. As I said, she’s sleeping.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I see. I’m glad she’s getting her sleep. I will be there in the morning.”

Shizuka put her phone down. Lan had a daughter who loved her. And this time next year, that daughter would still be here.

The Queen of Hell listened to the air conditioner, its gentle whir resounding through the house. Outside, there would be jasmine; the summer was ripe and full.

Tomorrow morning, Astrid would bring her fresh sliced peaches, or maybe plums from the Lieus. Astrid would say something cheerful, would try to smile.

But of course, both of them knew.

It was no longer February, nor even April. It was summer, and then it would be fall. And soon Shizuka would have to harvest Katrina Nguyen’s soul.

28

When Shizuka woke the next day, Katrina was in the shower. Astrid was making breakfast.

And the girl who thought she was defective was still asleep in the recording studio.

Shizuka took a deep breath and faced her mirror. She kept the makeup very light, and wore only the slightest hint of lipstick. She took a little extra time to make her hair look like she had not taken too much time. Just stay natural.

Natural did not come easily to Shizuka. But these poor kids had never had a home to relax in. She chose a simple, soft linen dress. She looked herself over and nodded seriously.

Soon she could hear Astrid setting the table downstairs.