But Hell favored people who recognized their brilliance, who believed they deserved success, would have success, were it not for a flaw, a disadvantage that they could never overcome. Paganini didn’t sell his soul to become Paganini—he sold his soul because he thought his appearance so hideous that no one would love him otherwise.

Each of Shizuka’s six previous students had a similar fear that their talent, their destiny would be thwarted. Morihei thought he’d never be accepted because he was Japanese. Lilia thought her commoner’s blood tainted her playing. Sabrina was worried because she was fat. And so on, and so on. What made each of them right for Hell was their need for a lie, a façade so powerful, so intoxicating, that they could believe it themselves.

And those, Hell could easily provide.

But this one didn’t seem ready for such a lie. At present, she could barely handle her truth.

Well, there would be time to address this later. For now, ready or not, they had work to do. Shizuka nodded to herself and put her coffee cup down.

As the cup clattered on the table, Katrina flinched. Tangerine juice splashed all about them.

“I’m sorry!” Katrina leapt her feet.

Shizuka watched the girl frantically scan the room for the front door. She was terrified.

“I’ll clean it up,” Astrid said calmly. “Please, Miss Katrina, sit down. There’s no problem at all.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Of course. The black eye, the bruises, the fractured rib. These were simple wounds. What remained would be far more difficult to heal.

Inside, Shizuka was furious. How dare someone interrupt talent like this? Rests, pauses, delayed resolutions, these were to be expected in any music, but this was needless. This was time wasted, time which Shizuka did not have.

However, being injured wasn’t the girl’s fault. And showing frustration would only make matters worse.

“Katrina?”

The voice was gentle. Cautiously, Katrina looked to its source.

“Yes?”

“After breakfast, shall we take your violin to the shop?”

“I don’t have money,” she said honestly. The last guy had barely paid.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just finish your breakfast.”

Astrid put her hands on Katrina’s shoulders. Katrina tried not to flinch.

“You have a lot to do today. And when you return, we’ll have more tangerine juice. Plenty more.”

Shizuka glanced upward. Astrid shrugged.

“This morning, Mrs. Aguilar brought another bag.”

South Arroyo was a quaint and picturesque hamlet at the end of the Long Beach Freeway. South Arroyo sat at the end of said freeway because its residents had blocked further construction, declaring their town too quaint and picturesque for freeways.