Apparently, she was in London. The picture and sound were not high definition, but she recognized the piece immediately.
Bartók.
Katrina tried to listen.
She was four and she was stomping around in the rain, and a crayfish was in the gutter on her street.
She frowned. Again, she tried to concentrate on the notes.
And then, she was sixteen and in high school, with her parents at the mall, and a guy whistled at her.
Why couldn’t she focus? Come on! Shizuka Satomi was playing in front of her, why did she keep drifting?
She was so happy that, even without a dress, someone saw her as a woman. Then, terrified, she looked at her parents, but neither had noticed.
Suddenly, Katrina stopped the recording.
Now it all made sense. What Katrina had experienced as Miss Satomi played Schradieck in the park, and later as they played Axxiom and The NetherTale. This was more than technique or brilliance. This was more than resonance, more than memory.
This was here and now and present.
Shirley shook herself awake. Had she just been navigating their starship through space?
“Katrina? What happened?”
“Miss Satomi,” Katrina muttered, “is not just playing the music of Bartók. She’s playing the music of us.”
* * *
Seasons in Southern California are more subtle than they are in Lausanne or Tokyo. And for Shizuka, who judged seasons largely by how they impeded one’s travel, they could be difficult to perceive.
Still, Astrid was receiving long beans from the Laus, as well as bags of soft persimmons from the Aguilars. The perpetual hum of air conditioners was increasing as another summer was coming to its fiery end.
And, of course, the Starbucks were filled with the first smells of Pumpkin Spice Lattes.
Shizuka never bothered with the stuff; she was much more of an iced coffee girl. But Tremon? To his latte, he was adding sugar and spice and everything nice.
“Ah, pumpkin spice. How it reminds me of home…”
“Hello, Tremon. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Not at all, not at all. ’Tis the season to give thanks, after all. I thought you had made a huge mistake by not taking the Grohl girl,” Tremon said. “But I admit it! I was wrong. You haven’t lost your touch in the slightest.”
“Thank you.” Shizuka bowed her head slightly. The sight of the happy demon drinking a Pumpkin Spice Latte was unnerving.
“So, Shizuka, why?”
“Tremon?”
“My dear, you have no intention of giving her to me, do you?”
Well, that was it. There was no sense in lying, especially to Tremon.
“No, I don’t.”
“Need I remind you that you’ve already damned six students? Even if you could weasel your way out of Hell, do you really think you can fool the Other Place?”
“Of course not, Tremon.”
Tremon sighed. “And to think, Shizuka, that you just had the bow refit and rehaired.”
So, Lucía Matía had stayed in contact with the toad. Shizuka had guessed correctly. Lucía was a resource, a colleague. To a point, perhaps even a friend. But she was, before anything else, a Matía.
“I like to return things in the condition I received them,” Shizuka said smoothly.
“And what of your music, Shizuka? Have you not missed it all these years?”
Shizuka shrugged. She wanted to say she had already found her music, and now she was passing it to another’s hands. Not that this was anything that a demon might understand.
But then she thought of Katrina … drinking tangerine juice, making a new friend, going to the mall, discovering Bartók. She deserved so much more. Katrina should have so much more.
At that moment, Shizuka realized that continuing her music really wasn’t why she was saving Katrina.
She just wanted Katrina to live.
“So, love?” Tremon said suddenly.
Shizuka looked up, startled.
“I can think of only one emotion that makes someone so uncharacteristically unreasonable.”
“She’s a child.”
“I didn’t mean that kind of love. After all, I’ve watched you with that donut lady. But this?”
“I’m sorry, Tremon.” What else could she say?
The demon shrugged and sipped his latte.
“I think I shall go for a walk. This is such a nice walking neighborhood, you know.”
“That’s all? You’re not going to stop me?”
“Shizuka, as you have reminded me so often of late, there is still plenty of time. And remember, six of your students chose their paths on their own. The seventh will be no different. The final choice will be Katrina’s. And you will not be able to interfere.”