Miss Satomi said she would get a star.
Tremon laughed.
“Oh, that is precious! The irony! To think how passionately Shizuka argued that these times had changed. You should have heard how she insisted that her seventh student was special. That you were different. And yet ordinary betrayal is as sweet as it ever was.
“Katrina Nguyen … You’re a selfish little thing, aren’t you?”
Tremon looked at his watch.
“Oh dear. But I should let you rest. Try to sleep as best you can—you have a big performance tomorrow, and you know how much your Miss Satomi believes in you.”
The demon turned to leave.
“Wait! Mr. Philippe!”
“Yes?”
“The bow. I know where it is. How do I take it?”
“Why, it’s easy as can be. Just take it. I’ll keep you veiled from Shizuka and her incessantly meddlesome housekeeper. After all, I am her old teacher.”
“She won’t know?”
“Not at all. Not tonight. Not until you play.”
Katrina lay in bed, staring at the dark.
The cursed bow now shared her violin case with Aubergine. Taking it had been, as Mr. Philippe had reassured her, almost too easy.
And now this was the last night that her soul would be free.
Katrina stared at the ceiling. She remembered a February night, much like this one, waiting, in the dark.
Ticket. Laptop. Escape bag. Violin.
She remembered how she had left, climbing through the window, and clutching her side.
At least that night, Katrina had been able to escape.
Katrina thought back to the letter she had left on her desk with her parents. Had they received it? Had they read it?
They must have. Right?
Katrina had blocked their number, so she had no way to know.
Were they worried? Did they even know that she was alive?
She picked up her phone, then dialed a number in the dark.
“Michael? Is that you?”
For a split second, Katrina thought she had dialed the wrong number—she had not heard that name in such a long time.
“Y-yes. It’s me.”
“Do you know what time it is? Where are you?” Her mother was trying to keep her voice down. Doubtless her father was asleep.
“Wait, just give me a second.”
There was a pause, then shuffling on the other end. Katrina was grateful for the break. She took a breath. Talking to her mother would be more difficult than she’d thought it would be.
“I’m in the kitchen now,” her mother finally said. “Your father can’t hear us. Michael.”
“M-Mother, I know I left so soon,” Katrina managed to say. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay.”
“Okay? Nothing is okay! You need to come home right away.”
“I’m sor—” Katrina stopped herself.
What was she about to say? That she was sorry? That she wished she could come home?
“Do you have any idea how angry your father is? And he’s been drinking.”
Of course he was! Pissed off and drunk as usual. Eternal damnation notwithstanding, why should she apologize for leaving that?
But before Katrina could respond, she heard what sounded like soft crying.
“Mijo, p-please … Y-your father. He…”
The voice trailed off.
“Mamá! Are you okay?” Even though Katrina had escaped, her mother was still living in that house, with that man …
And then it happened, just as it had so many times before.
“What do you mean? I’m fine.”
Her mother’s tone had changed immediately, becoming lighter, more casual, almost as if she were singing.
“Your father really loves us, you know,” her mother continued. “You have no idea how hard he works. Michael, why don’t you understand? It’s only bad when we make him angry. Michael? Michael?”
Katrina tried to say I love you, but the words refused to leave her mouth.
“Take care, Mother.”
Katrina ended the call and blocked the number.
She had wanted to say that she was Katrina, not Michael. She had wanted to say that she would never apologize for being queer, for being a woman.
Katrina had wanted to say that she wished her mother had sung to her in Spanish, taught her about tomatillos.
Katrina had wanted to say she wished her mother had told her, when her cousins sang “butterfly” at her that Thanksgiving night, that butterflies were also the children of God.
Katrina had wanted to say she had watched her all these years, watched her mother lose herself because her father demanded it—and that even if they never saw each other again, to please listen to her music, please listen, and hear.