“Thank you, Aunty. I shall do my best to succeed.”
Why build a stargate, anyway? She had never answered Aunty Floresta, had she? To be fair, at the time, she didn’t know. Even as she performed calculation after calculation, simulation after simulation. Even as her family worried about her, even as her crew must have doubted her—something in her must have known that another mission was yet ahead.
After all, wasn’t there a galaxy to save?
“I thought you said the Endplague couldn’t be healed,” Shizuka said.
“I was mistaken,” Lan said simply. Lan reached for Shizuka’s hand. “I’ll explain along the way. But I know that you can no longer play your music on your world. So, Miss Shizuka Satomi, would you be okay with playing it to the stars, instead?”
Lan flipped a switch. And as they reached full power, the ship’s engines began to sing.
Of course, the Endplague could not be avoided. Life could not be avoided. Death comes for everyone. But that did not mean one could not be healed.
That did not mean one could not be saved.
Lan winked like a purple Han Solo.
“Hold on tight. It’s time to see what this runabout can do.”
38
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Andrew. Save some lasagna for me.”
“Sure thing!”
The day had been busy. Joaquín Elias Zacatecas de Córdoba was now playing with three different ensembles throughout Southern California, and one of them was even playing to an English-speaking crowd at a summer festival in Santa Monica. Thanks to his testimonials, and those of others, demand for the La Maestra line was growing. In fact, Andrew was talking about offering not only violins, but violas, cellos, and even double basses.
Also, schoolchildren were streaming in after school, excitedly whispering that Katrina Nguyen herself came here to service both her Stradivarius and her beloved Aubergine—wasn’t that her picture on the wall? So, once again thanks to Andrew, the store was beginning to stock rhinestone tailpieces, rainbow-colored tuners, sparkling cakes of rosin, polar bear violin mutes—and of course, books and sheets from video games and anime.
But now the sky was dark, and so was the store. Waiting on her workbench? Her next project. Using the wood her grandfather had seasoned, Lucy Matía was completing her first original violin.
Finally, she would be able to work in peace.
But, of course, there was one last customer.
The doorbell jingled as a demon walked into the shop.
“Hello, Tremon.”
“Lucía.” The old man bowed slightly. “Is everything complete?”
She brought out an old and battered case. It was long and thin, perhaps for a flute, or a violin bow.
“Dogwood is quite an unusual material work to with. But I think you’ll be satisfied. However, the repair was not easy. Nor cheap.”
Tremon chuckled. “It never is.”
He opened the case and retrieved the dogwood bow. At once, the air around it grew thin and hungry.
“Ah, superb! It pleases me immensely to know that your shop is back in business.”
“Would you like to try it?”
“No, no. But I have in mind someone who would. And she lives very close by.” He patted his jacket, then frowned.
“Ah, but I don’t have my wallet with me.”
“Mr. Philippe…”
The demon walked past her with the bow.
“Is this your own work?” He gestured to the violin on her workbench.
“Mr. Philippe.”
“Lucía, let me propose a deal. I will tell you the story of your family. If you like it, we will consider this bow paid for.”
“I already know the story of my family,” Lucy said.
“Not the whole story. And there’s no risk to you. For if you don’t like it…”
He placed a violin case on the counter.
“I will pay for the bow with this.”
Tremon opened the case. “This violin is mine own, made by Nicolò Amati, in classic Grand Pattern.”
Nicolò Amati had been the last and greatest patriarch of the Amati, eldest of the three great violin families. His grandfather, Andrea Amati, invented the modern violin.
In fact, Andrea Guarneri and Antonio Stradivari were trained in Amati’s workshop.
Lucy gasped. Even when compared with Stradivariuses and Guarneris, Amatis were rare. And this violin was not merely authentic—it was gorgeous, nearly pristine.
“Deal,” she said weakly.
Tremon smiled. Lucy shuddered slightly at his teeth. And then the demon spoke.