The entire room seemed to stop and stand at attention.
“Miss Katrina noticed your lack of available recordings,” Astrid explained.
“Ah. Well, we can talk about that later.”
“But, Miss Satomi, it just seems so unfair. What gives them the right—”
Astrid raised her hand.
“I’m sorry,” Katrina said automatically.
“No, don’t apologize. In fact … thank you.” Shizuka sat at the table, then looked at Katrina carefully.
“However, my music career is not the focus. What we must really concern ourselves with is yours.”
9
“Katrina, have some muesli.”
“Muesli?”
“I soaked it in yogurt overnight and added tangerine slices. And here’s some fresh tangerine juice.”
Shizuka smiled at the thought of Astrid triumphantly using the last of the Aguilar tangerines. And, even more importantly, the seventh student, the one she had been seeking for nearly a decade, was sitting in front of her, having breakfast at her table.
Yogurt? In cereal?
Katrina dipped her spoon into the muesli. She had never heard of such a thing. It looked a little like soggy oatmeal, but it was sweet, tart, nutty, with just a little chewy crunch. And the tangerine slices were like bits of sunshine.
It was almost too good to be true.
Katrina paused.
“What’s wrong, honey? Do you not like it?” Astrid asked anxiously. “If you have any favorite foods from home, perhaps I can learn to make them.”
Katrina shook her head. Her mother had always made what her father wanted. There was nothing there that she wanted to recall.
Besides, the muesli was wonderful. Miss Astrid had been wonderful. Miss Satomi had been beyond wonderful. But people like this weren’t supposed to be wonderful.
Not to people like her.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why? Because you are Miss Satomi’s student.” Astrid glanced at Shizuka, then back at the girl.
“And she’s been searching a very long time for you.”
Shizuka watched her new student try to relax and fail. Of course she would be suspicious. Tremon would be suspicious. Even Astrid was having her doubts.
After all, Katrina Nguyen was most definitely not someone that Hell would have chosen.
Yes, Hell accepted that it could neither create talent nor control where it landed. Paganini had all the tools for immortality before he signed over his soul. As did Tartini, or anyone else who claimed the Devil came and made them great.
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 fa?ade 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?”