“And that one is somewhere close. I can still sense it.”
“Where? Down there?” Tremon gestured downhill to the lights of Monterey Park. “Doing what? Nibbling on dumplings? Perhaps roasting a duck? Honestly, my dear, what are you thinking?”
“What if I told you that Hell would receive something special to remember me by?”
“Would you really expect me to believe that you are risking your existence out of an affection for Hell?
“Of course not. But the seventh will be worth the wait—for all of us.”
“Very well, Shizuka,” Tremon finally said. “For now, I will play along, if only because your past souls have been so well received. But remember—you have been allotted seven times seven years to deliver seven souls. Forty-eight of those years have passed. If you do not free yourself by this time next year, Hell will have no need to remember you, for there you will be—every special day, every special moment, for all eternity.”
With that, Tremon Philippe was gone.
* * *
Katrina checked her phone. Good, she had signal. Quickly, she sent another text to Evan. She hadn’t worked out the details, but she’d settle in with Evan for a while, find a job, then start making more music videos.
Beyond that? She’d figure it out.
Katrina winced as the bus shifted lanes. She clutched her violin and eventually drifted back to sleep.
When she next awoke, the bus was rumbling off of Rosemead Boulevard and into the parking lot of Shun Fat, a huge Asian wholesale market and restaurant supply complex. Already, people were waiting to pick up relatives.
Katrina tried to wake herself as she got off the bus and waited at the sidewalk for her bag. The two old women studied her and whispered. One pointed at her face.
Katrina touched her face, then looked down at her sleeve. Crap. While asleep, her foundation had rubbed off. Which meant they saw the bruises. Her black eye …
These old ladies were strangers; their looks couldn’t hurt her. Their stares and judgments were nothing compared with what she had been through. She told herself that this shouldn’t hurt. It was nothing.
And nothing shouldn’t hurt at all.
3
Lan Tran loved her donut. Her giant concrete and plaster donut.
Once common in LA’s Eisenhower years, just a few of these giant donuts remained in greater Los Angeles. There were Kindle’s Do-nuts, Dale’s Donuts, and Randy’s Donuts, of course. Donut King II was in Gardena. In La Puente, there was the drive-through Donut Hole.
And here, above El Monte, rose Starrgate Donut.
Lan’s donut meant a future. Her donut meant family.
In the night quiet, Starrgate Donut hummed, almost like a starship. Stationed in the front, her twins Windee and Edwin navigated the donut case, stocking it with galaxies of sweet, colorful lemon creams, apple fritters, double chocolates, Boston crèmes, twists. At her back, Shirley and Aunty Floresta maintained operations, while below, Markus was busy planning their next expansion.
“Hello, Captain!” The twins saluted.
Lan returned their salute.
“Carry on,” she said with a satisfied smile.
Shirley emerged from the back with a tray of chocolate éclairs.
“The replicators are operating within tolerances, Mother.”
“Thank you, Shirley. But create the next batch with thirty percent less residual heat. We won’t have many customers, so they don’t need to be hot, and we can save power that way.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Lan Tran stared out the window. The stars beckoned as they always had.
One did not have to be a rocket scientist to make a donut. But that didn’t mean it didn’t help.
A picture of Mr. and Mrs. Thamavuong still hung on the wall. They had acquired Starrgate in 1979. At the time, it was known as El Monte Donuts. The Thamavuongs sold classic, American-style donuts made with happiness and care. And, in the ’80s, video games became popular, so the Thamavuongs brought them into their store.
El Monte Donuts became known not only for apple fritters, but for Pac-Man, Asteroids, and Defender. Their most popular game, by far, was Stargate. Dedicated video game players would spend hour after hour, quarter after quarter, rescuing people from an alien invasion that would never, ever cease. Eventually, the Thamavuongs decided to buy, rather than rent, first one, then two, and finally three Stargate machines. Since they kept them in good playing condition, their shop became known informally as Stargate Donuts.
Eventually, Mr. Thamavuong changed the name of El Monte Donuts officially to Starrgate Donut （with the double r to avoid any trademark trouble）。 Even after the video game craze passed, the name stuck over the years, and up until when the Thamavuongs were ready to retire.