“I don’t know where to begin. No exaggeration, your violin is life.”
In all her playing career, who had ever told Shizuka that? Any of her other students would right now be bursting with celebration.
In the past, a solo violinist’s path had been simple. Compete, win prizes, meet wealthy benefactors, record a studio LP with Deutsche Grammophon, tour the world. Shizuka’s previous student, Yifeng Zheng, had begun to utilize the Internet, but he spoke of using it to build a “platform” to unite his fans, to inform them about concerts, and share images and teasers—all to help his career.
But now? The Internet could be the career. Here were not just videos of performances, but instructional videos, maintenance and repair tips, instrument reviews.
Someone discussed common left-hand errors. Someone raved about a new line of rhinestone tailpieces. Some strange little man compared thirty different brands and lines of strings by playing the same piece on the same violin over and over. This is Pirastro Piranito. This is Thomastik-Infeld Red. This is Thomastik-Infeld Blue.
Today Katrina was showing Miss Satomi her improved tundra setting.
“I can’t believe you programmed this. It’s like a holodeck.”
“Holodeck? Do you mean like a VRMMORPG?”
Miss Satomi rolled her eyes. “VR MM-what? It’s just Star Trek! Doesn’t anyone watch Star Trek anymore? I swear—”
She froze.
“Katrina—did you hear that?”
“What?”
Katrina couldn’t hear anything at first. And then … someone seemed to be … crying?
“End program!” Katrina shouted.
The snowscape faded, and in front of them was what looked like a small shivering doll.
“Shirley?”
Her image was unsteady, fluttering in and out of focus.
“Help. May I come over?”
“Of course!”
Shirley flickered, and the glow from the projector briefly intensified, becoming almost too bright to look at.
When the glow faded, Shirley was sitting in front of them at normal size.
“I’m sorry!” She rocked back and forth.
“Did something happen at home?” Alarmed, Shizuka took out her phone. The girl looked terrified. What happened? A robbery? What about Lan? Was she safe?
Then a gentle, but firm hand stopped her.
“Miss Satomi, she’s running away from home.”
Katrina sat down next to Shirley. Slowly at first, then in a mumbling singsong, Shirley told them all that had happened with Markus, and all that happened after.
“So, when I refused to be duplicated, Mother sent me a message. Said … my data is corrupt. Needed … to install a destruct code.”
Shizuka wanted to believe that this was a misunderstanding. Duplicating a child? Adding a destruct code? Even for an agent of Hell, who had delivered souls to damnation, some truths were difficult to accept.
But Shizuka Satomi had known far too many parents to dismiss what she heard.
“Katrina, make her comfortable.”
“You’re not going to call Shirley’s mother, are you?”
Shirley shook her head and curled up even tighter.
“Of course not. I am simply going to inform Astrid that we have a guest.”
“Thank you, Miss Satomi,” Katrina said.
Miss Satomi left.
Katrina looked about the studio and frowned.
Shirley did not even have an escape bag.
* * *
“Be careful around the neck block.”
“Okay…” Andrew hesitated. He started to tap. Nothing. A little harder. Still nothing?
“Andrew, careful means watch what you are doing. Careful does not mean be indecisive. Here—”
The two of them worked together through the afternoon, and for some time after. Finally, his mother stood and stretched.
“I think that’s enough for today. You have homework to do.”
Andrew looked outside. When had the streetlights come on?
“Shall we grab dinner on the way home?”
“I am going to stay a bit longer,” she said in a peculiar voice.
Of course. The Satomi Guarneri.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Oh, and save your money. There’s lasagna in the freezer.”
“Okay. I’ll warm enough for when you get home.”
Lucy gave a thumbs-up as he left. Then she rubbed her eyes. It was time to work.
The Satomi Guarneri. The f-holes were a little crude, which was typical for a Guarneri.
But the bouts had an unexpected grace.
And there, the bend of the scroll was just a little more lyrical than it needed to be.