Light From Uncommon Stars(4)

“I’m studying with Seidel,” they would say.

And all this was possible if Shizuka Satomi, even if merely online, would watch Tami— And then, without warning, someone gasped.

Long black hair. Blood-red dress. The timeless half smile that a madman might paint. And of course, sunglasses hid her eyes.

Shizuka Satomi. The Queen of Hell.

At her approach, the hall fell silent.

Of course it would. Ellen Seidel had heard the stories, but nothing could have prepared her for this. This was more than power, ambition, beauty, or even genius. In the legendary teacher’s presence, such words seemed meaningless—devoured by an unrelenting, inescapable flame.

Yet what was most startling, even terrifying, was her focus. Nothing about Shizuka Satomi seemed random, without purpose.

Everything was measured. Everything was arranged.

Everything was completely and sublimely composed.

And suddenly, Ellen Seidel realized that, as everyone was watching her, the Queen of Hell was watching them. Perfectly polite, perfectly unapproachable, she seemed to measure, question, and disregard them all …

Then, she stopped.

Tamiko was standing now, quivering, her eyes wavering for the first time.

“Tamiko,” Ellen silently implored. “Don’t look down. Look at her.”

And then, Shizuka Satomi, the Shizuka Satomi, nodded, took off her sunglasses, and glanced into Tamiko Giselle Grohl’s eyes.

So that was the Grohl girl. Pretty. But of course she was.

Tremon said she was supremely gifted. But of course she was.

Shizuka entered the main hall and found a seat in the back. Even there, she felt people watching her, gossiping, no doubt.

Whatever. Appearance, reputation, even training or desire … none of that mattered now.

The organizers made the usual announcements. A parent forgot to bring cough drops. The lights dimmed.

Now … let’s hear her play.



* * *



After the preliminaries of any competition, the foyer fills with the chatter of parents, teachers, and musicians. There is triumph, heartbreak, arguing, predictions of who might advance to the final rounds. It can be a spectacle all its own.

Yet, this afternoon, the conversations were dominated by another topic entirely.

Shizuka Satomi was here.

“I think she’s living in Lausanne?”

“Tokyo, last I heard.”

“Wait—how old is she?”

“Here’s my phone; I want you to take a picture…”

“Let’s take a picture with her together!”

And then, there she was.

Just as before, silence fell throughout the hall. But this time, it was not from shock. People knew she was here, people were expecting her. Most of them rightly assumed she was searching for her next student, her next star.

Yet, as Shizuka Satomi moved through them, the San Gabriel Valley’s finest found their hearts faltering between notes, their music unraveled and wanting. Those who had thought to speak to the Queen of Hell suddenly felt small and invisible, as if they had nothing significant to say.

Two people, however, approached her.

“Miss Satomi! Thank you for coming to watch the competition. I—I’m Ellen Seidel. And this is Tamiko Giselle Grohl.”

Shizuka glanced at them both. Was that a smile?

“Y-you sent me that note, remember?” Ellen asked, her voice straining with pride, desire, and terror.

“Of course,” Shizuka Satomi finally said. “Your student is the reason that I am here.”

Tamiko Giselle Grohl could not restrain herself any longer. The Queen of Hell was in front of her, right in front of her.

“Kiana Choi studied with you, right?” she blurted.

“Yes. She did.”

“Kiana’s my hero—I want to be just like her!”

For the last time, Shizuka Satomi looked at Tamiko Grohl. The girl had been poised and engaging, technically near flawless.

How appropriate.

The Queen of Hell reached for her sunglasses, then tilted her head in a most exquisite way.

“No. You don’t.”

By the time anyone could react, Shizuka Satomi had floated to the exit and out the door.



* * *



Astrid was peeling tangerines when the door opened.

“Welcome back, Miss Satomi! I trust it went…” Her voice trailed off. One look at Miss Satomi told Astrid everything she needed to know.

“I—I’ll get started on dinner right away.”

Miss Satomi took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes.

“Astrid, tonight maybe just some miso soup.”

“Of course, Miss Satomi.” Astrid tried to not seem alarmed. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“No … I’ll be in the backyard.”

“Yes, Miss Satomi.”

Astrid went to the kitchen and heated some water. To that, she added bonito stock, sliced radish, seaweed, Miss Satomi’s favorite white miso, a beaten egg, and finally some sliced fish cake.

Miso soup. Miss Satomi asked for it only when she was ill or exhausted. Of course she would be! She had returned from Tokyo to a hometown she once had left forever, all for the promise of a seventh soul.

Miss Satomi had staked everything on this move, on the Grohl girl. She had been so hopeful, so sure.