Jenna Freeman was beginning to think that she should have listened to her sister before she bought the new viola. It wasn’t that she was superstitious. But the instrument had survived two fires—it still had scarring on its ribs—and the last owner had nicknamed it the Inferno. Jenna’s sister had said, “Don’t you think that’s a bad omen? It’ll inspire a new category of viola jokes.” Only half-listening, Jenna had played a transposed fragment of a Bach partita and was entranced by the Inferno’s tone. It sounded like dark chocolate and red satin ribbons and all things shadowy, exactly the way a viola should be. After that, there was no way not to buy the Inferno.