“That would be your choice to make. All I am asking is that you leave this place.”
Hana let go of Keishin’s hands. “I cannot cross over to your world. None of us can. We will fade away. That is how my mother was sentenced to die, remember?”
“But she wasn’t executed. She’s still alive. I’m a scientist, Hana. I believe what I can prove. Do you know of anyone who has crossed into my world? Have you seen them fade away? What if the stories are just that? Myths made up by the Shiikuin to keep you afraid?”
“And if they aren’t?”
“What if I could come up with a way to prove that it was safe? Would you come?”
A chorus of urgent whispers rose from the bamboo. Stalks shivered.
“What’s going on?” Keishin said.
“They sense that somewhere in this grove, other stalks are being cut down to be turned into washi, the paper used for thecranes,” Hana said. “We need to make our way to the orizuru maker before they get too upset.”
“Why?”
“They may not let us pass if they do.” Hana stroked a bamboo stalk until it grew still, and then whispered something to it Keishin couldn’t hear. Rows of bamboo parted, giving way to a narrow gravel path. Hana bowed to the grove. “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Paper
A small house made of crisp white folded paper stood at the end of the gravel path at the edge of the bamboo grove. White origami cranes held together by long pieces of string hung from the origami house’s doorway. Long fingers parted the paper curtain. A tall man emerged from the house, his features as strikingly beautiful as they were sharp. He wore his long white-blond hair in a messy bun, leaving stray wisps to soften his jawline and graze the shoulders of his kimono. A winter fox in the snow. The crane that had followed Keishin and Hana up the stairway flew past Hana and perched on the man’s shoulder.
“Hana,” the man said with a smile that could melt the frost from trees. “I did not believe Maro when he told me you were here.” He glanced at the crane. “What a nice surprise.”
“It is good to see you too, Haruto,” Hana said. “This is my friend Keishin.”
Keishin bowed.
Haruto paused, narrowed his gaze at him, and bowed back. “Any friend of Hana’s is a friend of mine,” he said with a smile that stopped short of his clear gray eyes.
“I am sorry that I was not able to let you know that we were coming,” Hana said.
“You are always welcome here. You came at a good time. Ifinished making today’s cranes early,” Haruto said. “Please, come inside.”
—
Keishin followed Hana through the curtain of paper cranes. “I didn’t realize you knew the orizuru maker personally,” he said, lowering his voice.
“He is an old friend,” Hana whispered back.
“Please make yourself comfortable.” Haruto gestured to paper cushions around a low origami table. “May I offer you some tea?”
“I am sorry, but we cannot stay long. I do not mean to be rude, but we are here on a matter of some urgency. My father is missing.”
Haruto’s smile slipped from his face. “What happened?”
—
A cloud of silence, heavier than the cloud on display at the museum’s staircase, hung over the group gathered at the table after Hana recounted the events that had led her to Haruto’s origami studio. She had left out the part about where Keishin was from, refusing to make Haruto an accomplice in her crime. What she was about to ask of Haruto came with enough consequences of its own.
“This is my fault.” Haruto hung his head low. “I am deeply sorry, Hana. I swear to you that I will make this right.”
“What are you talking about? None of this is your fault.”
“But it is. Entirely. I am certain that your father’s disappearance is connected to his last visit.”
