Folding the Sky

-5-

The shop was always quiet in the late afternoon—that strange, ephemeral limbo between afternoon and evening, really, where sunlight softened into butterscotch and eyelids grew heavy as lead and stomachs rumbled for supper.

In this final moment of quiet after the ceaseless melee that was his early morning appointments, Chike Lee sat at his desk, frowning at the sketch in front of him. The pencil lines, already fading against the parchment, faintly outlined a wedding dress that a young noble bride had commissioned him to sew. For all intents and purposes, the design was perfect. The bodice was simple, heart-shaped, the sleeves puffed like that of a princess's. The train was long, made of lace. Any bride would feel lovely in it, Chike was sure.

Yet still, something was...off.

Chike tapped his pencil against the page, reconsidered, and rested his chin in his hand instead. He took in a long breath, inhaling with it the scents of starched linen and fabric dye, the dusty granules of graphite. He tilted his head, and his mind flashed with one question: What would Mama say about it?

It was the question he asked before putting the finishing touches on any of his creations, and it was because of that question that he was one of the most successful tailors in Naino, even at just twenty-five years of age.

As it always did when he thought about his mother, Chike's heart twanged. She'd be proud of him now, he was sure. She would understand.

Behind him, a bell announced the arrival of another customer. Startled, Chike dropped the pencil. It rolled across the floor and disappeared underneath his armoire; Chike stifled his disappointment and whirled, facing the two women silhouetted at the door. "Welcome to Lee's," he said, with rehearsed geniality. "How can I help you today?"

The two women stepped into the light. One of them was vaguely familiar to Chike, like he'd seen her face on an advertisement somewhere, something warm and timelessly pretty in the dark brown of her downward-sloping eyes. The other was darker-skinned like him, curls tied back from her young face with white ribbons, matching the skirts that flared in a high-low cut about her legs.

It was an eerie, almost omnipotent sensation, but Chike somehow knew they had not come here to get a dress taken in.

"Chike?" said the one with the ribbons in her hair. She stepped forward, extending a hand. "My name is Zuri. This is Jem."

Chike shook Zuri's hand, nodding his head at Jem as she waved at him. "Nice to meet you," he said, and looked between the two of them, fighting the urge to inch backwards. It wasn't...that, was it? But he'd been so careful. Ever since he'd arrived here, he'd been so, so careful, as if he were constantly walking a tightrope. He hadn't fallen yet, he thought. "Is...is everything okay? I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Jem said, "Maybe not. We don't exactly know."

"Jem," Zuri whined, shooting the other girl a dark look. "Can you just be positive? Please?"

"I'm just being honest. What's wrong with being honest?"

"I'm sorry." Now, Chike was backing away, already mentally mapping out his plan: which was to run. He did not know where to or for how long or what to do after that. He would just run, and hopefully that was good enough. "I'd really like to know what's going on here."

Zuri let out a long breath, then pushed her hair aside at the temple, displaying a familiar scar at her brow.

Chike couldn't fight a gasp. He scrambled backwards, rammed into his desk, and crumpled to the floor with a groan. "You're—" He swallowed, gaining his breath back, and looked up. "Celestial?"