The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Uncle Hank said. His voice restrained and proper. “What can you do for this evening, Inspector Cowell?”

  “Is this her?” Cowell turned his eyes to me. He began loosening a pair of black leather gloves, revealing two hands of white ink. “Is this your great-niece, Zuri?”

  Uncle Hank nodded. I froze in my shoes.

  “Wow.” A smirk pressed to his face. He leaned closer, inspecting every inch of me. “The last of the Ebenmores.”

  “We don’t know that yet.” Aunt Margot rounded to Uncle Hank’s side. “Zuri very well could have children if she wanted.”

  “Yes, she could.” Cowell nodded his head. “But then they won’t be Ebenmores, will they? They’ll take the name of their father.” He glanced at me before continuing. “Do you mind if my men and I take seat? I’m note sure how long this will take.”

  “If you must.” Aunt Margot’s tongue snipped.

  “Thank you,” Cowell said as though he didn’t even notice her less than friendly tone. “So, my colleagues and I are following up an investigation into a missing person’s whereabouts.”

  “Missing person?” Aunt Margot repeated absentmindedly.

  “Yes, a relative of yours.”

  My brow nearly reached my hairline. “Who?”

  Cowell turned to me. “Zuri, how was it that you came into your great uncle and aunt’s care?” He ignored my question.

  Before I could utter a syllable, Aunt Margot’s voice cut through the room. “Don’t answer that.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Chief Inspector Cowell, which individual within our family is missing? If you could give us a name, we might be able to better assist you with your investigation.”

  His eyes narrowed upon her like a predator locking in on its prey. “Zeineb Ebenmore.”

  My lungs seized. Hearing her name on his lips made me want to throw up. I had to force an agonizing breath down to keep from collapsing.

  “I’m sorry, Cowell, but I don’t think we’ll be of any use.” My uncle finally squeaked. “We don’t know where my niece is.”

  “I find that rather hard to believe considering her daughter, who’s remained incognito for the last nineteen years, has all of sudden appeared in your residence. How long has she been here?”

  “We took her in on her birthday,” Hank answered.

  “Then you know where Zeineb is.”

  “No, I don’t. That was months ago. She’s back on the run and could be anywhere by now.”

  “Zuri, when did you last have contact with your mother?” Inspector Rossi asked.

  The looks my uncle and aunt sent me made my skin want to slough off my body and crawl away. “My birthday.”

  “And for the last nineteen years, where have you been?” He continued his interrogation.

  “With my mother,” I said.

  “Zeineb packed up and left,” Margot said, drawing their attention away from me. “Zuri doesn’t know where she is, and it doesn’t matter. You don’t have jurisdiction in undermen lands. You can’t touch her.”

  “Not yet we don’t,” Constable Harrison chimed in with a huff. “We’re getting that little issue fixed soon.”

  “Good for you.” Margot rolled her eyes.

  “I think it impertinent to remind you to whom you are speaking and that this attitude will not be tolerated,” Inspector Klein said with heavy guttural accent. “It appears social elevation may be going to your head.”

  “She has broken no laws, and as such, you are no authority to her.” Uncle Hank’s voice grounded into a growl. “I think it is you who would do well to remember your place.”

  Cowell looked up from his seat upon on the couch. “Hank, are you forgetting something?”

  Uncle Hank cocked a dark eyebrow.

  “We know you harbored Zeineb during a portion of her pregnancy, and we have evidence that she was at this very residence before she fled Rotterpool.” He released a deep breath. “Let’s not pretend either of your hands are clean.”

  “That was twenty years ago,” Margot said. “Her living here wasn’t illegal.”

  “No, but I think we can both agree that since then a lot of laws have changed.” Cowell cleared his throat. “Such as not reporting any contact with illegals—flups in this particular case—and aiding in the unlawful seizure of children belonging to hands.”

  “Once again, you have no jurisdiction in undermen lands. Any contact that has occurred between us and Zeineb over the last nineteen years has taken place in the undermen’s world,” Margot said, crossing her arms.

  “Margot, why are acting so defensively? You talk as though we’ve come here to arrest you and Hank,” Cowell said. “It’s not you we are looking into. It’s Zeineb. We’re simply concerned about her whereabouts.” He shook his head, disapproval flinging with every turn. “I don’t see how you can stand there and protect her. Think about all the harm she’s caused—about all the things Zuri has missed out on and how her education may be ruined due to being raised by flup outside of our world.”

  Cowell was clearly out of his depth if he believed for one second that line of reasoning would work on them. Uncle Hank placed family above all else, and Aunt Margot loyally supported his priorities, even seemingly adopting them as her own.

  “As we stated before,” Uncle Hank said. “We have no idea where Zeineb is.”

  Inspector Rossi loosened his gloves. “In that case, maybe we can persuade you to search for her.” Klein and Harrison followed suit. “Perhaps there’s a little shred of memory rattling around in your head that can help us locate her.”

  Margot’s teeth gritted. “Have you all forgotten who are you talking to? Do you have any idea who you are threatening?” Her grip upon Uncle Hank’s arm tightened. “This is Henry Ebenmore, son of Zara Ebenmore and great grandson of Roman Ebenmore. He could end you all in a second and raze a quarter of the city while he’s as it.”

  The Sightless Sons shared an uneasy glance before they all stuffed their white-marked hands back into their government issued black leather gloves.

  Cowell shook his head. “You know, Margot, our beloved Hank is getting on in age. What is it now? Seventy-eight? Seventy-nine? You’ll have to figure out another line of defense eventually.”

  “I’m seventy-seven years old,” Hank answered. “And once I go, there will still be another Ebenmore for you all to contend with.”

  The room turned to me, and Cowell pursed his lips. “We both know hands born to flup mothers tend to end up weaker than their peers or worse—snuffed.” A sinister grin crept upon his face. “We’ll keep an eye on Zuri for you while she’s away at Blacksaw. Make sure nothing of worry crops up.” His stare wound down to my hands. “That’s a curious sheen you’ve got there, which makes sense because she’s not really an Ebenmore is she?” He rose from his seat. “I wonder what your actual last name should be. Reeves? Everleigh? Denholm? Or maybe it’s not a highborn blackhand family at all. Maybe the reason you three don’t know is because it’s some commoner that she was ashamed to be seen with. Who is your father, Zuri?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Shouldn’t you know?”

  Cowell frowned. “I believe that’s all the questions we had for you today.”

  “Thank the black and white,” Aunt Margot mumbled.

  I wasn’t sure if they heard her or not because none of them acknowledged the remark. Like a pack of gargoyles descending from their perches, they swept out of the living room and gathered into the foyer before heading out. “Should Zeineb pop her head back up or reach out to you in any way, I highly recommend you inform me immediately. It would be in your best interest.” Chief Inspector Cowell slipped his peaked cap back onto his faded black hair, and the four of them left.

  Margot shut the door behind her and slumped upon the large mahogany slab. Her eyes closed with a relieved sigh before they opened again, round and worried. She straightened, and her gaze narrowed upon me. “Do not tell your mother that they we
re here. All you’ll do is frighten her for no reason. They have no leads. They’re sniffing around at our home because they’re desperate. The case has gone cold.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I stared at the ceiling above me, watching as the firelight from the lamps in the street below flickered across the pale white surface. It was a warm, soothing orange hue but not strong enough to tame my mind. My thoughts ran wild with what could be and what would be. Tomorrow was it. Tomorrow I would leave my uncle and aunt’s side, travel to another city on my own, and step foot onto Blacksaw University campus.

  I had always imagined this moment to be something exciting and wondrous, but as I lay in bed, fright poisoned me.

  Uncle Hank had insisted that my powers weren’t that weak, but I struggled to believe him. I wanted to. However, the realist in me told me not to get my hopes up. Disappointment wasn’t something I handled very well, and this situation was shaping up to be just that.

  The grandfather clock in the living room below chimed loud and clear, striking the bell twelve times—midnight. I sighed, flinging the covers off as I rolled out of bed. My feet fitted into a pair of fuzzy white slippers and padded out of the room for a glass of water. Anything was better than lying there allowing my mind to shred itself.

  But as soon as I met the hall, I stopped. The glow of firelight seeped out from under one of the doors—the family room. Someone was still awake.

  I shuffled down the narrow wooden planks and opened the door slowly so as not to disturb whoever was inside. Aunt Margot sat in one of the wingback chairs with her bright pink kimono tied tightly around her waist. Mint green rollers clung to her blonde hair. There was one by her ear that drooped, hanging on for dear life. She had her feet propped up on an ottoman, heating her toes, while a small plate rested on her belly, holding a steaming cup of tea.

  “Aunt Margot?” I stepped in, closing the door behind me. “What are you doing still awake?”

  “Zuri!” She gasped. Her hand pressed to her heart, and her eyes widened. “Are you trying to kill me? You can’t be sneaking around, love. I’m old. I don’t hear too well. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She waved me over, inviting me to sit in the chair beside her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Tea. The drink of my adolescence. Given the occasion, one last cup wouldn’t hurt. “Yes, thank you.” I slid into the second wingback chair, struggling to get comfortable. The cushions had been formed to fit someone else, molded through years of use. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I should be asking you the same thing.” Aunt Margot handed me a blue saucer and cup. The fragile scent of jasmine tickled my nose.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why not? What’s bothering you?”

  I shot her a knowing look. The answer was obvious.

  “What? I’m not sure if it’s because of your visit with your mother this afternoon, the Sightless Sons, or the big day tomorrow.”

  I glanced to the family tree tapestry that dangled nearby. There, my face smiled back at me, attached to the rest of the branches by a single thin line that ran from my mother. “Why isn’t my father on it?” I asked. “All the other individuals who were married into the family are on the thing.”

  “Your father and mother were never married.”

  I asked about her about him before because his existence had little to do with my everyday life. My mother was the one who had raised me and cared for me. She was my parent. But the further I slipped into this world, the more his identity mystified me.

  I sank a little lower in my seat. “Do you have any clue who my father could be?”

  She chuckled. “No, I don’t. And if I did, there’s no way Hank would let me keep something like that from him for nearly twenty years.”

  My eyes closed and head dipped back into the cushioned chair, defeated.

  “You know, you can find out if you really wanted to. You were born in Rotterpool.” Her voice was light, almost a whisper as though she were afraid to speak any louder. “They keep birth records. Though they split before you were born, your mother still loved him. I doubt she’d put the chairman’s name down as the father instead of his.”

  I tossed up my hands. “You’re telling me this now? I have to be on a tram in seven hours, and you’re just now letting me know I can look at my birth record and find out who my father is.”

  “Then again, it might not be that easy. If it were, I doubt the Sightless Sons would have to be asking you his name.” She scrunched her lips. “Something isn’t adding up. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she did put the chairman’s name down as the father, and that’s why they don’t know his identity.”

  I brought a hand up to my forehead, messaging my temples. “The chairman’s name?”

  “It’s just a placeholder. Single mothers can write down the chairman’s name in order to avoid the shame of leaving the line blank.”

  “Which would make the document useless.”

  “Sorry, dear. Why don’t you just ask your mother?”

  I shot her an incredulous look, making sure every facet of the expression was over the top in order to emphasize how ridiculous the recommendation was. “You don’t think I’ve already tried that?”

  She shrugged. “One never knows. Sometimes we overlook the most obvious options right beneath our very noses.”

  My mother was one of the strongest women I knew, but she still had her weaknesses and pressure points. Given how much effort she put in pretending as though my father never existed, it was apparent the wound hadn’t healed—scabbed and scarred in places but not healed. Continuing to push her for information would shatter her.

  “What is it?” Aunt Margot stared at me. “What are you thinking about?”

  I shook my head, not wanting to confess. “Tomorrow, I guess. Blacksaw and my studies.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

  “You have nothing to be nervous about when it comes to Blacksaw.” She smiled at me. Her natural lips were much more pink than I would’ve imagined them to be. “All you have to do is show up and give it your best.”

  “My best?” I cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been petitioning for me to return home ever since I got my hands unlocked. Why now do you believe my best will be good enough?” It was becoming such a sore spot with me—my best. I didn’t know if my best was good enough, and I had never experienced that feeling before in my life.

  “Well, I’ve lost that battle, haven’t I? What’s the point in continuing to fight it? My efforts are better spent bolstering your spirits so we don’t receive notification of your dismissal. That’s ultimately what I’m trying to avoid.”

  “Don’t want be embarrassed?”

  Her lips pursed. “No, I’m trying to keep your name off of a government list.”

  I sank in my chair, sipping my tea and feeling foolish. “What about you? Why are you awake?”

  Her lips flattened. “Things.”

  I eyed her, urging her to spill more than just one word.

  She sighed. “Things I can’t talk about. Things that should only be discussed behind closed doors. I understand we aren’t in a good place right now, but regression isn’t the answer. Have they forgotten why we put the party in power in the beginning?”

  I struggled to decipher her cryptic words. There was a more simple explanation, but I knew it wouldn’t be given. She wanted to vent and keep her lips sealed at the same time.

  “And since I’ve married into this family, I get dragged into all sorts of stuff. Never in my life would I have imagined I would hear such things or entertain such thoughts. Maybe aristocracy isn’t for me.”

  Her last line pummeled my thoughts. Aunt Margot had been around for as long as I could remember. Obviously, I knew she had a life before she married my uncle, but what that life was like, I hadn’t the faintest idea.

  “Why did you marry Uncle Hank?”

  She shrugged. “Why does any commoner marry
into the noblesse? I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore.” A long stream of air blew from her nostrils. “And he was so charming back then. He didn’t act like the other aristocrats. In fact, I remember a number of professors disliking him for his lackadaisical approach to his studies. You see, his mother, Zara, was one of the best students Blacksaw had ever seen, and Hank simply didn’t meet their expectations.”

  “You two met at Blacksaw?”

  She nodded. “Many moons ago. We didn’t get together then though. It wasn’t until we were older. He was creeping toward fifty, and I had just turned forty-five.”

  “So what? The two of you just kept in contact that entire time?”

  She shook her head. “No, we came back into contact because I was working at the Burgundy Exchange.”

  “That’s why you seemed so familiar with Edward.”

  She nodded. “Yes, we used to be coworkers. At one point, early in me being hired, I thought we might be something more, but then Hank showed up and that was that.”

  “Why are the pair of you still awake?” Uncle Hank’s voice boomed from behind us.

  We both jumped in our seats. A bit of my tea spilled, pooling in the center of my saucer. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Aunt Margot’s old. You’ll give her a heart attack.”

  Uncle Hank sat on the ottoman where Margot had previously rested her feet. “You should be in bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “I can’t sleep, too nervous. Maybe if you opened that letter and gave me some peace of mind.”

  Uncle Hank had refused to open the note all day. At first, I believed he was just waiting until we had left my mother’s. But the more he put it off, the more I came to realize that he was just as tormented about its contents as I was. On one hand, I was desperate for Dr. Raby’s answer, but on the other hand, his refusal would decimate me.