The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  Zippers ripped through the air, and rushed mumbles peppered the metallic sound. But I couldn’t leave. Guilt sat on my chest with the weight of a whale. “Are you okay, Pwofese Middlemiss?”

  “Zuri, you need to leave as well.”

  “Do you want me to take you to medical? Or call a nurse?”

  She glanced up at me. The whites of her eyes had gone red. “I said go.”

  Ross and I sat next to each other as we waited in the hall to be called in for assessment.

  “I heard about what happened,” Ross said. “The students are saying that you’re so powerful, you were able to block her. Is that true?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Ross glanced to the left and right, checking to see if any students were attempting to eavesdrop before she asked, “Then what happened?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and held out my hands in surrender. “I have no idea. I couldn’t have possibly blocked her, because I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t even feel her try. I was just standing there and next thing I know she’s about to fall over.”

  “It’s really odd. I’ve never heard of that happening to an absomancer before.”

  “I agree. To be honest, I had a bad feeling about going up there. When she called me to volunteer, I didn’t want to. But at the beginning of the class, the students had been trying to pin the crime on her. They were talking about organizing to get her fired because she’s a ‘leech’. It set me up to where if I didn’t go, I was agreeing with them, saying her existence and abilities were perverse and unnatural. I had no way out of it.”

  “Wait. Some of the students think Pwofese Middlemiss did it?”

  “Ridiculous, no?”

  “It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t fathom Pwofese Middlemiss cutting off students’ hands. Then again, I can’t really fathom anyone doing it at all.”

  “I also don’t think they’re approaching this from the right perspective. The general consensus seems to believe that this is an attack on hands in general, but I think it was an attack just on whitehands.” I had heard enough bigotry and expressions of disgust to know that there was a dark underbelly in the school that fractured both students and faculty.

  “Who do you think hates whitehands enough to do something like that?” Ross asked. “It’s only a rivalry between us and them, not a war.”

  There were two people that come to mind. “I wouldn’t put it past Anouk. I learned from a trusted source that her family has deep roots in assassination and the like. And then there’s Professor Claassen. He made a comment to Anouk our first one day, claiming to be just as disgusted by the fact that whitehands are allowed to roam the halls and after all these years, he can barely contain it. That’s why he works exclusively with upper division blackhands.”

  “Just because Anouk’s family is specialized in assassination, doesn’t mean she has the backbone to do it.”

  “She’s made several comments to me expressing the desire to eradicate whitehands from the school. During the mixer, she asked me if I had found a way into the Imperial Black or if I was interested in reinstating the group.”

  Ross leaned forward. “The Imperial Black? It’s questionable, but I don’t know if it’s enough to convict. Sure, they were bad during our grandparents’ age, but if anything, the Imperial Black just seems like a stuffy aristocratic society now.”

  “Regardless, I wouldn’t rule either of those two out as possibilities. And then there is Saviano.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a whitehand. Why would he attack another whitehand?”

  “Maybe he’s trying to frame us? We saw him fleeing the scene. He was the only one there. And then there is his background as being one of the most fiercest hands for the Sightless Sons.”

  “And the charges of war crimes being brought against him at the moment,” Ross added. “So, you think it’s one of those three?”

  “And one more. I didn’t say anything, because I wasn’t even sure what to make of it when I saw it. But I think Nicholas Adder might be worth looking into as well. The night that we found Harley Wilson and were brought in for the interrogation, Adder came in rather disheveled, frazzled even, and I saw blood on the cuff of his shirt. Not old blood either, it was red and new.”

  “Nicholas Adder? The highborn that’s on the Board of Trustees for the school?”

  I nodded. “The very one. It may be frightening to admit, but I think all highborns are a touch more extreme in their beliefs than their commoner counterparts. Every highborn I’ve met and spoken with has nothing but nasty things to say about whitehands.”

  Ross sat back with a sigh. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at the floor. “I think you’re right. On all four counts—I can see it.”

  “So, what do we do about it?” The night that we had found Harley, we had agreed that we would do something. “We both know that those two officers are way out of their depth. Questioning was sporadic and the mixing up of the timeline was amateurish.”

  “I know. Why don’t we start by looking into our four suspects.”

  It was weird to hear her say the word, suspects. I had never thought I’d be in a situation where that would apply to my life outside of a game of Clue, but here I was. A part of me wanted to just call the whole thing off. I was waiting to be called into Chancellor Day’s office and be expelled any minute now.

  “I think that’s a good first step. We need to keep our eyes and ears open. Anouk, Adder, Saviano, and Claassen need to be watched like a hawk.”

  “Lady Ebenmore,” Professor Claassen called to me from the other side of the hall. My heart nearly leapt out of my mouth. “If you will come with me, we will begin your assessment.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dr. Raby began by lifting my hands one at a time and feeling for any swelling or tenderness. He inspected my hands, going over every single inch. When he thought his observation was sufficient, he picked up his black pen and scribbled his findings onto a sheet of paper.

  “How did those oils work out for you?” Dr. Raby asked. “Were you able to feel them at any given time or did they integrate and just open your hands?”

  “They worked well. I noticed within the first few days I wasn’t struggling as much to pull and I never felt the oils. That being said, I don’t think it was enough. The expectations of me by my professors…” I shook my head. “Everyone assumes me to be able to do the impossible, and the oils, while extremely helpful, only give me enough strength to do the ordinary. Does that make sense?”

  “It does.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and nibbled on his lips while he thought. He had deep olive pigmentation around his mouth and slightly up his cheek. “I’ve been testing out different combinations of oils, even some that are illegal, and I haven’t been able to find a mixture that is superior to the one I provided during our last meeting. For now, the only thing I’ll be able to do for you is give you a larger injection than last time. But I’m a little bit wary because I don’t want to trigger a reaction. Putting too much in your hands could kick your immune system into full swing and eliminate all the oils.”

  “I have been meaning to ask you, what exactly do the oils do to my body? You explained your valve theory, but do you know how it all works physiologically?”

  He rested his elbows on the small medical table. “The oils function within the skin, just as they do topically—they’re a maximizer, a booster. Injecting them was outlawed nearly a century ago, because while the effects are heightened, if not properly administered it can lead to irreparable damage. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, there was an incident.” Flashes of Pwofese Middlemiss hunched over and dazed raced through my mind. I had held my breath the rest of the week, waiting to be fetched and toss out of the school, but nobody ever came. The Wednesday after the incident, Pwofese Middlemiss greeted me with a smile. It was as though nothing had ever happened.

  “Are you referring to Ms. Wilson?”

  I shook my head. “No, this happened the
week after the Harley Wilson incident, but I don’t believe the professor reported it to anyone.”

  His dark brow lifted, and his hand picked up his pen, preparing to jot down whatever it was I had to say. “What happened?”

  I was hesitant to speak, because I knew every single word that came out of my mouth was going to be recorded, but at this point, if I couldn’t trust Dr. Raby, who could I trust? This treatment was highly illegal for both of us to participate in. If I went down, then he did too.

  “My history professor, Pwofese Middlemiss, is an absomancer. On the day of our assessments, she chose me to absorb from in order to demonstrate a push to the class. But something went wrong. I didn’t feel anything, and as soon as she started to absorb, she had to stop. Her eyes were bloodshot. She was stumbling around. She had to brace herself on her desk.” My eyes followed the ink in his pen. “She dismissed us immediately, and we never spoke on it again. She didn’t even report it to Chancellor Day. I think she knows I’m snuffed.”

  “That is rather fascinating. I wrote a research paper that discusses absomancers attempting to absorb from flops and obviously being blocked, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across any literature that describes an absomancer absorbing from a snuffed hand. Based on my theory, I would assume that they would be able to, but it would just be more difficult than usual.” The firelight flickered across his angular face, making him appear far more gaunt than usual.

  I shook my head. “But that’s not at all what happened.”

  Dr. Raby sighed. “I don’t have an answer for you.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I’ll have to do a little research and ask around, but I think this is something worth looking into. For the time being, if she tries to approach you about it, avoid the conversation at all costs. We need to construct a believable narrative before we confront it.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best.” I doubted it would be difficult, considering it seemed as though she wanted to drop the entire event as well. Maybe she was embarrassed or confused by what happened.

  Dr. Raby began pulling out his equipment—needles, oils, and cotton balls. “How did your assessments go by the way? Did they notice anything?”

  “They were far more rigorous than I was expecting, but luckily I received average marks. Professor Claassen was one of the faculty members selected to observe and grade. When I had finished, he expressed his rather heated disappointment in my performance.” I thought it best to leave off the part of the story where I went to the women’s restroom and proceeded to cry for a good twenty minutes.

  “Professor Claassen’s always been a difficult and often absurd professor when it comes to student expectations. When I was a student at Blacksaw, I despised all of my classes with him. But he’s a damn good hand, and that’s why they keep him on staff.” Dr. Raby flipped over my hand. “For your last injection, I only gave you two millileters per hand. This time I’m going to give you three, which means you will have three injection sites.”

  I nodded. “Wait, did you say Professor Claassen taught up blocks when you attended?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Raby stuck the syringe into my palm. I didn’t even feel it. My mind was racing with this revelation.

  “So, he’s been there for a long time then?”

  “Twenty-five years I think. Claassen first started teaching in ’94. He was quite infamous his first year or two. He led a coalition to segregate the school again—it’s why he only teaches upper division blackhands now. Chancellor Day won’t let him anywhere near the whitehand students.”

  My jaw hit the ground. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My hunch was manifesting into a full-blown possibility. “Do you think Professor Claassen was a part of the Imperial Black or that he restarted it?”

  “Restarted it?” Dr. Raby shook his head. “The Imperial Black never went away. The parties hatred for them only drove them underground.”

  My eyes widened. “The Imperial Black still active?”

  “Absolutely.” Dr. Raby nodded.

  “Do you think Professor Claassen is a member?”

  “Well, that would be impossible.” Dr. Raby picked up another syringe and injected it into my palm. “Official membership to the Imperial Black is only open to the noblesse. Commoners can join but never be members—keeps a commoner from having a chance at ruling the society.”

  “Professor Claassen’s a commoner.” I thought aloud “Therefore, if he wanted anything to do with the Imperial Black, then his participation would be severely limited.”

  “Seems like a logical conclusion.”

  “Why do you know so much about the Imperial Black?” Dr. Raby was a commoner too. If only the noblesse were allowed, wouldn’t Dr. Raby be on the outside? Unless he knew highborns that were active members of the society…

  “Curiosity,” he said, relaxed and calm. “Anything I find fascinating ultimately ensnares me. While I was attending Blacksaw, I kind of fell in love with all the mysteries and history of the school. I think that’s why I came back. Blacksaw’s my home. I even remember all five passwords I was assigned throughout the years: gall bladder, spigot, cyanide, septa, and onomatopeia.”

  “Septa?” The school must have been recycling passwords.

  “Yes, septa was my cluster password during my fourth year. Why does it interest you?”

  I shook my head. “No reason.”

  I had only been there for two months and was already beginning to feel a certain attachment to the place. Its quirky, alive decor made it stand out as a truly unique and special environment.

  “Just so you are aware,” Dr. Raby began as he started placing the oils in my other hand. “If you have any type of reaction, or anything happens—contact one of the two students who will are apprenticing under me. Tell them what happened, explain your symptoms, and let them know you’re one of my patients. They’ll help you.”

  “You told your apprentices that I’m snuffed?” The thought made my stomach curl into a knot. Sweat broke across my brow.

  “No, they know nothing of our sessions, but they have enough medical knowledge of oils to be able to assist you. And I trust them. The whole reason they are apprenticing under me is because they want to be involved in studies that push the envelope. They wouldn’t throw their future away over a case of oil injections.”

  I nodded, relieved. “Okay, but why can’t I go to you?”

  “Faculty retreat. All the professors and staff will be gone this weekend.” He winked. “Enjoy it, but don’t get into too much trouble. Keep an eye out on your hands.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The oils took without reaction. I was able to pull and push with greater efficiency, all thanks to Dr. Raby’s work. I did everything I could to follow his instructions to a T, even going so far as to dodge all conversation with Pwofese Middlemiss whatever the cost. She had tried to stop me once or twice at the end of class but I hurried out with the rest of the herd.

  “Where is he?” Ross asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Who knows? He’ll be here though.” Professor Godkin had never missed a lecture.

  I shifted around in my seat, glancing at the students around us. Couples lined the back few rows. They weren’t touching as PDA was considered extremely crass even for commoners, but the way they sat with only an inch between their shoulders was telling. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were rubbing thighs beneath the desks or hands were wandering. They thought they were being covert, but the outward angle of their shoulders was telling.

  “Is it me or does it feel like everybody’s dating somebody?” I asked Ross.

  “Dating is what the undermen do. We court.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Regardless, it feels like we’re the only ones in the school that are still single?”

  Ross looked up from the homework that she was still scribbling upon like mad to complete. “I don’t know. Why do you care?”

  “Do you not?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never had a boyfrien
d—not interested.”

  I had never had a boyfriend either, but it wasn’t due to a lack of desire. My mother’s paranoia made it impossible for me to get close to anybody outside of the family. Now that I was finally on my own, it was something I’d like to experience.

  “They’re just using it as an excuse to have sex. They’re commoners. It’s different for them.”

  “And how would it be for me?”

  “No sex until the knot is tied, courting is practically a betrothal, and you need parental approval.” She shrugged her shoulders, not glancing up from the homework. “The usual.”

  I sighed. It looks like I was going out of this world as a single, independent woman that didn’t need a man.

  “Is there somebody in particular you want to court?” Ross asked.

  The question hit me like a hammer. Obviously, there was someone, but I couldn’t say it aloud. Speaking his name would be breathing life into the impossible. “No, not really.”

  Ross looked up from her homework, her dark brow sharply cocked. “I can hear the lie in your voice. Why are you hiding it? Won’t work or embarrassed to admit it’s a commoner?”

  Him being a commoner was the least of my worries. Uncle Hank had married a commoner. I’m sure the family could overlook it. “Yes.”

  “I don’t envy you. As much as I love shaking up society I think this is one rule you should follow. Unless he’s some blackhand badass, which I can’t think of any off the top of my head, you should stick with the noblesse. You need to elevate the family, and besides, society will turn on you so quickly, you’ll get whiplash.”

  “Thank you so much, advisor. However would I navigate these treacherous, noble waters without you.”

  “Maybe that’s what I should do for a living, become an advisor for the noblesse.” She looked up toward the ceiling where rain drops were suspended indefinitely, dreaming. “You should take that aristocracy class with me next year.”

  “That’s a little too conceited, even for the likes of me.” The thought of it made me want to melt in my seat from embarrassment. “I’d probably flunk out.”