The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  “Speaking of the big dirty F-word, did you hear about Spacey?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t spend too much time with Spacey, and she didn’t seem all that interested in hanging out with the chamber anyway. She had found a group of friends comprised of different girls from various clusters. The first year whitehands had taken to calling them ‘the mongrels’.

  Ross leaned over and cupped a hand around my ear. “She failed her assessment.”

  “That is a dirty rumor, Ross Monaghan.”

  “It’s not a rumor. Spacey told me herself,” she whispered. “She was pissed one evening and losing it in the chamber, because the school’s making her attend extra lessons at the end of the school day.”

  “Why was she mad?” If it wouldn’t be so scandalous, I would gladly welcome extra lessons with a professor or even an upperclassman.

  “Bad case of injured pride.”

  A load bang blasted through the room. Professor Saviano burst through the door. A scowl marked his face that he didn’t try to hide as he slammed his suitcase on the desk and huffed, annoyed. “Silence!” He roared.

  His shout rendered the students speechless. I felt fortunate to not be sitting in the front. I wanted to be as far away from his ire as possible.

  “Professor Godkin will no longer be teaching at this institution.”

  Gasps mixed with a hurried rabble erupted. The shock struck hard. I couldn’t fathom why he would quit. Blackhands and whitehands alike loved Professor Godkin. Something about the whole situation was off. There was a piece of the story that Professor Saviano was withholding.

  “Did I ask you to speak?” Saviano snapped. “For this reason, I will be conducting the lesson today.”

  “Can you believe it?” Anouk whispered to me. She perched on the seat to my right with a little smirk on her face. “I wonder who took him out. Better for us all, though. Dangerous to have a highborn whitehand on the faculty.”

  “Lady Ebenmore and Lady Volkerink.” Professor Saviano called us out. “Anything you two would like to share with the rest of us?”

  “No.” Anouk shook her head.

  “Official noblesse business?” He mocked.

  Both of us sat there, unmoving and wide-eyed. When we had been sufficiently shamed into silence, he continued. “Due to his rather abrupt departure, I’ve only had time to look over the syllabus and it’s in the whitehands best interest if we accelerate our timeline and hop forward a few weeks.”

  Anouk raised her hand.

  “Yes, Lady Volkerink?” Professor Saviano’s voice dripped with irritation.

  “It may be in the whitehands best interest, but is it in the best interest of the blackhands? This isn’t a segregated class.”

  “This is chemistry. This is the subject that explores and deepens our understanding of pulling and pushing inorganic materials AKA things only whitehands can push and pull.”

  “Yes, I understand that, but there—”

  Professor Saviano slammed his hand on the desk, cutting her off. “You asked me a question, and I gave you an answer. This will not descend into a debate.” He balled his hand into a fist. “Whitehands please stand.” The classroom erupted with the sound of wood sliding against wood. The skipping screech grated against my ears. “I would like you all to run through Al-Majid’s Hand Posturing for Beginners, go over positions one through forty-six. And blackhands, to the front of the classroom.”

  Ross, Anouk, and I all shared an uneasy look. We had no idea what Professor Saviano had planned for us, but his foul attitude assured us it would be less than pleasant.

  “Please arrange yourselves in alphabetical order by your first name.” This placed me at the end, Anouk at the beginning, and Ross hovering about the middle. “For our lesson today, I want the whitehand students to get a feel for what it’s like to be attacked by a blackhand. Also as Lady Volkerink so readily pointed out, all of our lessons must have a blackhand component. You all will have to pull in an environment that is not rich in organic material. Good luck.”

  My body tensed with terror. In a state of panic, my eyes whipped around the room, searching for anything I could pull from. Anouk would surely go for the one potted plant by the door. Maybe the student after her would wring out the soil. The others would pick apart the classroom—the fish swimming in the window, the blossoms hanging from the ceiling, and… that was it.

  I was doomed.

  Professor Saviano turned to the whitehands and led a review of their forty-six positions. He provided tips and tricks to harmonize fingers and palms as he went. Once he was satisfied with the majority of their hand posturing, he called the first student down.

  James, the Loudmouth.

  Anouk stepped forward to meet him. They stood twenty paces from each other. It was supposed to be a simple exercise, but it felt aggressive—real, even. By the look in Anouk’s eyes, she was going to do whatever she needed to get the best of James. If he wasn’t such an annoying twit, I would’ve felt bad for him.

  “All right, we’re going to keep the rules very simple. No attacks to the hands,” Professor Saviano said as he side-eyed Anouk. “The blackhand will be the attacker, and the whitehand will be the defender. To all my whitehands, pay attention to what they are pulling. That will give you a hint as to which essences they are going to use. You all have taken just as many biology classes as your blackhand counterparts—I hope you are paying attention.” He took a few steps back, giving the pair the floor. “Whenever you’re ready Lady Volkerink.”

  Anouk lifted her hand, and just as I had predicted, she pulled the potted flower. What I had failed to foresee though, was how efficient and devastating that pull would be. Instead of the essences seeping out and the leaves crumbling one-by-one with the stem ultimately wilting, the entire plant dropped into a pile of ash.

  “Uhr dz’e stur.” One arm shot out with the thumb and index finger touching while the other three fingers were glued tight. Her other hand curled into a fist and slammed into her bicep. The push exploded from her outstretched hand like a shotgun blast. The air pulsated as the white streak screamed toward James at a breakneck speed.

  Unfortunately, he was just as dumbfounded and horrified as the rest of us. Instead of blocking, evading, or countering, James froze and took the hit. Anouk’s push met his kneecap, blasting it to the side. He collapsed, screaming in pain and terror as he gaped at his off-center knee.

  There wasn’t a shred of sympathy on Anouk’s face. She watched him with a twinkle in her eye.

  “May the whites silence you, Volkerink,” Professor Saviano growled as he rushed to James. “Hold still. I’ll snap it back in place.”

  James screamed, “No!”

  But Professor Saviano ignored him. He postured his fingers and murmured several syllables. Right before our very eyes, James’s kneecap slid back into place. It squealed as bone skidded against bone.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Professor Saviano patted him on the shoulder.

  James was the color of snow, nauseated snow. “I need to go to medical.”

  “Why?” Professor Saviano asked. “Just fixed you up.”

  “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” James announced moments before orange liquid sputtered from his mouth and trickled down his chin

  “May the black and white bless it.” Professor Saviano leapt to the side, dodging the contents of James’s stomach. “Volkerink, since this was your doing, you can take him to medical.”

  “All right.” She shrugged, not perturbed in the slightest.

  “From now on,” Professor Saviano began as he eyed the rest of us. “I would like for your attacks to be controlled and reasonable. If anyone pulls the shit Volkerink just did, I’ll have you suspended.”

  One by one, we stepped out into the center of the classroom and faced our opponent. For the most part, blackhands appeared to have the upper hand, simply because surprise was on our side. However, there were a few whitehands that proved to be promising. One even managed
to counter and knock his blackhand counterpart to the floor.

  By the time it was my turn, my fears had been realized. I was the last to go and as such, all of the organic sources had been drained.

  I stepped out into the center of the small ring that the class had formed and faced my whitehand partner. Theo wasn’t one of the best whitehands at Blacksaw. He wasn’t even one of the best in the class. Due to the near constant verbal abuse he received from the other whitehand boys on account of his size, he was more on the meek and quiet size, preferring to never be seen and most certainly not heard. Even now, he struggled to stand across from me. Everyone in the classroom watched.

  “I don’t think this fair,” Theo squeaked out his dissatisfaction. “I shouldn’t have to face a highborn. We all saw what happened to James.”

  Professor Saviano rolled his eyes. “James’s downfall was his own lack of preparation. Whenever you’re ready, Lady Ebenmore.”

  I turned to him. “But there’s nothing for me to pull.”

  He cocked his head. “What ever do you mean?”

  “There’s not a shred of organic material left.”

  “You’re an Ebenmore. They’re supposed to just basically leap out at you,” he suggested in a mocking tone. “Don’t even try to tell me that there’s not a single essence left for you to pull.”

  I faced Theo once more with the muscles in my back so tight they burned. His demand was impossible to fulfill.

  My eyes ripped the room apart, searching for anything I could use. The plant was gone, soil tapped, fish eviscerated, and blossoms decayed. There was nothing.

  “Lady Ebenmore…” Saviano tapped his fingers along his desk. “We haven’t got all day.”

  I swallowed hard as the pressure of his gaze nearly pummeled me to death. I couldn’t feel the essences lurking around like he believed me able to do. The oils didn’t give me the powers of my namesake, they merely raised me from snuffed to commoner.

  “I don’t think we ever have to worry about the Imperial Black rising again if they’re going to have Ebenmore as their leader,” Saviano quipped, and the whitehands giggled. “Almost at the end of the first semester, and you’re still struggling to pull?”

  I had to act. My arm struck out toward the soil on the floor, hoping to get anything that may have been left. But the heaping pile was empty, only inorganic remained.

  A number of students laughed at my failed attempt, even a few blackhands.

  “All right, settle down,” Professor Saviano called out to them. “Apparently, we need to be a bit more patient. Can’t forget that Ebenmore is a bastard born to a deceitful flup. There’s probably a reason daddy hasn’t shown up to claim her.”

  Rage burst inside me, and my vision dimmed. Tears threatened to overwhelm me from the surrounding laughter. But I held it all in. His poking and prodding was an attempt to get a rise out of me, to show the whitehands that I was nothing to be afraid of, and I refused to be torn down and mocked.

  My arm shot out toward Professor Saviano. I was going to make the bleached asshole pay for what he said.

  But before I had a chance to pull one single essence. My arm swung away, flung in the opposite direction.

  Professor Saviano stood with his hands postured, and the final syllable of his incantation dripped from his lips. I expected to see anger in his face, but instead, a wild look pierced his eyes. “Do you dare try to pull from a person? And a professor at that?”

  I didn’t say anything. I stood there in all my burning, heated shame as my lips curled inward.

  “Such an emotional decision.” He tutted.” Women, no?”

  “Just another sliver of evidence that their actions are rarely measured,” a whitehand boy chirped. “We should all be thankful that the party clamped down on them all those years ago.”

  “Shut up,” Ross snapped. “You’re just mad because nobody wants to fuck you!”

  “Silence!” Professor Saviano yelled. “I think this shall conclude our lesson for today as we are out of time. Ebenmore, I would suggest you retire the name and assume your father’s but…” He shrugged.

  Ross’s arms hugged her books against her chest in one of the tightest embraces I had ever seen. “Zara Ebenmore was a revered blackhand and a woman. They all criticized your uncle for not being like whom? His mother.”

  “Yes, but Zara wasn’t a flup. Do these highborn abilities pass through flups?”

  My comment snapped her out of her fury. “You don’t think you have the Ebenmore ability?”

  I shrugged. “Not after what I just went through.” Maybe Dr. Raby was right. To get full use of my powers, I would need surgery.

  “Zuri,” I heard Idris call my name from the other end of the large hallway. He ignored the pressing eyes of students and stormed toward me. “I need to speak to you,” he said when he neared. There was an unbelievable depth of emotion behind those words. Something was wrong.

  “That’s Lady Ebenmore to you. And no, thank you!” Ross stuck out her arm to block him and tugged me along with her other hand. “We’ve had all the whitehand harassment we need for the day.”

  “Zuri, please.” The white’s of his eyes were pink and glossy. He hid behind his golden locks, forgoing the everyday bun.

  I dug my heels in, halting Ross’s trail with an unexpected yank. “Ross, it’s okay.”

  Her brow creased. I could see the confusion and disbelief spilling over her face. “You know him?” She maintained a measured tone.

  I nodded, afraid to speak the words aloud with so many ears eager to hear.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me you were… friendly with Idris Young?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I had done it out of self-defense, but Ross wouldn’t understand. She would see this as me hiding something from her. “I didn’t think it matter that much,” I mumbled. Before she had a chance to throw it in my face, I spun on my heel and walked over to Idris.

  “We need to talk,” he told me again, taking me by the hand.

  Just before he was about to lead me away, I heard Ross’s voice behind me. “I’ll see you back at the chamber, yes?” Doubt riddled her voice. This short sequence of events had thrown her.

  “Yes, I’ll see you there.” I reassured her.

  Idris led me through a maze of corridors, taking me into wings I didn’t even know existed and passing through areas that were reserved only for whitehands. The school had provided us with similar blackhand only spaces, but it was surreal to see theirs. It was the difference of watching the moon from the earth and standing on the moon.

  He didn’t stop until we pushed past a door labeled Faculty Only. And when he did finally pause, he crumbled. His tall frame slumped into a chair, and he buried his face in his hands.

  “I don’t think we’re allowed to be here,” I mumbled. I didn’t mean to be insensitive, but I had no idea what to say. This was the last emotion I expected to witness from Idris.

  He sucked in a deep breath, gathering himself. “I want in.”

  I shook my head. “In to what?” I sat across from him so that we spoke at eye level—on equal terms. Something was deeply wrong with him, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

  “A month ago you told me you and Ross were hunting the Hand Collector. I want in.”

  I titled my head, unsure where this was leading. “We have suspects we’re looking into, but that’s it. I’m not hunting the Hand Collector per se.”

  “I just need to do something.” Idris shifted in his seat before bouncing onto his feet. His hands tensed, pulling the white-inked skin taught. “Please, help me. You’re the only one in the school that probably has the firepower to potentially end this.”

  If only he knew just how wrong he was. If I ever came face-to-face with the Hand Collector, chances were I would lose both of my hands. “Okay. Can you at least explain to me why you have this sudden urge to join us in combating him?”

  His lids filled with tears. “He’s in
the hospital with both of his hands missing. My cousin, Alexander Godkin, lost both of his hands this weekend.”

  “Wait, Alexander Godkin, is that Professor Godkin of first year chemistry?” The question fell out of my mouth. It was heavy as it tumbled off the tip of my tongue and landed at my feet. “Is that why he wasn’t in class today? He lost both of his hands?”

  “And just like Harley Wilson, he doesn’t remember anything. The Hand Collector kidnaps them, chops off their hands, and then wipes their memory. My mom visited him in the hospital. She says he only remembers up to the mixer.”

  I deflated in my chair. I couldn’t believe the Hand Collector had claimed a second victim right beneath our noses. Where were the police? How had the authorities not investigated and at least arrested somebody yet?

  “Please, Zuri. It’s personal now.” Idris dropped to his knees, pleading with me. “If you value our relationship at all, you’ll let me join you and Ross on this.”

  As though I could’ve ever denied him in the first place. “We’ll do this together. We’ll bring this copycat to justice.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ross didn’t grill me that night. She asked a few basic questions about how Idris and I met and if we were friends. All the while, she maintained her composure. In fact, Ross never once appeared irked by his existence in my life until I informed her that he would soon be a part of hers as well, since he would be joining the search for the assailant.

  “It’s not about the color of his hands,” she said as we braved the map, attempting to locate the meeting spot of Idris’s choosing. “I don’t care that he’s a whitehand. It’s society that does. And for that reason. I think it prudent that we don’t socialize any more than necessary.”

  “Well, fortunately for us, the three of us currently attend Blacksaw—safe and out of society’s harsh reach.”

  “Yes, but the other students and faculty still see, and they’ll go home and tell their loved ones and word gets around. I mean, I don’t care if you want to talk to him on the side. We simply can’t be seen with him. How are we supposed to effectively investigate two violent and perverse attacks, if we can’t be seen with him?”