The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  I sighed, exasperated as I pulled the map out of my face, staring her dead in the eye. “Ross, I don’t care if they talk. That’s the point you seem to be missing. Since I arrived at the school, people have talked. No matter what I do, what I say, or how I act—people talk. After three months of people talking, I’m over of it. I don’t care anymore. Let them talk. Discovering who is behind all of this is way more important than gossip.”

  “I agree, I just—”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “I’m afraid, Zuri.” As she stood there, confessing her weakness, Ross appeared so small. “I’ve spent my life being told to be wary of whitehands, and now you want me to work with one of the biggest and baddest of them all…” Her arms were glued to her sides. “It’s just a bit overwhelming. Logically, I know he won’t do anything, but I’m fighting nineteen years of conditioning over here.”

  She didn’t ask for it, but it was the only thing I could do to help. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a big hug. “It’s okay. I understand. You’ll see, just as I have. He’s a normal person that’s been transformed into a monster due to people talking.”

  Ross didn’t say anything in rebuttal but followed behind me as we passed through wing after wing in search of some obscure library. It was a relic of the past that had once served highborns a hundred years ago but was locked up after several commoners died due to faulty enchantments.

  Eventually, we stumbled upon the abandoned library. Idris waited outside the door. “For a minute there, I was worried the two of you wouldn’t show up.”

  “It’s impossible to find anything in this school, and the map is little help,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, the first year’s awful, but after that you slowly memorize the wings and then the wings just get moved around at the end of the semester like a jigsaw puzzle.” He glanced at Ross, who still stood behind me, pretending to be meek and mild. “I’m Idris Young.” He held out his hand for her to shake.

  I half-expected to prod her, but she stepped out from behind me and took his hand. “Ross Monaghan.” She winced, wide-eyed when she caught sight of the white tattoos.

  He ignored the reaction. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Obviously, I’ve heard a bit about you since you are the only one that Zuri trusts at her side.” He winked at Ross, summoning his signature charm.

  She nodded. “I get that a lot.”

  “Shall we get started?” Idris asked. The pair of us nodded, and he turned to the entrance behind him.

  The door was the same wood as the paneled walls around it, dark and dusty. It would be easy to ignore if you weren’t actively looking. It barely stood out from the wall, and a spray of branches climbed across it like an old protective claw.

  “Are you sure this place isn’t going to kill us?” Ross asked him. “I know you brush elbows with the aristocracy on the reg, but you and I are still commoners and this library has a reputation.”

  “I’m sure. I used to bring a few dates back here in order to…” He met my eye and cleared his throat. “We’ll be fine. I’ve been in here a couple times. The room’s been pruned. But it’ll be easier to enter if Zuri does it.”

  “What do I need to do?”

  “Touch the knob and open the door, Lady Ebenmore. Your secret library awaits.”

  Something about entering an abandoned library in an old enchanted school just didn’t sit right with me. Dark, ominous feelings settled at the bottom of my stomach, brought on by the presence of the forbidden room.

  But I did it anyway. I couldn’t be a coward now with Idris watching. I stepped forward and my hand clasped the cobweb-lacquered doorknob.

  “Welcome, Ebenmore,” the room whispered to me.

  My heart hopped into my throat. “Did you guys hear that?” I croaked. I could feel the blood drain from my face, emptying into my toes and I hadn’t even entered the room yet.

  Ross shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything. What happened?”

  “The room welcomed me,” I answered. As I turned back to the door, a phrase cast in latin blossomed across the wood: Cum lux abest, tenebrae vincunt. I stared at it, regretting never taking a single semester of the dead language. “Can anyone read this?”

  The pair stepped forward to take a closer look.

  “Weird. I’ve never seen that before,” Idris commented. “Then again, I’ve always had to use a push to get in, never had a blackhand highborn simply open the door for me.”

  “When light is absent, darkness prevails.”

  Idris and I both turned and stared at Ross. I wasn’t shocked to learn that Ross knew Latin but surprised.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I told you I went to school with the undermen. While everyone took French, I took Latin.”

  “What do you think it means?” I asked them.

  “It’s kind of obvious,” Ross said. “It’s the entrance to a library. When knowledge is absent, ignorance prevails.”

  “Come in.” The room beckoned to me.

  Goosebumps rose across my skin. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight. “I don’t know if I can do this. It just told me to come inside.”

  Without another second spared, Idris pushed the door open. “As I said, I’ve been here before. Nothing’s going to happen to us. If anything, the library is just eager to have a highborn in here.”

  “And once again, you’re sure it’s not going to try to kill us.”

  “Yes, they bound it before they locked it up.”

  “Well, I hope the same hand that cast the bind wasn’t also the one in charge of locking up the room.” Ross rolled her eyes. “Did a lousy job if students are able to use pushes to get in.”

  I stifled a laugh. “She has a point.”

  Before she could protest anymore, Idris ushered us in. The library was more of a grand study. Three stories tall with walls full of webbed bookshelves, and a dusty centerpiece sitting area that rivaled some of the best gentlemen’s clubs.

  “Go on,” he urged us.

  “Zuri first.”

  With careful steps, I proceeded across the old floorboards. Insect carcasses crunched beneath my shoes. Ross released a giant sneeze as I made my way onto the dingy Persian rug. As soon as I sat on the tufted leather couch, I heard a flicker. I turned and watched as the entire wall flamed to life. The large hearth nearly illuminated the entire library. The fire was brighter than any I had ever seen, burning hues of white, gold, and buttery yellow.

  “That’s never happened before.” Idris sat in an armchair.

  “Well, the Queen has returned.” Ross tossed herself onto the couch. A large cloud of dust surrounded her. “So, now that things are becoming a little bit more real, how do you two propose we do this?”

  Idris leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Do you have any leads?”

  “Four,” I answered. I went on to explain each suspect in detail, noting the clues and reasons they had made the short list. He just nodded as he listened, agreeing with most of what we had to say, except for the last name.

  “Professor Saviano is not a Hand Collector wannabe,” he said with confidence. “It doesn’t make any sense. Saviano and Godkin were close. Saviano wouldn’t have chopped off his hands.”

  “Yeah, but he has a history and he’s rather vile,” I said.

  “He’s rather vile to blackhands,” Idris added. “And his history just proves he’s a good soldier—not a murderer.”

  “I don’t know if that’s wholly the truth,” Ross spoke up. “My father’s a lawyer, working on a case to bring charges against Professor Saviano for war crimes.”

  “War crimes?” Idris’s golden brows lifted high in disbelief. “Why have I never heard about this?”

  “Because the party is trying to keep it quiet.” Ross explained. “He’s been their golden boy and hailed a hero for the last three decades. What an absolute stain on the party’s reputation that would be if the entire thing were foiled in front of everyone’s ey
es.”

  “Regardless, Saviano isn’t the copycat. He is fiercely loyal to his faction. Both victims have been whitehands. One a commoner and the other highborn.”

  “The second victim being a highborn is quite interesting, no? Ross asked changing the subject. “I mean, the aristocracy isn’t exactly accessible to just anybody. Only other highborns would be able to just approach him.”

  “Yes, other highborns and faculty and students. Our three remaining suspects: Claassen, Anouk, and Adder fit those requirements,” I said. “And I want Saviano to remain as one of our suspects.”

  Idris turned to me, annoyance dripped from his face. “It’s not logical. Your pride has been injured, so you’re forcing a narrative. Let it go. You can’t look at this through a clouded lens.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “That you’re easily stirred and when brought to anger, you have no qualms pulling from a person.”

  Ross sighed. “It’s only the first semester of her first year. We haven’t even moved onto animals in biology yet—still on plants.” She defended me. “And Professor Saviano was going for the jugular.”

  “From what I heard, he only pressed the pressure points any whitehand would. Zuri’s lucky it was him testing her. She would be awaiting trial right now if she had pulled from anyone else. Yes, Saviano’s ruthless but at least he takes as much as he gives. He was highly amused that she even tried, said he hasn’t seen a student with guts like that in a long time. You’ll thank him later, even if it’s begrudgingly so.”

  “If I had a dick, I’d tell him to suck it.” I sank into the couch, folding my arms across my chest. “We’ll focus on the other three.”

  “Thank you,” Idris said. “It’ll be smarter and more efficient if we assign suspects and take it upon ourselves to investigate them.”

  Ross nodded her head. “I agree. I know the reason I haven’t been more active about this is because I feel rather overwhelmed with the amount of possibilities and work needed to be done… and I was also holding out hope that the authorities would take care of it.”

  “Well, considering I have absolutely no access to Professor Claassen or Anouk Volkerink,” Idris began. “Adder seems like the only plausible person for me to look into.”

  “I guess that means I have Professor Claassen, because Anouk won’t let me anywhere near her and you two, Zuri, have a pretty well-established relationship.”

  Idris’s lips flattened. “You’re friends with Anouk Volkerink?”

  “I wouldn’t call us friends.” I struggled to explain. “But we’re civil. We talk in class. There’s been a number of situations where we’ve been invited to events and we’ve only known each other, so we pair up.”

  “Just be careful with her.”

  I didn’t need a warning. Anouk was on my side as long as my toes never dipped past faction lines. I had no intentions of ever leaving my blackhand family.

  “All right,” Ross began, gathering her things. “As much as I would love to stay in this creepy old room that innately wants to kill me, I have a study hall to get to. Meet back at the cluster later?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ll be staying in and studying tonight.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Idris.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  Idris and I watched in silence as Ross practically crept out of the room. She kept her arms tight to her chest and did everything to make herself as small as to not trigger the room.

  I rose from the couch, walking towards the large hearth. I needed to get away from Idris’s intense gaze. Knowing I had his undivided attention, felt as though my entire being had been cast into Antartica. The heat brought me back. “Do you think it’s unwise of us to be doing this?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “Being in this room? Being alone together? Or tracking down the Hand Collector? Because I would say yes to all three.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder and smiled. It wasn’t a warm, beaming smile, but one that conveyed a reluctant agreement. “I think you’re right. “

  “Why did you and Ross want to go after the Hand Collector in the first place?” He asked. “You don’t have any personal ties to his victims or to him.”

  I pressed a single finger to the mantle and ran it across the dusty mahogany surface. “Did you forget? We were the ones that found Harley Wilson. Her screams and cries still keep me up at night sometimes. Just seeing somebody that… broken really stirred something in me.”

  “I understand.”

  I honestly doubted he did. He lived such a perfect life surrounded by love and support and praise. “Do you?”

  He sucked in a long breath. “Yes, over the summer I saw fifteen people murdered in cold blood, two severely injured that would later go on to die in the hospital, and I myself had to kill three people.” He swallowed hard.

  “I’m sorry.” How could I have forgotten?

  “Like I said, I understand that impulse that moves you into action when you see somebody so broken.” He stared at me.

  All at once, my body switched from cold to feverish, burning hotter each second. There was something about Idris. Something that went beyond his mesmerizing looks and confident demeanor. He had this unshakable charm but could be so personable and real when needed.

  If only the ink on his hands had been a different color…

  “I felt the same way when I first saw you at the Burgundy Exchange,” Idris went on. “I think that’s why I approached you. It was against the exchanges rules, but I couldn’t help myself. An uncontrollable impulse dragged my feet over to you.”

  “Did you have any inkling who I was when he first saw me?”

  “No.” He stood up and joined me at the mantle. “But you looked incredibly out of place. I didn’t even think you are highborn, to be honest.”

  I blushed, turning away to hide it. “So, what? You decided you’d just saunter on over and try to charm the pants off some commoner blackhand?”

  He chuckled. “The blank ink did throw me for a loop. I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance, and I took those odds.”

  “How different do you think things would be if I was a whitehand?”

  “Very different. I think the black on your hands plays more into who you are than you think it does. It shapes the way society and people treat you. And those who come before you will treat you differently as well, based on how they were raised. You would probably be a completely different person if you were a whitehand. I don’t know if I would like you as much.”

  I had never stopped to consider all of the variables that go into somebody’s personality. It was a wide web filled with tiny moments that built and molded a person.

  “I adore the fact that you’re a blackhand,” he continued. He stretched out a single finger and chased the lines and designs along the back of my hand as it rested on the mantle. The touch was gentle and soft but swirled my ink to life. “Makes me admire you that much more. You’re the underdog in this fight. You should be playing by all the rules and following what every representation of authority tells you to do, but you’re forging your own path instead.”

  When he looked up from my hand, our eyes locked. I urged my tongue to move and say something—anything—but it froze in its inability to choose.

  He took another step toward me, and lifted his hand to my face. I watched as a hundred white feathers cupped my cheek. His thumb caressed my skin and I ever so slightly nuzzled his palm, basking in the touch. This small moment of physical contact was fleeting, and I intended to hold on with both hands to savor every second.

  I wanted to tell him to kiss me, but I was afraid that if I said the words aloud, they would scare him away or worse, make me look like an absolute fool. Instead, I wound my fingers into his, resting our interlocked hand on the mantle. The two inks glistened together, mine an array blues and warm metals, and his eyes, as silvery and periwinkle as the moonlight.

  Without another word, Idris lean forward, tilting his head so tha
t it angled just perfectly to meet me. My heart beat so fast in my chest, my rib cage shook.

  Seconds before I was to taste his lips, an unmistakable voice roared in my ear. “No!”

  We ripped apart, spilling with fear. His eyes were as wide as moons. “Did you hear that?”

  I nodded, barely able to breathe. “It was the room.”

  “Let’s get our stuff and go back to our clusters,” Idris suggested as his head whipped around the abandoned library, searching for any apparent danger.

  I agreed, but the overwhelming sense of disappointment crushed me. We would never get a moment like this again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A small metal bulb pressed the pad of my index finger. I nodded my head, indicating that I could feel it. The bulb moved to my middle finger and pressed to the center of the print. Once again, I nodded my head, indicating that I could feel it. The tiny bulbous instrument made its way around all ten of my fingers before being set down on top of the small medical table.

  “Well, I don’t think any extensive damage has been done, but I think we’ve hit the upper limits of oil injections,” Dr. Raby said.

  “What do you mean? How is that possible?” I asked. “The second time didn’t last as long as the first though.”

  He nodded his head. “Exactly. I told you my concern with giving you more oil was that your body would break it down faster and I believe the reason you struggled in class with Professor Saviano is because your body had begun to break down the oils.”

  I flattened my palms on the medical table, watching as the blue and gold iridescent sheen overtook the black ink color. “So, what do you recommend we do next?”

  He sighed. It was the sound of defeat. “I’m not sure. I need more time to find a reliable oil combination until a permanent solution is elected.”

  “I have finals coming up. I don’t exactly have time.”

  “I understand. I worked on this nonstop over the weekend for that very reason and had a few breakthroughs, so all is not lost.”