by Marian Gray
Today felt different though. Every morning I tested out my hand since the surgery by pulling a single essence from the bonsai tree in my chamber. Day after day the pull became easier and easier. Today had been like plucking fruit from a tree, and I wasn’t even fully healed yet. My tattoo was still very slightly raised and would only sit flush with the skin once the implant had settled. Then I would know my recovery was at its end.
I pulled three essences from the plant provided, and began the motions. My arms raised and lowered with my fingers curled and arms stretched out, pushing and pulling the essences in a sort of juggling act. They illuminated the room in a series of colors and flashes that indicated I was doing everything right. And when the first form drew to a close I stood with a big gleam on my face
This should be enough to prove to Pwofese Middlemiss that I wasn’t snuffed.
“Well,” began Professor Robben, “that was exceptionally better than anything I’ve seen from you.”
“Yes, quite out of character,” murmured Professor Claassen. “Thank you for your time, Lady Ebenmore. That concludes the midterm.”
I left the room feeling as though I were floating. This was perhaps the highlight of my month. I had walked into that room and crushed everything they had to throw at me. It was so alleviating just to feel normal.
But that feeling was soon ripped away when a strong hand grabbed my arm and twirled me around. Pwofese Middlemiss stood just a foot away from my face.
“You lied to me,” she snarled. “You didn’t tell Chancellor Day like you said you would.”
I didn’t know what she is talking about. There was nothing to tell Chancellor Day, and I thought I had made that rather apparent during my test. “What do you mean?” I shook my head. “What do you want me to tell Chancellor Day?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Zuri. After everything I’ve been through, I’m the last one you want to try to bullshit.” She growled. “It is imperative for your protection that she know.”
“There’s nothing to tell her.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You saw me in there. I proved myself.”
“That exam has nothing to do with it.” Her eyes narrowed on me, confused. “It proved nothing.”
“It proved everything!” My voice raised louder than I intended for it to, drawing attention from a nearby agent in a light gray uniform.
The clap of leather boots on wood filled the corridor as Pwofese Middlemiss hissed. “You can’t run from the truth. Hide all you want, but one day you will have to face this.”
“Is everything all right over here ladies?” The young sightless sons agent asked. His bright blue eyes glanced between the two of us, and his brow lifted when he realized exactly who the two of us were. “Is this absomancer bothering you, Lady Ebenmore?” There was venom on his tongue.
Pwofese Middlemiss folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the fight.
I shook my head. “No. She just cares about me and is trying to push me to do my best is all. Sometimes it comes in the form of tough love.” I shouldn’t have been saving after she harassed me, but I liked Pwofese Middlemiss. All I wanted was for her to let the incident go.
My words melted her feisty disposition. “Exactly. Our paths are more alike than you think. I’m trying to ensure that you have a better future.”
“That’s relieving to hear,” the agent said. “In the meantime, I expect you to keep things at a respectable volume or move your conversation to a private area.”
“Yeah, we’ll remember to do that.” Pwofese Middlemiss glared at him as she turned on her heel and marched back into the testing room.
I stood there for a few seconds, alone and confused. I wasn’t sure what Middlemiss had planned and perhaps I wasn’t taking her demands as seriously as I should be. She had the potential to ruin me, so why was I playing as though I were above it all?
I wasn’t and I needed to remember that.
Chapter Thirty
As always, I was the first at the abandoned library. The other two insisted I show up early to let them in, since I was the only one that could enter safely. When I arrived at the library, it appeared different this time. The floors had been swept and the cobwebs wiped away. Someone or something had come in and tried to clean it. Perhaps the room was beginning to enjoy our company and wanted to make us more comfortable.
I slipped into the leather hold of the couch with my backpack resting on my thigh when something caught my eye. There, in one of the armchairs lay a bundle of black cloth. I reached over and picked it up, unfurling the garment. It was long, running the entire length of my body. Its hood was deep and hemmed with a black silk ribbon.
It was a cloak. I had never seen one in real life, only In movies set in historical times, but there was no mistaking what I held in my hands. Clipped to the neck was a silver eye clasp, stylized to appear shut. When I connected it to the other side, the metal moved and the eye opened. Whoever had made this had taken great care and effort. I couldn’t imagine someone just forgetting an item like this.
I opened it wide, searching for a tag or perhaps a sewn in name as fancy coats were want to have. To my surprise, there was a silk patch just below the nape of the neck. In sparkling white letters it said: Zuri Ebenmore, Daughter of the Black House.
I gasped, opening my hands and letting the cloak fall from my grasp onto the floor. I didn’t know if it was the library or someone toying with me. How did anyone know that I had been to this library and would return? Was I being followed? Chief Inspector Cowell did say that he intended to pay close attention to me. I didn’t think that that entailed a tale. It seemed a rather drastic measure for someone as inconsequential as I was.
“Take it,” the room whispered in my ear.
“No,” I replied. My hands shook.
“It’s yours,” the room told me. “Claim your title.”
Just as the blood drained from my face a knock on the library door stopped my heart. I approached slowly, unsure if whoever lurked behind that door was the same person that it left the cloak for me to find.
With my breath rattling in my chest, I gripped the cold brass handle and opened the door ever so slowly. A pair of green eyes stared back at me.
It was Idris.
“Are you okay?” he asked me. “You look sick.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s the room or the Sightless Sons but somebody’s on to us.”
He stepped in the library and closed the door behind him. “What do you mean? What happened?”
I marched over to the pile of black and lifted the cloak. “Somebody left this in here for me to find.”
Idris shrugged. “We’re probably not the only ones that use this room. Someone may have just accidentally left it behind, not specifically targeting you.”
I opened the cloak in a huff and held out the silk patch. “Look. It has my name on it. They’re targeting me.”
Idris took the cloak from me and stared at the black silk, running his fingers over the embroidery. “What do you think this is for?”
“I have no idea,” I said as another knock on the door cut me off mid-thought. Idris opened it, and Ross traipsed inside.
“Why do you two look so glum?” She asked.
“Zuri found this cloak in the library, and it has her name stitched into the back of it.” Ross took the garment from him and inspected the fine black cloth as we all had done. Then, she held it out to me. “Okay, well, put it on. Let’s see if it makes you invisible.”
“This isn’t a joke, Ross.” I snatched it from her. “It’s creepy.”
“I never said it wasn’t, but what are you going to do? Carry it around with you and stare at it all day? Whoever left it here for you to find wanted you to where it. So, where it. Perhaps there is a message imbued in the cloth that only you can hear.”
I looked to Idris, and he nodded his head. “She’s not wrong.”
“What if it kills me?”
“This room would never let t
hat happen. I’m certain if it senses that the cloak was made to kill you, it would’ve hidden it or destroyed it,” Ross said. “Now, go on. Let’s see how pretty you look.”
I held my breath and slid the heavy garment over my shoulders. It cascaded down to my feet in an array of folds. The hood rested against my back as the shape hugged my shoulders without a struggle. It was a perfect it.
“Well, do you hear anything?” Ross asked s she twirled a finger around her brown curls.
I shook my head. “No. It just feels like I’m wearing a cloak.”
“Clasp it,” Idris suggested.
I took the shut eye in my fingers and slipped the backside into a small metal holster on the other side. The eye opened. Both Ross and Idris jumped.
“Pretty weird, no?” My fingers held the hard silver eye out for them to see.
Ross took a step toward me, running her hands down the fabric and feeling the cloth. “I think the word you’re looking for is fantastic.”
“Yes, it’s well-made, but what is its purpose? Who left it for me and why? The whole thing feels dangerous and eerie.” And I couldn’t figure out why Idris nor Ross were as alarmed about the cloak’s sudden appearance as I was. Ross admired the thing, and Idris didn’t really have an opinion one way or another.
“Speaking of eerie things, Professor Saviano’s court case is still stalled. My father believes that the attack on those two girls may have permanently shut it down. The witnesses are so petrified that the pair of them losing their hands was a warning.”
I slipped the cloak from my shoulders and folded it, holding it in my grip. “You can’t be serious.”
Ross nodded. “Dead serious.”
“I told you he wasn’t as squeaky clean as you thought,” I said to Idris.
He sighed, slumping in one of the highback armchairs. He ran two hands down his face, the reality hitting hard. “So where do we go from here? What’s the next step in order to halt the Hand Collectors rampage?”
“I thought it was kind of a done deal that we believed it was Claassen?” Ross said.
“The tools in his office were very damning, but the recent choice of victims doesn’t make sense. It only makes sense for Saviano. And I can’t get over Adder’s weird behavior. I’m not exaggerating when I say he was obsessed with touching and feeling and seeing my hands.”
“I agree. All three of them are believably guilty. The blood on his cuff, his obsession with Zuri’s hands, and his attendance at the school in 1994 make Adder plausible to be the Hand Collector. Then, there’s the whole thing with the court case, his presence at Harley Wilson’s attack, and his history that make Professor Saviano plausible. Lastly, you have Claassen who hates white ands, advocates resegregation, has the tools, skin, and the know-how in his office, and his first year teaching was 1994,” Idris gave us the rundown. “We need the smoking gun. Just as I had said last time, we need some hard evidence.”
“Were the tools in Professor Claassen’s office not hard evidence question?” Ross asked.
“No,” Idris said. “There wasn’t any blood on the tools. Plus, he specializes in stiziology. Yes, it’s completely disturbing that he has scraps of skin that he collects, but there were no fresh hands.”
I winced at the distinction.
“What if he’s taking the hands and skinning the tattoos, then tosses the rest?”
“Then what’s the purpose of chopping off the entire hand?” I asked Ross. “If all he wants is the ink, that’s a lot easier to take than having to saw through bone and cartilage and ligament.”
“Zuri is right. Flaying a little bit of skin is a lot less work than taking a limb,” Idris added.
Ross ran a hand through her thick brown hair. “I just want this to be over and settled already. The waiting and guessing is agonizing.”
“Then do something about,” Idris told her.
“Like what? Rummage through their things?”
He shrugged. “Isn’t that what we do when we pin someone as a suspect? Violate their privacy?”
“You’re right. Idris, you take Professor Saviano. Ross, you turn your attention to Professor Claassen. And I’ll deal with Lord Nicholas Adder,” I said. “Next time we meet, let’s have something solid.”
Chapter Thirty-One
My eyes were glued to the map as the elevator ascended. All the counters were closed on the octagonal car. I had an hour before everyone arrived for work and was feeling oddly optimistic about this.
The elevator dinged once I reached the sixth floor. I glanced down at the map as I stepped off, entering the corridor and waited. From the rumors roaming around the school, the Hyacinthine Wing was the only one without a regular Sightless Sons agent posted. The reason being that the Sightless Sons didn’t bring a single blackhand with them, and the resident jaguar on this floor wasn’t one to take lightly.
During the day, he was harmless. He had been at the school for little more than a decade and trained to ignore the comings and goings of the students and staff. It was only during the evening hours that one had to be on their guard. Given the vastness of the wing, I prayed he was tucked away in a dark corner, sleeping.
I stretched out my right hand and closed my eyes. With all my attention diverted to this one task, I sensed the essences around me. Where I once had to yank and pull to pluck an essence, I could now feel it reaching out to me.
I pulled two essences from the nearby potted plant, not enough to do irreparable damage, and pushed them right back out. “A’hrak.” Light bloomed from the palm of my hand, illuminating the way before me.
Herringbone wood floors lay beneath my feet and matching wood panels covered the walls. I could hear the rustling of wings and calls of macaws as I carefully padded down the long corridor. Large blooms of tropical plants dotted corners and hid hallways. Twice I walked right past my turnoff. I could clearly see the hall on my map, but it was hidden behind a careful arrangement of elephant leaves.
As I continued down, an uneasy, foreboding feeling sank into my stomach. An overwhelming dread hit me like a train. I had been so confident in my ability to do this on my own when I first set out, but now I wanted nothing but to have Idris or Ross at my side. For as strong as the surgery had made me, it hadn’t given me a boost in knowledge or the ability to push and pull essences from inorganic material.
I pushed farther down the hall, passing doors with names I didn’t recognize painted on their faces in gold lettering. I read them as I went. My eyes searched for the title Member of the Board of Trustees. I turned another corner and that’s when I heard it.
It was deep and rolling, guttural in essence. I half-believed my mind was playing tricks on me but when I spun on my heel and my hand lit the way I had just come, I saw him. His spots were faint against his black fur, making him practically invisible amongst the foliage. However, there is no denying that golden reflection from his eyes. It shined bright and was pinned right on me.
I contemplated pulling essences from him. It was the easiest way to defend myself, but then they would know that somebody, a blackhand, had entered the wing overnight. Given that the three of us had just recently been caught rummaging through Professor Claassen’s office, this little break-in would be an open and shut case. I needed to be in and out without a trace. Which meant I couldn’t pull from the jaguar.
I did the next best thing I could.
I spun around and took off. My legs pumped hard. His roar echoed around the corridor as his weight hammered the floor behind me. Light whipped around me as my arms swung to build up speed. My heart was in my throat, and my lungs burned.
He hissed with a high-pitched cry that reverberated with my impending death. The hairs on the back of my neck raised.
I cut another corner and heard him seconds later colliding into the wall, unable to get a good grip on the slick floors. I glanced behind my shoulder and the small flash of light revealed that he was only a paw’s length away. There was hunger in his eyes, an overwhelming desire to pounce o
n my body and feast on my flesh.
Just when I thought my luck had run out, I saw the door up ahead. Lord Nicholas Adder, Member of the Board of Trustees twinkled in the flickering light. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to open the door, nor did I have the time to figure it out.
As it approached, I grabbed the doorknob, resolving to pull essences from the jaguar in order to use them and unlock the door with a deft push. But the brass knob turned without any trouble.
It was unlocked.
I darted in and slammed the door behind me. The mass of bone, fur, and muscle pummeled the wood. I reached up and turned the lock as my back rattled against the door to hold it from the jaguar’s battering.
He didn’t linger long once he realized I was out of reach, but it took me a while to peel myself up off the floor. My breath was uneven, and my heart felt as though it had lodged into my rib cage. I was sure the stress of the ordeal had shaved an easy five years off my life.
But I was in. Somehow, I had managed to get myself into Nicholas Adder’s office.
I glanced down at my hand, as the light flickered, warning it was running out of fuel. A hint of red caught my eye, and I had to do a double take.
My eyes were playing tricks on me. The transition color upon my right hand was different. A fire burst of red, orange, and gold—the same colors as was on Uncle Hank’s hands. However, my left hand still shown sapphire, copper, and gold.
I sighed and tucked it away in my mind. It was something I would bring up with Dr. Raby, but for now, it was inconsequential. There was nothing I could do other than fret, and that was pointless given my current circumstances.
Adder’s office was smaller than Claassen’s. On one wall stood tall cabinets that featured his familial history with old black-and-white photos of fathers past. Two white armchairs faced toward a cherry wood executive desk. The surface was scattered with contracts and old parchments.