The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  Her hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail, and her blue eyes drooped far more than usual. She was still in her cream-colored pajamas despite it being three in the afternoon.

  I held my breath as I waited for her to speak. It had been nearly two weeks since I last heard her voice, but that didn’t stop her words from running circles in my head. You don’t belong in that world. You belong here. The phrase haunted me while I lay in bed at night waiting to fall asleep. At times it was deafening, because I knew she was right. But I didn’t want it to be that way. I wanted to be a part of that world and just another proud Ebenmore blackhand. Instead, I was this—a boring, lackluster teen living in the Bible Belt, who had sacrificed her social life and down time to get accepted into college.

  “I don’t suppose I could have another chance to change your mind?” She said with her usual highly-poised tone. Her chin lifted, assuming her signature stance of confident austerity.

  “You’re talking to me now?” I glanced down at my suitcase, then the back of hand. The skin was still pure, unmarked, and untouched. I couldn’t fathom what it would look like when covered with black ink.

  “You may have already given your word, but you haven’t gone on to Rotterpool with your aunt and uncle yet. You don’t have papers. You could still run.”

  I shook my head. This decision was final, at least I felt too far down the rabbit hole to climb back out. She would have to light a fire under my ass if she intended to get me back out. “Why don’t you start with telling me the truth? You constantly dance around the reality of the situation and just throw phrases and words at me to frighten me. Explain to me why you’re afraid.” Uncle Hank had told me the bare bones of her tale, but I wanted the muscles, tendons, and juice.

  She shook her head as she sat atop my bed, barely making a crease in the top comforter. “I’m not ready to share my story yet. Given my actions a few a weeks ago, it’s painfully obvious I am not over it. I try to pretend every day that it has no effect on me, but it’s still a wide open wound.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then, tell me about the magical world. If I turn out to be a blackhand, what do I have to fear?” A lump formed in my throat as the desperate desire for a straight answer swelled and clumped together.

  Her hands laid open in her lap with the palms exposed. Tiny white scars dance around the sides of her fingers where tattoos used to lie. “First, It’s not the magical world. It’s simply our world, and everything else outside of that is the world of the undermen. Anyone and everyone who is not a hand is an undermen. You see the connotations there?”

  I nodded. Hands saw everyone who wasn’t them as lesser. “But I already know that. I already know they don’t like flups.” She was so fixated on that one caveat that it was like pulling teeth to get her to talk about something else.

  “Of course.” She glanced down, taking breath. “I don’t know how to explain to you how quickly the world can become dark and insidious and destructive. On the surface, it appears so pleasant, but it’s so toxic. It’s difficult to get the truth out of anyone, and the party is so focused on war that violence and aggression have been normalized.” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s always been that way though. The party only came into power in the 1930s and before then there was a lot of violence, too.”

  “Well, I guess that does explain in a way why you are so afraid. You’re defenseless. That’s why I’m going. Like I said, I want to be able to protect us.”

  “No, that’s not all of it though. There’s rampant bigotry and hate. The whitehands will detest you, even more so than usual because you’re an Ebenmore—highborn. You will be expected to hate them right back. And together the two, black and white, will loathe the rest of the universe.” Her hands balled into fists. “It’s not a peaceful place. It’s not a place I’d ever want you to enter alone with no one to watch your back.”

  “Mom, I don’t need someone to watch my back. If thousands of kids can grow up there, go to college, and lead successful lives, I can as well. You’re being dramatic and speaking as though you’re sending me off to war.” I placed my hand atop her fist. “I’m just going to college.”

  She nodded and kept her head bowed, but I could still see the water building in her eyes. It didn’t matter how many times we discussed it, this was an issue that we’d never reach an agreement on because it all boiled down to her not wanting me to go and me deciding I was going.

  “I just hope you won’t hate me forever, and one day, you’ll look back on this and understand why I ran.”

  “Mom, what are you talking about? I don’t hate you. I just want you to respect my decision.”

  “Zuri?” Aunt Margot’s booming sing-song voice burst into the room. “Are you about—oops, apologies ladies.”

  “No, Aunt Margot.” My mom stopped her. “It’s alright. We’re done, and I wanted a moment to speak with Uncle Hank before you all leave.”

  “He’s out in the living room still, checking to make sure the turn-switch works properly. I’m pretty sure we fixed it, but you know him.” She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “A bit on the nervous side.”

  “I’ll leave you two be, then.” Mom stood from the bed and straightened out the creases in her pajamas before leaving the room.

  “She’s about to give him an earful, isn’t she?” I asked Aunt Margot once I was sure my mom was out of earshot.

  “Oh, for sure. She’s been trying to drill holes in his head with her eyes since we arrived, but it wouldn’t be the first time those two have butt heads.” A silly smirk drifted across her face. “I still remember the screaming match they got into when she announced that she was moving out and taking her infant daughter with her to North Carolina.”

  “Oh?” I stood from my bed and returned to stuffing things in my suitcase. “When Uncle Hank mentioned her fleeing, he didn’t seem agitated over the fact.”

  “Well, it’s been nineteen years. People change and grow accustom to things.” She took a few more steps into the room. Her kitten heels sank into the carpet. She wobbled, struggling to maintain her balance on the soft surface. “I wouldn’t put too much stock into their disagreements though. Just let them squabble and in a few weeks, it’ll all blow over. That’s what I’ve always done.” Her fingers slipped along my stacks of folded clothes, peeking at patterns and textures. “They don’t have the luxury of hating each other.”

  Her last sentence caught my attention. I glanced over my shoulder at her, wanting to observe her reaction. “What do you mean ‘they don’t have the luxury of hating each other’?” It was a curious thing to say.

  “Margot!” Uncle Hank bellowed from the living room. “Let’s go.”

  “Well, looks like she tired him out quick this time. Are you about finished, sweetheart?” Her rose-painted lips melted into a wide smile.

  “Uhh…” I quickly shoved what I had set aside into my suitcase. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Excellent.” She tugged on the lining of her gloves just at her wrist. “Let’s go save your uncle then.”

  The zipper on my luggage purred as I closed the seal. My fingers gripped the handle and lifted the thing onto its wheels, rolling it along the fluffy carpet with a little struggle. Aunt Margot led the way out of my childhood room and to where Uncle Hank sat red-faced and my mom stood on the opposite side of the room with a glass of wine in hand.

  “Did you two get everything sorted out?” Aunt Margot asked. Nobody in their right mind could have believed those two had worked anything out. She was stirring the pot.

  My mom cast her a severe look, and Uncle Hank huffed.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” She turned to me. “Zuri, say goodbye.”

  I released my hold on the suitcase and wrapped my arms around the thin women. She stiffened for the slightest of moments before relaxing and returning my hug. For being such a hard woman, she felt as though she were about to crumble at any moment.

  “You don’t have to go,” she whispered in my ear, pulling me clos
er.

  “I know,” I responded. “I’ll be sure to visit at least once more before I go off to Blacksaw.” I hoped this would be enough to calm her worrying and appease her incessant need for me to capitulate.

  “Promise?” Her voice broke.

  “Yes.” I pulled away from her, and she immediately dabbed her eyes on her sleeve.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself once you’re gone.” My mom hugged herself. “I mean, I always knew you’d grow up and leave one day, but it’s just going to be me all by myself in this house now.”

  Aunt Margot shrugged. “Anytime I don’t want to be locked up inside with this big oaf, I go out. Rebuild yourself. You deserve it after raising Zuri alone for the last nineteen years.”

  My mom wasn’t exactly a social pariah, but I would no sooner label her a social butterfly. She made friends when the occasion called for it, though that rarely translated into long-lasting relationships. And the few that put forth the effort to stay in contact with her eventually were left ignored. She struggled to trust anyone from the outside, and anyone she didn’t trust, she shut out from her life. The three of us standing in that room were all she had.

  “Alright, Zuri,” Aunt Margot began, “you’re going to have your first lesson in turn-switch travel. One of us will have to hold your hand until you get your tattoos, but regardless, it’s very simple. All we have to do is recite an incantation and turn the switch. Sound like something you can do?”

  I sighed, folding my arms across my chest. “Please. I’m not a child. It sounds extremely easy.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Aunt Margot plucked her leather handbag from the side table before sauntering over to the antique lamp. It’s mushroom-like dome was a stained-glass mix of gold, sapphire, and emerald. “Hank, why don’t you go first, and then, once we know everything is working properly, Zuri and I will follow along behind you.”

  “Excuse me?” Hank’s jaw loosened. “Of course everything is working properly. I told you I fixed it, didn’t I?”

  “Then, you’ll have no problem going first.”

  Hank huffed as he rose to his feet. He strutted over to the lamp with his arms swinging at his sides. The old blackhand was a giant amongst men, and his structure never ceased to amaze me. He didn’t appear particularly muscular, but there was just so much girth and height.

  He held the lamp’s black switch in between his thumb and forefinger before pausing. “Is it left three times or two before right?”

  “It’s left three times, right two times, pause, and turn to the right once more.”

  He nodded. His silvery bubble ponytail rested along his shoulder. “Nyis, sum—”

  “Hank,” Aunt Margot interrupted.

  “What?” He snapped.

  “Your glove.”

  Hank looked up at my mom without saying a word. His eyebrows lifted as he awaited her response. My mom had never allowed them to remove their gloves, not even when they had first approached me about Blacksaw and revealed their abilities.

  “Do what you must,” she mumbled. “Whatever gets you out of my home.”

  Uncle Hank loosened the leather at the end of each finger before giving the final pull. It slid off of his hand in one smooth movement. Mesmerizing lines and swirls burst to life—mehndi designs. They slipped from wrist to finger, black as pitch.

  He gripped the lamp’s switch once more. The ink shined with an iridescent sheen when brought under the light. Uncle Hank took a deep breath and returned his full attention to the antique lamp. “Nyis, sum, sliys.”

  A pop filled the room, as though a wire in a light bulbed had broke, and warm orange sparks rained down where Uncle Hank had once stood. But he himself was nowhere to be found. The man had vanished in the blink of an eye.

  “Where’d he go? Did it work?” I asked.

  “Well, he didn’t burst into flames, unfortunately, so it’s safe to assume it worked,” my mom answered as she swirled her red wine around in her glass.

  “Our turn now,” Aunt Margot told me. Her hand gripped mine, and she half-heartedly dragged me over to the old brass lamp. My other hand gripped so tightly to the handle on my luggage my knuckles whitened. “Ready?” She asked but didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Nyis, sum, sliys.”

  I heard the pop deep in my ears, before a warming sensation washed down my body, starting from my head and sliding its way down to my toes where it began to burn. White filled my eyes, leaving colorful spots, floating halos, and starbursts against a dark backdrop.

  “Zuri?” I heard Uncle Hank’s voice call to me. “Zuri, are you alright?”

  “She’s just dazed. It’s her first time,” Aunt Margot’s voice floated out.

  When my vision settled, dark ivy green wallpaper and ebony wood filled my line of sight. I heard a slight click from the right, and tiny wall lamps illuminated the space. I turned around and a living room bloomed before me. A cream-colored tufted couch faced a blackened stone fireplace with a velvet chaise lounge chair at its side. A simple, crocheted blanket draped across its back.

  The ring of church bells began to echo throughout the cozy room. “Do you guys hear that?” I asked, fearful all my senses had been wounded.

  “Just the Chairman demanding our undivided attention.” Aunt Margot sighed. “Hank, could you get the radio?”

  “I don’t want to listen.” There was marked agitation in Uncle Hank’s voice.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’ll probably being something upsetting and just depress me.”

  Aunt Margot crossed the room to where a long, brown rectangular box rest atop a small table. A large brass horn that had been shined into a sparkling gold sprouted from the box, glimmering in the light. Aunt Margot twisted one of the black nobs on the box’s face, and sound slipped out from the horn.

  “—ing to the fine people of Rotterpool,” a gentrified male voice said. “It is with a heavy heart that I share the news we have just received from Easternboar. Despite the medical staff’s best efforts, the only surviving victim of last week’s attack has passed away from the damage inflicted upon his body—“

  “Turn it off,” Uncle Hank begged, but Aunt Margot ignored him.

  The nasally voice continued from the radio. “The party has already begun preparations to honor the seventeen blackhands that fell victim to this senseless violence as well as the sole hero in this story, Idris Young, who took a stand and defeated the three assailants before anymore innocent lives could be taken. We hope you all will join us as we mourn and welcome the victims’ family as well as their knight in white armor, Idris Young. Thank you for tuning in, and that is all for tonight.”

  Aunt Margot twisted the dial, and the radio’s static buzzing ceased. “Absolutely heartbreaking. Those poor souls.”

  Uncle Hank shook his head. A pained expression marred his face. “It’s stuff like this that’s going to bring back the Imperial Black.”

  “The who?”

  Aunt Margot shot Uncle Hank a scathing look. “Nobody, and it’s better for the world that they’re not around anymore. I mean, seriously Hank, how could you even suggest such a thing?”

  “Because this type of whitehand versus blackhand bullshit is anything but new, and this historic rivalry is exactly what birthed those types of organizations.”

  “Still. I don’t think it wise to mention it. It just doesn’t sit well with me.” She struggled to piece together her feelings. “It gives me a queasy feeling, and it’s not how I want to spend Zuri’s first day with us.”

  Hank nodded, yielding the topic. “You’re right. It’s not at all how I want to welcome my grand-niece.” His gaze rushed over to me, softening. “Welcome home, Zuri. This is the Ebenmore Manor, built 1873.”

  Chapter Six

  Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot’s house was nothing like I had expected, but at the same time, it was exactly what I had expected. The Queen Anne home crawled its way up the mountainside, spouting a large copper onion dome on its
turret. Every wall was papered with some dark floral or damask design, and the wooden floors were covered with Persian rugs and Turkish kilims. All the lights within the home, save the dining room and foyer, were so small in size that they created a dim night sky effect when on. At times it felt there was a room for every need, and yet, I still sensed there were some kept hidden and tucked away out of sight. Several times I had foolishly pushed on a bookcase, expecting it to open into another chamber of sorts, but was always left disappointed.

  I had never thought a house itself could be magical, but there was something about this place that made it feel as though magic had been breathed into its every fiber.

  “Zuri,” Aunt Margot’s voice floated up to me from the bottom of the stairs. “Please get washed up and put on the dress. Lakshmi will be here in thirty minutes.” She said it as though Lakshmi were about to materialize at any moment. It didn’t take me thirty minutes to get dressed.

  “Okay,” I shouted back, having no intentions of putting on that god awful dress.

  When Aunt Margot had pulled it down from the attic the night before, I about gagged. It had more layers than an onion, and each was heavier than the last. Every square inch of it was decorated by a button, lace, or embroidered pattern. And the entire ensemble was black, petticoat included.

  When I had expressed my dislike of the layered curtain with sleeves, Uncle Hank made it very clear that black must be worn during the tattooing. The color wasn’t the problem.

  “So, it’s the dress itself you don’t like then?” Aunt Margot had asked.

  “Yes.” I thought by giving a concise answer this wouldn’t leave any room for misunderstanding, but Uncle Hank had proved me wrong.

  “It’s nearly two hundred years old. It’s an icon, a piece of history. Every Ebenmore woman born in the last two centuries has worn this dress. Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s no longer beautiful, flattering, or attractive.”

  But my dissatisfaction with the garment wasn’t due to its age. I loved old things. I enjoyed them so much, I chose a senior living facility for my volunteer work four years straight while building my college resume.