The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  “That’s good.” Uncle Hank’s eyes widened. “That’s very good.”

  Lakshmi nodded her agreement as the ink drained into my skin. When the barrel was empty, she set down the syringe, selected another small needle, filled it with the open jar of black, and injected the contents into my left hand. The same tingling tickle roared to life. It slid down into fingers and curled around to my palm.

  “Huh… That’s interesting.” Uncle Hank stared out the outlined pattern set into my flesh.

  “What’s interesting?”

  Lakshmi’s eyes whipped up to me, fixed upon my own. “The last woman in your family to receive that design was your great grandmother, Zara. My mother tattooed her hands.”

  “Your mother? I find that really hard to believe that your mother tattooed my great-grandmother’s hands.” Did she think I was an idiot?

  “Why is that hard to believe?” She squinted her eyes at me, studying my reaction. “You know, I tattooed your mother’s hands, right?”

  “How is that possible? You’re maybe ten years older than me—max.”

  She laughed, lifting another ink pot from the table and unscrewing its lid. “You know, when you told me that she had grown up in the undermen’s world, Hank, I didn’t realize how much she must’ve missed out on.” Her slender fingers choose another syringe. One that had quite a large barrel. “When you have your hands unlocked, Zuri, age starts to slow down. Time doesn’t take the same toll on your body as it once did.” She filled up the needle and pricked the center of my hand. “I mean, you never question why your great uncle is still alive and running around?” Her thumb pressed down on the plunger.

  Black filled the center of the mehndi design, only halting once it reached the outline. My shoulders hunched, curling inward due to the uncomfortable pressure. “No, not really. Uncle Hank’s always been there, and I just assumed he always would.” But she was right. It was silly of me not to ever question his age. “Why do we start aging slower?”

  “Academics don’t know exactly, but the theory is that by pulling and pushing essences, we may be replacing and rejuvenating the ones within us,” Uncle Hank said. “It’s kind of like replacing an old engine in your car.”

  It didn’t make a lot of sense, but I didn’t want to ask for more information. Lakshmi had a habit of pointing out my ignorance and lack of belonging. Why invite anymore scrutiny?

  “So, how will I know if I’m a blackhand or a flup?” I asked as Lakshmi stuck the needle in my other hand, filling in the mandala-like patterns. The skin was incredibly sensitive and brought a wave of nausea crashing through me.

  “We should have a pretty good idea in a week or two.”

  A small part of me crumbled to hear her say that. I was ready and desperate to begin my new life and in my ignorance, I had assumed it would be a day or two at most.

  Lakshmi blinked as she retrieved the needle her eyes returned to their brown and white colors. “I always hate the come down.” She pressed a hand to her head and sighed.

  “Do you want a glass of water or something?” Uncle Hank offered.

  Lakshmi shook her head. “No, just take care of my work so I don’t have to fix anything.” She took a deep breath and set the needle down before relaxing in her seat. “I’m finished, but I’ll be back in a week to see if any… issues crop up.”

  Chapter Seven

  She turned my hands over, inspecting the tender skin. The sides of my palms had transformed into an inflamed red while the tattoos themselves had deepened in color. Even though I’ve had them for a little more than a week now, I still hadn’t grown used to seeing them and I hadn’t decided if I liked them or not. Tattoos had never been on my to-do list. They simply weren’t an aesthetic that I believed fit my personality. I was the motivated brain, not the hardened artist or survivor of small ill fate.

  “They look like they’re healing pretty well,” Lakshmi said. Her dark brown eyes roamed over the skin as she wore an eye loupe magnifier. “But I understand your concern.”

  Uncle Hank stood at the other side of the dining room. His large arms wrapped around his ginormous torso, hugging himself. “Is there anyway to know before she sets foot in Blacksaw?” He shook his head.

  “I can still go to Blacksaw,” I said. “I’m not ashamed to pack my bags and leave if I’m really a flup. My mother was brave enough to do it, and I will be too.”

  I felt courageous uttering those words, but in truth, I was terrified. This was exactly the nightmare my mother had tried to save me from. My heart broke at the thought of not only being unable to protect her as I had so naively and valiantly believed I might but also now having the injury of this whole failure. My hands would be forever ruined, and my mother forever ashamed of what her past had managed to do to me.

  Aunt Margot’s lips flatlined. “Well, the laws have changed since your mom was nineteen.” She massaged her hands, rubbing the tattooed jewels the shined across her skin.

  “How so?”

  “Flups are barred from society. They were stripped of rights and citizenship about a decade ago.” Uncle Hank put it very bluntly. “All flups are now arrested upon sight and taken to… I don’t even know where.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Nobody corrected him. Their mouths were all shut tight and gazes fell to the floor, shame pierced their faraway looks.

  “If that’s the case, how do you all know Lakshmi won’t turn me in?” I hadn’t forgotten about that loose end.

  Lakshmi dropped my hands and pressed her palm to her chest. Her jaw dropped, and eyes widened. “How could you even conceive such an idea? That’s just insulting.”

  “Lakshmi would never do such a thing.” Uncle Hank defended her. “Her family and ours have been together for centuries.”

  “We may have started off on the wrong foot but Auntie Lakshmi wants nothing but the best for you.” She pulled my hands into hers once more, but instead of a seven-point inspection, she simply held them. “Just as I helped your mother, I will help you, too.”

  “Then, take another look and tell me if I am a flup or not.” My voice slid into a whimper at the end. I didn’t know if it was the building fear or desperation that moved me.

  She sighed. “Why don’t you tell me instead, because I will not know for sure until your tattoos are fully healed.”

  I shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I’m not the expert.”

  “What do you feel?” Lakshmi leaned forward in her chair, watching my reaction. “I know that the flesh is still tender, but what do you feel inside of you?”

  My bottom lip upturned. “No different than when I wasn’t tattooed.”

  “No.” Uncle Hank perked up. “Remember when we met at the restaurant—the day after that fateful brunch. As I held your hands, I told you I could feel the magic teaming just below the surface. Can you feel like a new energy or lightness inside of you?”

  I opened my mouth, but Aunt Margot cut me off. “Stop for a moment and reflect before you speak. What you say now will greatly impact your future.”

  I fell back into my chair as her words crashed down upon me. Since Lakshmi said she wouldn’t know for sure until I was fully healed, I thought I would have some more time. I mean, that was a logical conclusion, right? But Aunt Margot made it sound as though today was judgement day. Today would be the day we decided if I was packing my bags and returning to Raleigh or not.

  I took a deep breath. I couldn’t go back, not after all I had put myself and my family through. Not to mention, I had nothing waiting for my back home. School was over, and I had already quashed my admission to Duke.

  I needed this. I needed these powers and this future.

  I closed my eyes, allowing the lids to rest. Shutting off the outside world, I focused on what teemed and danced inside of me. Was there a new presence that had managed to awaken without me ever sensing it? With each breath, I searched. I recounted all of my past emotions and moods, cataloging and categorizing them.

  But
the truth was, I felt as I had always felt.

  I opened my eyes, and my brow lifted. “You know, I think I do feel something.” I wasn’t going to let them send me off before my hands had fully healed. It was a callous and unfair move. “As though I’m a bit freer and more relaxed.”

  The three of them shared expressionless glances. I held my breath, hoping they bought it. I wouldn’t surrender until we knew for a fact I was a flup. I didn’t care if I had to spend another three weeks locked inside this antique home with only my thoughts and pair of old people to entertain me. As I said before, I loved old things.

  “Can you elaborate a little more?” Uncle Hank asked.

  My lips withdrew into my mouth as my brain sprinted to come up with the right answer. Clearly, I was onto something with the response I had given, but I didn’t know what. “I’m not really sure how.”

  Uncle Hank deflated but before he could reply, Lakshmi jumped in. “I have an idea.” She reached for her bag and pulled out a glass jar filled with a pale flaxen liquid. It was thick and moved with a bit of reluctance around the jar.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Oil.” She placed the small container on the table and unscrewed the cap. A very musky, earthy scent escaped into the air. “Oils play games with our hands. Depending on what you use, they can have certain maximizing or minimizing properties. This one is Mugwort of the Fourth Essence.”

  Aunt Margot gasped. “Lakshmi, why do you even have that?”

  But Lakshmi ignored her. “Its a boosting oil, like caffeine for your hands. If there’s anything there, you’ll feel it after this.”

  “It is most certainly not like caffeine for your hands, more like amphetamines.” Her jowls shook. “And highly illegal.”

  “Let’s do it,” I said. I was eager to dive deeper and find where my powers lie.

  “Lay your hands flat. I will apply some very carefully so as not to irritate your wounds.”

  “Hank!” Aunt Margot’s face reddened. “Are you going to stand by and watch this happen?”

  But Uncle Hank didn’t seemed perturbed in the slightest. His arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed upon us, awaiting what was to come next.

  “You’re really going to let this happen under our roof?” Aunt Margot barked.

  Lakshmi turned to Uncle Hank as she slipped a black latex glove over her hand. Her face and shoulders relaxed. “If you do not want me to apply it to Zuri’s hands, I will not, but I want to have your consent before I proceed should anything go awry.”

  “Don’t you place a drop of that oil on that girl’s hands.” Aunt Margot’s voice reached a new pitch. “This is madness. I can not believe you two are even entertaining such a dangerous idea.”

  Uncle Hank dragged a hand down his face, drawing his eyes long before dropping his arm to his side with a weary sigh. “Do it, Lakshmi,” he said, as he turned away.

  “Hank!” Margot screeched.

  Lakshmi barely dipped her finger in the jar, and I held my breath. The oil covered the latex, turning the dull color into a gloss. She painted only the thin, small lines, avoiding the thicker, more intricate areas of the tattoos.

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel, but my heart pounded with anticipation. Aunt Margot’s inflamed reaction pressed pins and needles into my back, making it so I was unable to lean back and relax. I had no idea what mugwort of the whatever essence was for, but I braced myself for the rollercoaster ride I was about to be swept onto.

  A few second after Lakshmi pulled her hand away, black smoke began to billow from the area where she had first applied the oil. It wasn’t painful at all but felt oddly good. My hands melted as though they were being massaged, and this tingling muscular high slipped down my arms. Once it hit my chest, I had this overwhelming sensation of no longer being a solid body but a fluid one, as though I could liquify right then and there and slip into the soil of the earth.

  “Oh, no.” Aunt Margot whimpered at the sight. Her face marred with horror.

  “Sometimes it takes a while to catch,” Uncle Hank said. His tone made it seem as though he were trying to comfort himself as much as her, holding out hope.

  Lakshmi asked. “What do you feel, Zuri?”

  “I have no idea how to describe this.” I lifted my hands, and the smoke thickened. I could feel the pull of all living things. My fingers were like magnets, begging every piece of organic matter to connect to me. “It’s like my insides are fluids, and my hands are desperate to touch a plant or human. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s the best way I can describe it.”

  Lakshmi turned to Uncle Hank. “I think that’s pretty telling.”

  “Good, I’m glad this disgusting horror show is over,” Aunt Margot hissed. “Zuri, get yourself to the sink right away and wash off that heinous oil.”

  “What does it mean?” I stood from my seat. My legs wobbled beneath me. I held out my hand to Aunt Margot for help and sucked down a deep breath to steady myself. Without warning, a buzzing tickle bloomed in my palm, and the smoke whirled into a wet vapor.

  “Oh, Lord!” Aunt Margot wailed. “Are you two happy now? There goes my English ivy!”

  The potted plant over the sink rocked back and forth on its metal basket. Its leaves had faded to a dusky brown, and the cascading vines withered into crumpled, dried balls.

  “It’ll regrow, Margot,” Hank said. “She didn’t completely pull it.”

  “She shouldn’t have been able to pull any of it.” Margot led me across the room and over to the sink by my wrists.

  “Use mild soap,” Lakshmi called to her. “The ink hasn’t fully settled yet.”

  Aunt Margot glared at her as she opened the tap. The cold water washed over my hands, smothering the steam but little wisps continued to slip by. It wasn’t until she began washing the oil away did the sensation spill from me and a calm peace settled in the pit of my stomach.

  “So…” Uncle Hank sighed before he melted into a smile. “She’s a blackhand.”

  Lakshmi returned his grin. “She is.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Just like that? I’m a blackhand? You’re both sure of it.”

  “Absolutely.” Uncle Hank’s eyes twinkled as she gazed at me.

  Aunt Margot scoffed. “I don’t mean to be the wet towel here.” She held up the white, flower-patterned towel she had just used to dry my hands and tossed it on the counter. “I mean, it’s exciting she’s a blackhand, but I think it’s wrong to just ignore the grave elephant in the room.”

  I swallowed. “Which is what?” My emotions were being stretched and toyed with, yanked this way and that. It was exhausting, not even the blissful residue of the mugwort could cover it up.

  “Margot, we can’t be sure of that just now,” Uncle Hank said.

  She rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s bollocks, Hank.”

  “Will someone please tell me what’s going on. I hate how you just talk over my head.”

  “You may be a blackhand, but your powers are obviously crippled given how that mugwort reacted on your hands,” Aunt Margot answered. “This is what happens when flups enter the line. They give birth to more flups and sometimes snuff the blackhands, too.”

  “Margot!”

  “What?” She challenged him. “It’s the truth. We all saw smoke. It should’ve been fire.”

  My bottom lip trembled. “Well, how do we fix it?”

  “You can’t,” Aunt Margot snapped. “You may be able to pull a few essences here or there, but your powers will never be what they should’ve been. At least not without oil they won’t be.”

  I felt that all too familiar pang of desperation spike my chest. “Then, I’ll use oil.”

  Aunt Margot chuckled, shaking her head. “Didn’t you hear me before? Mugwort Oil of the Fourth Essence is illegal. You can’t go walking around with your hands smoking.”

  “Is there another oil I could use, then?”

  “No.”

  “
Well, there might be another way.” Uncle Hank cut in. “A colleague of mine, Doctor Maxwell Raby, has been working on such a thing for a few years.”

  “Raby?” Aunt Margot said the name as though it left a nasty taste on her tongue.

  “Yes.” Hank nodded. “He hasn’t publicized his work on this project yet, but since I’ve received my license, he’s spoken to me on the matter due to our family’s… hard times.”

  Aunt Margot’s brow drew into a hundred lines. “You wouldn’t dare offer your niece up to be his guinea pig.”

  “No, of course, not.” Uncle Hank threw his arms to his sides. “But he might be able to work with her or find some treatment.”

  Margot’s jaw dropped, and she flung up her hands. “I’m done with this. I will no longer participate in this lunacy. These are the kinds of conversations that receive a visit from the Sightless Sons.” She stomped her way to the exit before halting. Her hand grabbed the wooden frame of the archway and a new, calm poise overtook her. “Before I go, I want to remind everyone that you can never speak upon what has happened today nor what was said. We’ll all be thrown into Luciveld without so much as a headline or trial.”

  Chapter Eight

  Just as Aunt Margot had recommended, we never spoke upon the event again. The weeks slipped by in an uneventful droll until I reached week three in my healing process.

  It developed overnight—a faint, iridescent sheen appeared upon the black ink. It didn’t shimmer in the same way as my uncle and aunt’s were want to. Aunt Margot’s looked like oil on water, full of greens, purples, and yellows while Uncle Hank’s shifted in the hues of a fiery sunset. But mine was a mixture of radiant blues with a pop of gold and copper every now and then depending on how the sun hit it. Uncle Hank had claimed the revelation was a beacon of hope.

  “Hold out your arm, focus on the plant, and draw your hand closed while pulling it back to your chest, like your gently plucking something off of its petals,” Uncle Hank instructed.