The Hand Collector

by Marian Gray

  Professor Polczynska was very hands-on when it came to teaching us the antiquated sounds, even going so far as to reach into a student’s mouth and move their tongue into the correct position. Her dedication to our education was stunning to say the least.

  My final class of the day was chemistry with Professor Godkin. Ross had saved me a seat in the back, making it impossible for the students to stare at me without being completely obvious. Still, some did, and I took it upon myself to glare back.

  “Now,” Professor Godkin cleared his throat. “I know some of you who are blackhands may be wondering why the school has decided to punish you and make you sit through a chemistry course. After all, you pull and work with organic matter. What does chemistry, the backbone of whitehand magic, have to do with you?

  “My goal with this class for those of you with white ink on your hands will be to teach you the structure, composition, and properties of the matter you pull. For those with black ink, I hope to teach you how to defeat your enemy.” He grinned wide with that final statement, and his eyes shone bright with excitement.

  “I like him already,” Ross whispered to me as a lively energy rippled through the students.

  But the joy was cut short by the abrupt entrance of a man who I presumed to be another professor. Godkin looked over to him with a welcoming smile. “For those of you who are not aware, this is Professor Saviano, department head of chemistry.” Several students gasped.

  Professor Saviano didn’t so much as glance at us as he strode with urgency to Godkin. Saviano’s shoulder-length silver hair whipped around his grizzled face. A long scar drew across his cheek from eye to jaw. He pulled Godkin to the side and whispered.

  “Saviano is the Sightless Son’s most highly decorated individual. He garnered the most kills during the wars with the others and created some of the most effective strategies for victory,” Ross whispered.

  “Sounds terrifying.”

  She nodded. “He’s currently having war crime charges brought against him. My dad is a lawyer working with the prosecution.”

  “What?” I said in disbelief.

  “He’s a straight up killer,” she continued. “The blackhand community was outraged when Blacksaw sniped him from Pale Mary and gave him the department chair.”

  Godkin’s eyes searched the small crowd as Saviano exited the classroom. There were only twenty of us, but he ran his gaze across our faces several times before saying anything. “Volkerink and Ebenmore, I’d like to speak to you after class please.”

  My stomach flipped.

  “I’ll wait for you.” Ross patted my shoulder.

  Only three people remained in the classroom: Godkin, me, and a blonde-haired girl whom I presumed was Volkerink.

  “Thank you for staying behind, ladies,” Professor Godkin began. “I wasn’t aware I had a blackhand highborn in my class, let alone two. Usually, we only allow a max of one blackhand highborn in a chemistry class. The belief is that with this introductory class, it is important that whitehands feel empowered and free to explore their powers. Obviously, that’s a bit difficult to do when you have a highborn right next to you, able to smack you down with little struggle.”

  “So, what?” Volkerink asked. “You want us to not try so the whitehands don’t get discouraged?” There was a hint of disgust on her voice.

  “No, I would like you two not to gang-up on the whitehands or go full throttle during exercises,” he said. “I was a highborn whitehand in a beginning biology class once and had the same thing asked of me. It’s not difficult. Be courteous to your classmates so that we all feel comfortable learning together. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “Yes.” At this point, I didn’t know if I was even as strong as the commoners given my status.

  “Volkerink?”

  “Yes, I understand,” she sighed.

  “Good and thank you both for your understanding. You may leave now.”

  We exited the classroom in silence, but Volkerink was heated. I could feel the annoyance radiating off of her.

  “Can you believe that?” She asked me was soon as the door closed behind us. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Her blue eyes hardened. “How can you of all people say that? You probably won’t get anything out of that class. A complete waste of time!”

  “You know who I am?” I asked as Ross drew to my side.

  “Yes, I’m not deaf. I heard him call your name. Everyone’s been talking about the return of an Ebenmore to Blacksaw.” She grinned. “I for one welcome our new blackhand overlord. It feels good to have such a colossal leader to follow. You have no idea how terrified you have the whitehand student body simply by being here. Rumors are already flying around that the Imperial Black is reforming under your direction.”

  I swallowed hard. That was one expectation I would not be able to live up to. “Zuri,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “Anouk.” She took it with a firm grasp. “And you are?” She turned to Ross.

  “Ross Monaghan.”

  “A commoner?” There was marked disappointment in Anouk’s voice. “This isn’t the sort you should be spending your time with, Zuri.”

  I watched as Ross deflated right before my eyes. “She’s my friend.” It may have been a premature declaration, but she felt more like a friend than anyone else in the school, save Idris.

  A cold, wet blob slammed into the side of my head. Water sprayed across my face, drenching me. My cheek throbbed from the impact “Fuck the black aristocracy!” A female student shouted from down the hall.

  Anouk’s head snapped to the side. Murder played in her eyes. Her hand shot out toward the truck of a tree inlaid in the wall. She pulled back and fired off essences in rapid speed. “Zanks ijs,” she hissed.

  My assailant screamed as a long cut opened across her forehead. Her hands cupped the open wound, but blood seeped from the sides. Bright red dribbled down her temples and curled around her chin. Several students shot us nasty looks as they ran to the girls side, peeling her hands from the cut to insect the wound.

  “Anouk Volkerink,” a froggy voice croaked nearby.

  “Professor Claassen.” Anouk panicked, tucking her hands behind her back.

  “You wouldn’t be pulling essences from the school in order to attack your fellow students, would you?” A short man with thick arms and rich black hair loomed nearby.

  “No, of course not.” Anouk shook her head.

  “Good.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Get yourself to the nurse, Ms. Wilson.” He called out to the injured whitehand that stood at the other end of the corridor. “Yes, please help her, Mr. Miller.” Claassen scoffed before turning his attention back to Anouk.

  Anouk squirmed and shrank in his presence. Her immediate withdrawal made me uneasy.

  “Listen, Volkerink,” he began in strained whisper. “I am just as disgusted by the thousands of whitehands that are allowed to roam these halls. It desecrates the very spirit of this institution. Regardless, I have managed to work here for twenty-five years without lashing out at any students. I expect the same of you during your five years in these halls.” His burning eyes flicked to me. “And you too, Ebenmore.”

  “Yes, Professor Claassen,” Anouk answered.

  “We’ll let this little incident slide, but I will not be so lenient with the next. Understand?”

  “Yes, Professor Claassen,” the three of us responded in unison.

  He took a deep breath before turning on his heel and leaving of us standing there shell-shocked.

  “I hope no whitehand ever has a class with him,” Ross said.

  “They won’t. He only teaches upper division blackhand classes for that very reason,” Anouk replied as we all watched him go.

  He had an eerie presence that I couldn’t exactly place. I wasn’t sure if it was this inherent belief that he was powerful or his severe regard for students. Either way, I would be sure to stay as far
away from Professor Claassen as possible.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The first week of classes had been spent getting acquainted with professors, their teaching methods, and the grounds. Whether on purpose or not, the school had been structured in a way that you only became familiar with your daily routes. All other nonessential wings and rooms were background noise to me.

  It wasn’t until the second week that my situation really sank in. I had yet to get into contact with Dr. Maxwell Robbie and in three out of my six classes, we had already begun exercises on how to properly pull the first, second, and third essences. These were the most basic and plentiful essences in the world, yet I was struggling to keep up. I hid it well, though. Given my surname, the professors turned their attention to pupils they assumed would need more instruction. But I knew sooner or later without Dr. Raby’s intervention, I would get recognized for what I was—a snuffed blackhand.

  Part way through my third week, I received an official invitation to a university-hosted mixer that would bring students, faculty, and donors together to celebrate the new school year. I wasn’t inclined to go, but Ross changed my mind. She was quick to point out that success in life isn’t always solely about one’s merit but also about one’s connections.

  I was throwing away an opportunity.

  Throughout the week, Ross mentioned several times how she would give anything to be a fly on the wall at the party, and I did my best to assure her that this was going to be some snooty event, boring and trite. I don’t think she bought it though. She sat in the common room in her pajamas, smiled and waved at me out as I climbed the spiral steps. Just before we were both out of view, I saw the tears swell in her eyes.

  I had half a mind to march right back down and spend the night with her, but I knew that wasn’t what she was upset about. She wasn’t tearful over my lack of companionship but my status. She was envious of my grand façade.

  The mixer was located in the Axolotl Wing—a part of the school that wasn’t a part of my usual day—and I had to take my map along with me. The Axolotl wing was only accessible through the elevator and located at the top floor. The chandeliers were made of ice that steamed rather than dripped. Braided wood line the floors, polished and sanded down to a gleam.

  Several individuals stood in the main corridor, chatting away with their friends and other partygoers. They didn’t even glance at me as I strode past. The change in pace was a breath of fresh air. I was one of their own, and therefore, I was nothing special.

  “Invitation, please,” a man dressed in a mixed black-and-white tuxedo asked me as I approached the main hall doors.

  I handed him the golden card. He took a quick glance at it before returning it to me and then stepped aside, hauling the monstrous door wide open.

  “Thank you,” I said as I stepped through.

  The main hall was everything I would’ve expected from Blacksaw but nothing I could’ve imagined. The entire ceiling was cast in glass, cut by green metal that formed geometric shapes. Tropical birds flitted across the dome, flashing bright scarlet red, deep sapphire blue, and the most buttery yellow I had ever seen. Real, live trees line the walls, reaching up toward the star-speckled night sky. In the center, was a marvelous glass sculpture that was as thin as a sheet of paper, yet full of coy life.

  It was a greenhouse of dreams—a fantasy land fabricated in order to mesmerize. I took a few steps in, my eyes were fixed on the sculpture. When I neared, I realized some unknown iridescent liquid was dripping onto the sculpture and running down its sleek sides.

  “I didn’t think you were going to show.” A familiar voice sounded from my side.

  “Why not?” I asked Anouk.

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes, placing her hand on her ruby hip. “We both know this isn’t your sort of crowd.”

  “On the contrary, I’m actually enjoying not sticking out like a sore thumb.” I hadn’t decided whether or not I liked Anouk quite yet. She was friendly toward me, helpful even at times, but I didn’t know if that was enough to override her extreme beliefs and attitude.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible for you.” She nodded toward my hair. “Have you thought about dying it black to match your family?”

  I shook my head. “No, I haven’t.” I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though I was attached to the color, and she was right. It being such an odd copper red hue was going to attract attention no matter what. At least with the black, most wouldn’t be shocked to learn that I was an Ebenmore. Blue eyes, olive skin, and thick black hair were the hallmark characteristics of the family. “How long have you been here so far?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “An hour at most. I don’t really like any of my chambermates, so I wasn’t inclined to linger.”

  “Why not?”

  “It isn’t important.” She swallowed as her eyes drifted around.

  “I don’t think either one of us believes you.”

  “Well, it’s just that…” She sighed. “It’s just that they bully me. A few days ago they pulled out all of my undergarments from my trunk and hung them in the tree in the middle of our room. I think they’re just jealous.”

  I felt awful for her. Nobody deserved that, but at the same time, she never cooled it with the aristocracy bit. “Have you tried talking to them or hanging out with them in the common room?”

  “No, I figured it would be easier to just make friends with other highborns. I spotted Simon Hawthorne around here somewhere, but he’s been avoiding me ever since I introduced myself.”

  “I have no idea who that is.”

  She rolled her eyes once again. “He’s a fourth-year student, and his grandfather is president of the board.”

  “We probably look like babies to him. That’s why he’s running,” I told her. “He’s got more important things to do.”

  “Speaking of important things.” She took a step closer to me and leaned in. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I know it’s an extremely sensitive topic.”

  “What?”

  She lightly touched my arm and pulled me a few steps closer to the glass sculpture and away from the crowd. “Do you have any plans to join the Imperial Black or reinstate it? I’ve been digging to see if it’s still around, but I haven’t found anything.”

  “Why do you want to join the Imperial Black so badly?”

  Her blonde brow drew together. “How can you ask that of me? Look around you. Don’t you find it a tad insulting that the mixer isn’t segregated? My family was a part of the eradication process a century ago. They didn’t give up their lives so our school could be infested with whitehands. This is our home, Zuri. This was the place that turned the tide two hundred years ago when we believed whitehand domination was almost final.”

  “I understand. I do. I’ve seen my family tree. I know we were all a part of the Imperial Black at one time.” I shook my head. “But the way they speak about it now—I don’t think it’s something either one of us should get involved with.”

  It was difficult to argue my stance, because I didn’t know exactly what bad thing the Imperial Black had done. Nobody would speak to me about it. From the little that I had gathered, the Imperial Black was an underground society that originated to ensure the success of blackhands who were attending Blacksaw. They were shot down when the party came into power because the party preached equality and the Imperial Black at that time sought superiority.

  Anouk shook her head. “That’s all whitehand propaganda. For some reason they want blackhands to be ashamed of every little thing we did, but whitehands constantly get a pass. The only thing wrong that the Imperial Black did was exist, and I’m not surprised your family is trying to distance itself. After all, the Ebenmores are one of the founding families. It makes you a prime target of the party.”

  I struggled to rectify the two reactions. Aunt Margot and my mother made it seem like some heinous organization, something so unspeakable and unworthy of discussion. An
ouk on the other hand treated it as though it had been slandered and blown up into a monster that it wasn’t.

  “Don’t let them make you hate yourself. The Ebenmores have done nothing wrong. The school owes its life to Zara, and there’s been many decades when you all were the backbone of the blackhand community. We need you again. We need the Imperial Black alive and healthy and an Ebenmore at the front of our ranks.”

  “Are you ladies behaving yourselves?” Another woman approached us from behind. She wore a periwinkle blue gown, and her white hair was pulled back in a bulbous bun. Silver butterflies rested on her locks.

  “Chancellor Day.” Anouk turned to her with the largest grin. “It’s so nice to see you again. I was just telling Zuri how fortunate we are to be here.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet yet, but obviously I’ve heard so much about you, Zuri. The entire school has been able to do nothing but talk about you.” She tilted her head, observing me closely. “Welcome to Blacksaw, Lady Ebenmore. I hope it exceeds your expectations.”

  “Did I hear you say Ebenmore, Luella?” Another older woman dressed in a puffy peach gown with tiny feathers flopping about her hair asked Chancellor Day.

  “Yes, this is Zuri Ebenmore and this is Anouk Volkerink. Zuri and Anouk this is Rosemary Hawthorne–Griffin Hawthorne’s wife.”

  The woman held up a pair of gold spectacles with an attached handle, peering at me through the thick lenses. “Red hair? Isn’t that curious.”

  Chancellor Day nodded. “Oh, most curious.” But she didn’t sound genuinely curious.

  “Do we know who the father is yet?”

  “No.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” Rosemary tutted. “You know, red hair runs primarily in whitehand families.”