by Marian Gray
“It’s true. I was posted in the Stiziology department this evening and while on my watch, someone broke into Professor Claassen’s office. The perpetrator is a whitehand, as the chains used to hang the terraria were pulled. When I chased him, he ran. I could’ve sworn there were others with him, but they split and I followed this one back to his cluster.”
“First, that is impossible as the department can only be opened by blackhands outside of office hours. I don’t know if you realized yet, boy, but Idris Young is a whitehand,” Professor Saviano snapped before turning to Chancellor Day. “Idris and I meet early in the mornings for tutoring. There’s no way Idris was involved in this student prank.”
“Student prank? This was no prank.” Claassen growled. “Chancellor Day, please?”
The room fell silent as everyone awaited for either Chancellor Day or Chief Inspector Cowell to speak. It was the latter that chose to open his mouth. “So, three students found out past curfew, and Professor Claassen’s office broke into. As Professor Saviano so readily pointed out, it would take a blackhand to get Mr. Young into the Stiziology department outside of normal operating hours.” Cowell’s stare feasted on Ross and me. “What were the three of you after in Professor Claassen’s office?”
“This is insulting,” Adder snarled, standing from his seat. “I’m sure you of all people know who Idris Young is. It’s outrageous you would even suggest that Lady Ebenmore and Mr. Young acted together.”
“Is it outrageous?” Cowell asked him.
“Yes!” He took a step toward the inspector. “Given the roles society has decided for them, the two are strangers at best.”
“I don’t believe it’s society, Lord Adder. I believe it’s the aristocracy,” Cowell replied. “Maybe you don’t have as tight a collar on Lady Ebenmore as you originally believed.”
Chancellor Day stood from her seat with all the grace of an angry fairy godmother. “This isn’t a conversation to be had in front of students, and I’m sorry to injure everyone’s pride, but there are larger matters at hand. I don’t care about curfews. I don’t care about students causing mischief in your office, Professor Claassen. What I care about is that we now have two more students who are missing hands and no arrests to show for it.” She turned to Cowell. “Stop harassing my pupils with your draconian measures and do your fucking job!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Professor Saviano and Idris didn’t have tutoring lessons in the early mornings. That was a lie told to save Idris. The whitehands couldn’t afford to have their lord and savior suspended or possibly expelled, so there were no punishments brought against him.
Despite Saviano saving Idris, I advocated to have him put back on the list of possible suspects. It was no secret amongst the three of us that Amber and Kayla’s families were leading witnesses in the charges against Saviano. In fact, it was their parents’ testimonies that was driving the entire case. With both of them in the hospital, Ross had received word from her father that the case was suspended for the time being.
Also, one couldn’t overlook the fact that in order to intercept the Sightless Sons’ agent, Saviano had to be out of his room and roaming the school. This was the second time we had caught him nearby the scene of the crime.
The two issues in this assumption was that I didn’t know how to explain his obvious absence at the school in ’94. Chief Inspector Cowell had said that we weren’t dealing with a copycat, and Saviano was very clearly posted in Rotterpool at the time, leading operations for the Sightless Sons. And Godkin. I agreed with Idris—Saviano wouldn’t have taken Godkin’s hands, unless he had no other way out. Perhaps Godkin had discovered Saviano was the Hand Collector.
Of course, Idris defended him, claiming those two issues were enough to vindicate him, but Ross agreed that we needed to look into him at the very least.
There was one other piece of that evening that had fallen by the way side, and that was my evident lack of ability. Idris hadn’t brought it up but he wasn’t an idiot. There was no way my performance that night coupled with the rampant reports of my lack of power hadn’t sparked something in his mind. He had read Dr. Raby’s book and knew my mother was a flup. It was only a matter of time before he told someone of his suspicions, and I feared that person would be Professor Saviano.
My circumstances pushed me into action, and I elected to have the surgery. Dr. Raby insisted we do it over spring break, so that my recovery would be concealed and he gave me a small bump of oils to carry me through the first half of the spring semester.
“Nervous?” He asked as I settled down into the surgical chair.
My feet rested, propped on the vinyl wrap while my head was cradled in some stiff cushioned contraption. “Terrified,” I answered.
“There’s no reason to be.” He tried to assure me. “This is a minor procedure. Since it will take place just below the surface of the skin, we only need to use a local anesthetic.”
“I’m not worried about dying or complications of being put under. I’m terrified of losing the little possibility I have at pushing and pulling essences. Even I know that the slightest amount of damage to the hands effects one’s abilities.”
He paused, staring down at the tray of sterile instruments at his side. “I wouldn’t have suggested this if I believed the likely outcome was permanent removal of your powers. I’m on your side, Zuri. I’ve been here since the beginning and I always will be.”
I smiled and nodded, not wanting him to take my apprehension personally. I trusted his expertise and his research, the uncertain variable in this endeavor that made me uneasy was me—my own hands and ink. They had failed me countless times when I desperately needed them, and now it felt as though I was just setting myself up for another failure.
Dr. Raby slipped his hands into a pair of latex gloves and selected a small needle with a large barrel. “This will numb the area.” He explained as he injected the liquid just underneath the black of my tattoos.
The point stung but I bared it. The rest of my life depended on this moment. I had to see it through to the end.
His fingers wiggled as they roamed over his array of scalpels, trying to decide which was best for the initial incision. After only a few seconds they plucked a thin blade. Dr. Raby placed the sharp metal edge on my skin and sliced, cutting carefully around the ink. “Do you feel anything?”
“No.” I shook my head. Watching him I was mesmerized by his skill. His hand didn’t shake or quiver. The incision was a clean line wrapping around one side of my mehndi designs.
“I heard you almost got suspended from school,” Dr. Raby mentioned as he lifted my skin. The flesh looked weird, bright red. It bled, seeping over the edge. Dr. Raby grabbed a large piece of gauze and dabbed the blood away.
“Who did you hear that from?”
He glanced up at me. “Lord Nicholas Adder.”
So, Adder and Raby were still good friends it seemed. “Yes, I was caught out past curfew.”
Dr. Raby picked up a wafer thin piece of silicone. It was so fine, it was practically transparent. Using a pair of tweezers and a metal rod, he slid the implant through the opening in my hand. He then centered it before carefully pulling the skin back over.
“What are you doing out past curfew?”
I didn’t know whether to tell him the truth or lie. I had a feeling he would disapprove of me snooping around in Professor Claassen’s office. Dr. Raby was deathly loyal to blackhands and Professor Claassen would be an ally on that front. Also, I was certain Chief Inspector Cowell’s assertion that Idris and I were working together had planted and sprouted in Lord Adder’s head by now. If I admitted to being in Claassen’s office, there was a chance Cowell’s assumption would be confirmed.
“What does the implant do?” I decided to change the subject instead.
“It’s a magnifier of sorts that I developed. It’s a combination of things, but the main proponent is oil. Mugwort Oil of the Fourth Essence to be exact.”
“What?�
�� I swallowed. “Isn’t that illegal?” That was the oil Lakshmi had applied it to my skin when they were first trying to figure out what was wrong with my hands. Aunt Margot had flipped her top and bemoaned the entire event.
“Yes, it is, but it’s diluted. I elected to use it because it’s one of the most powerful and attainable oils that we have.” He set down his tools and picked up a suture, then began sewing the incision closed. “Is what cChief Inspector Cowell said true?”
I bit my tongue. “What do you mean?”
“Did you sneak out with Idris Young?” He sewed the black thread to my flesh.
I breathed a long air of relief that I hadn’t answered Raby before. “Does Adder think I did?” He had been the first to stand up and defy Cowell’s assumption. It was possible he was only doing that to keep me in the school.
“He believes you have Idris Young wrapped around your finger,” Dr. Raby said without glancing away from his work.
I had to be careful with my next words. Dr. Raby didn’t know Idris like I did. He saw him as the opposition’s golden child. “We have a mutual respect as any wise individual would for their enemy.” It pained me to reduce my relationship with him to that, to paint it out as though he was nothing to me but somebody I would meet on the battleground ten to twenty years.
He was more to me than just a respected enemy. I know we framed our relationship as a truce, but it had expanded into something much more tangible. We didn’t have the luxury of exploring what was between us as the other students did, but through his cryptic responses to Ross’s questions, I knew he was somewhat interested in me.
“And that’s it?” Dr. Raby asked as he placed the last stitch.
“For now.”
“What do you mean by that?” He began numbing my other hand.
“Simply that I don’t know what the future holds. I like to leave all my options open.”
Something about my response perturbed him, because his hands quit moving and he just looked up at me. “I know you’re young and your family just returned you into the world six months ago, so you may be speaking from a naive frame of mind, but there shouldn’t be any more between the two of you ever. You can’t trust him. It’s in his best interest if he sways you and makes you believe that there is a budding friendship or relationship of some sort. His brother works for the party, advocating white hands the primacy daily. His mother is a whitehand highborn, and his father is an activist for whitehand rule. There is no reaching Idris. He was born and raised in this. The only one that can sway in this game, is you. Don’t let him move you. Don’t let him trick you. And don’t let him play with your emotions. Our entire community is at risk if they turn you.”
I met his eyes, holding his stare. “I would never even dream of turning against my faction. After what I’ve endured at Blacksaw, I am well aware that the blackhands are my family. It was a blackhand who volunteered to fix my snuffed hands in secret. It was a blackhand that saved me from suspension and the sightless sons. It was a blackhand that befriended me in a time when nobody else would. Blood or not, I am with you all to the very end.” None of it was a lie. I truly treasured the support around me, and I wasn’t blind to the fact that all the people lifting me up were blackhands.
And I wasn’t an ink-traitor. My heart was simply lost, teased by the prospect of not being able to have the one gorgeous strapping man who I wanted.
“It is such a relief to hear you say that.” He continued to inject the numbing solution into my flesh. “Through underground channels, I have heard many times that the whitehand highborns are pulling strings to flip you. You have no idea how terrifying it is for me to be doing all this research on unlocking and improving your powers with the hanging worry that in a few years you’ll turn around and use it against me and everyone that I love.”
“I know it seems like I kind of just emerged as an adult out of nowhere, but my uncle and my aunt have been in my life for as long as I can remember. You do realize that flipping would mean turning against them as well, right?”
The idea was completely unfathomable to me. If my relationship with Idris did anything, it lessened my ignorance. This in turn lessened my dislike for whitehands. In the beginning, I feared them because they were the strange unknown. My interaction with Idris showed me that they were just people like everyone else with families, jobs, hobbies, and aspirations. It wasn’t making me hate blackhands.
Dr. Raby lifted the scalpel to start the first incision on my left hand but then paused. “Would you like to do it?”
At first, the question disturbed me. Of course I didn’t want to slice open my own hand, but then I saw the symbolism behind it. This was me taking back control of my future.
I stretched out my right hand and plucked the scalpel from his open palm. But my grip wasn’t strong enough. My hand was still numb, and the medical knife teetered between my fingers. Dr. Raby wrapped his own hand around mine, careful not to disturb the sutures, and lowered the blade to my skin. Together, with his hand over my, I sliced a small line beside the tattoo and opened by flesh for the oil implant.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My week at Dr. Raby’s was spent lazing about while an apprentice waited upon me. For the first twenty-four hours after my surgery, I didn’t feel too much discomfort. However, the second, third, and fourth were nightmares. Dr. Raby provided me with medication to reduce swelling and redness; and when it felt as though I had hundreds of angry fire ants beneath my skin, eating me from the inside out, I received a strong painkiller.
By the time spring break drew to a close and I returned to school, my hands had mostly healed. Dr. Raby insisted I visit his apprentices on campus to receive a few more pushes of mending essences, but that was only to reduce the appearance of some fine lines. I had four to six weeks to wait before the implants set, until then, he warned that my magic would be a bit wonky. I was too elated to come out of the surgery with the transition still apparent on my hands that it hadn’t dawned on me that my midterms landed right in the middle of this healing phase.
“And what essences could you expect to find in the herb feverfew?” Professor Claassen asked. He sat tall with pen in hand and papers stacked neatly on the table before him.
He, Professor Robben, and Pwofese Middlemiss had been selected to lead the oral and practical portion of my midterms. Claassen was a hardass, but I preferred him over Professor Saviano. I believed to be a gift from the universe that I didn’t have a whitehand on my board.
“The fifteenth, twenty-first, and ninth essence,” I answered.
“Who founded the first, second, and the third law of ousio motion?”
“Queen Nafanua.”
“In order to push a proper light spell, which two digits must always be touching?”
“One and two.”
“Which essences are commonly found in iron-carbon alloys?”
The question gave me pause. I didn’t know the ousio-composition of inorganic materials as well as I should. “That’s steel, right?”
None of them either confirmed or denied my claim. Professor Claassen simply repeated the test question.
I ran a hand through my hair and sucked in a deep breath, thinking. “Eighth, thirteenth, and…” Fuck. There were two more, as each alloy held two. “Fourteenth and twenty-ninth.”
“Good,” Claassen replied. “And which essences go to which alloy.”
I had no idea. “Eighth and fourteenth come from the carbon alloy, and the thirteenth and twenty-ninth come from iron?”
“Incorrect. Eighth and fourteenth come from the carbon alloy, and the thirteenth and twenty-ninth are pulled from the iron alloy,” Claassen said as he wrote on the piece of paper before him.
“When did tattooing first arrive in Europe?” Pwofese Middlemiss began her round of questions.
“The most direct evidence we have of early tattooing comes from Otzi the Iceman who dates from the 4th millennium BC.”
“And when were familial gifts in the noblesse first r
ecognized?”
“In the 1600s.”
“Why then?”
“They were used as justification by those select families to rise above the peasant class and assume power. This was fueled by the birth of the doctrine of the divine right of kings.”
“Do you know how these special powers are passed?”
It irked me that Middlemiss was hitting so hard on questions about familial gifts. But I heard her loud and clear. I still hadn’t confessed my snuffed status to Chancellor Day, and she knew. It didn’t matter though. I didn’t have any intentions of doing so. If this surgery was as successful as both Dr. Raby and I hoped, I wouldn’t need to say anything.
“Genetically.”
“Through which parent?”
“Either, but only one is passed on.” I had never wondered which familial gift I had received due to my snuffed status, but now my imagination floated off with me. Dr. Raby hadn’t said how the procedure would affect familial powers.
“Are you trying to say something, Middlemiss?” Professor Robben asked.
“No, I finished.” She smiled at him with her deep rose-colored lips.
Professor Robben sighed. “What does the sixth essence taste like?”
“Moss.”
“And to which hand posturing does it best respond?”
“Circular.”
He nodded. “Which out of the basic thirty-three elements is the heaviest to pull?”
“The twenty-sixth?”
He shook his head. “Twenty-seventh.” I should’ve known that.
“Time,” Professor Claassen called out, signifying the end of my oral exam.”Stand for the practical.”
My feet spread shoulder-width apart and my knees sunk slightly, getting comfortable.
“Whenever you are ready, please perform Ongian form number one.”
Normally, our traditional forms frightened me. They were a dance of sort between wielder and essence, beginning with a pull and launching into a series of moves that yo-yoed the essences around hands and room alike. They were seen as essential in order to truly master the manipulation of essences, the control was one of the things that snuffed hands struggled with most.
