The Hand Collector Read online

  The Hand Collector

  Blacksaw University Book One

  Marian Gray

  Copyright © 2019 by Marian Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Description

  He’s the reigning hero. She has a destiny to fulfill.

  Together they’ll find there are bigger things than failure to fear.

  Zuri Ebenmore hails from a dying blackhand family. Magic used to appear every generation and then every other generation. Now, it has become so rare that some would like to forget the blackhand bloodline ever existed. But with the arrival of her 19th lunar birthday, the truth can no longer be kept hidden.

  Sucked into a secret society of blackhands and whitehands, Zuri is forced to navigate a world of fame, glory, and legend—all while learning how to push and pull her magic.

  Everyone is watching and waiting for her to break.

  Unfortunately, Zuri catches the eye of an adept whitehand—Idris Young. He’s talented, charming, and unattainable. At least that’s what Zuri was led to believe.

  A twirling mystery soon entwines the two in a delicate charade that cannot fail or Zuri’s future as a blackhand is at an end.

  For all those who always wanted a little magic in their lives.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Thank You for Reading!

  Also by Marian Gray

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed the dark breakfast tea, but drinking it was like sitting at the children’s table for Thanksgiving when you’ve already moved out of your parents’ house. The other three had coffee, black as pitch. But they were adults. The adults drank coffee after brunch while the children had tea.

  “More tea?” My mom eyed me as I stirred my small, blue china cup.

  I mouthed a ‘no’. I didn’t need another refill on my cup of adolescence.

  “How’s the new position at work coming along, Zeineb?” Uncle Hank asked my mom. His glimmering strands of charcoal hair rested over his shoulder, pulled taut in a bubble ponytail. He twisted the ends with his gloved hands, wrapping the tendrils tightly around a black leather finger.

  “Well, it’s still HR. The paycheck is bigger, and I have fewer people to answer to which is always nice. I’m hearing the same stories from the same people, though. And instead of just documenting it and passing it along, I now am the one who has to decide how to handle the matter.” She lifted her cup to her dry lips and sipped on the steaming coffee. “To be honest, things are a bit of a mess. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I inherited an ongoing sexual harassment case and a department head that wants to deny a woman maternity leave because her due date isn’t a convenient time for him.”

  “That’s disheartening.” Aunt Margot’s wide mouth frowned.

  “What about you two? Have you found something that interests you or are you still… supplementing your income?” Her blue eyes shifted between my uncle and aunt.

  The pair had received a sizable settlement from a factory accident before I was born, and my mother couldn’t stand that they had decided to live off of it rather than continue to work regular, full-time jobs.

  Aunt Margot leaned back in her chair. It groaned beneath her weight. “Supplementing our income?” She repeated with an ounce of sauce in her tone.

  Their injuries from the incident had been so severe that their hands had required extensive surgery. Neither one was ever spotted without a pair of gloves to cover the scars and chemical trauma.

  Uncle Hank placed a hand on Aunt Margot’s arm and gave it a gentle pat, reeling in the bulldog of a woman. “I’m actually applying for a specialist’s certification. I’m hoping to hear back in a few weeks. I’ve been assured by others in the field it will get approved, but only time will tell.”

  “A certification for what?” I glanced up from my cup. For as long as I could remember, Uncle Hank had never had a job, let alone demonstrated any sort of specialized skills.

  His brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat. “It’s a researcher’s license of sorts.”

  “In what field? I didn’t know you needed a license for that.” He was hiding something, probably lying to appease my mom. We rarely got through a Sunday brunch without her barking at them to get “real” jobs.

  “It appears so. Zuri—” Mom turned her attention to me, steering the conversation away from my uncle. “Have you picked an official date yet?”

  “For what?”

  “Your birthday.” The three of them laughed. “When do you want to celebrate?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday. I loved my mom, but she could be a bit paranoid. It always ruined things. I had been embarrassed numerous times before in middle school and wasn’t interested in repeating any of it, hence why I had avoided birthday parties for the last three years.

  “I don’t know. With graduation and finals coming up, I haven’t given it much thought.”

  “Well.” Aunt Margot jumped in. “Whether you decide to celebrate is completely up to you, but we have something we wanted to discuss with you about your birthday.” She nudged Uncle Hank with her elbow.

  His lips thinned, and he shook his head as the color drained from his face.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “You need to. It is your duty.”

  “What?” Mom asked. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing.” He folded his arms across his chest. “If I wanted to discuss it, I would have brought it up.”

  Margot huffed. “Hank, I swear.”

  “Come on. Just tell us.” I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued.

  His eyes met mine and softened into little pools of sympathy. He offered me a small, almost apologetic frown. Had he done something wrong?

  “Uncle Hank, what’s going on?” Mom’s voice tightened.

  “Zuri’s nineteenth birthday is approaching and…” Aunt Margot didn’t finish her thought, leaving me hanging on the end of her sentence.

  My mom gasped, throwing herself back into her chair. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “By the black and the white, Margot!” Hank growled. “I told you ‘no’.”

  “My nineteenth birthday? Have you all been lying to me about my birth year?” I joked.

  “You can’t back down from this.” Margot slammed her gloved palm on the table. “You’re the oldest male in the family, and as such, it is your responsibility. Man up.”

  Uncle Hank practically deflated in his seat, yielding to Margot. “Zeineb—”

  “No
!” My mom cut him off. “She’s not going. We’re not discussing this.”

  He sighed. “But it’s time. You know it is.”

  “Over my dead body.” She enunciated every syllable.

  “What is going on?” My voice struggled to cut through their argument. “And why do you keep calling it my nineteenth birthday? It’s my eighteenth.” They were all acting so erratic.

  “Thank you.” My mother’s tongue was sharp enough to slit throats. “Both of you. How do you expect me to explain this?”

  I side-eyed her. “What have you been hiding from me?”

  My mother sighed. Her gaze trailed down from my eyes to the pineapple-themed placemat before her as Uncle Hank glanced to the ceiling, admiring the crown molding. Aunt Margot was the only one who had the courage to look at me which struck me as odd. My mother could stare down a lion out of sheer stubbornness.

  “No,” Aunt Margot said. “It’s your nineteenth lunar birthday. According to our traditions, you’re already eighteen.”

  I shook my head. “Lunar birthday?” This didn’t make any sense. “Did you two join a cult or something?” I laughed, beyond amused at the idea. “Is that why I’m never allowed at your house?”

  “Don’t say anymore, Margot.” My mom’s eyes narrowed on her. “Zuri, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Her face flushed. Her solemn composure sucked all the air out of the room, crushing my light-hearted disposition.

  I swallowed. “Alright.”

  “Our family has a bit of a sordid history. I fled it for a reason, Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot… haven’t.” She tucked her black hair behind her ear. The slender scars on her hands reddened. “It’s best if everyone forgets this ever happened. Zuri is going to stay in North Carolina, finish high school, and begin her studies at Duke in the fall. Just like we planned.”

  “Zeineb, that’s not fair. I’ve already received letters from Blacksaw. They’re expecting her, and the family’s return is highly anticipated,” Uncle Hank said. “At least give her a choice.”

  My mom’s eyes were the size of moons. “I don’t care how badly they want her. My answer is no! Absolutely not.” Tears built in the bottom of her lids, but she blinked them away. “How dare you even ask that of me. You were there. Have you forgotten everything we went through?”

  “No, I haven’t.” He sighed. “But things might be different for Zuri. We have to at least try. Don’t let me go to my grave believing I was the last.”

  “Your grave?” Mom scoffed. “I’ll probably meet mine before you do.”

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” If she thought I was going to just sit there with my lips buttoned, she was sorely mistaken. “What do you mean by ‘sordid history’? Like the mafia or something?”

  “Don’t be disrespectful.” My mom snapped at me.

  Aunt Margot chuckled to herself. “No, darling, nothing like the mafia.”

  “Far worse,” my mom added. “And that is why this conversation is over.”

  But I wasn’t willing to drop the subject and allow her to bury it. “Then what? What could possibly be far worse than the mafia?”

  “It’s not worse than the mafia.” Margot rolled her eyes.

  My mom shot Aunt Margot a scathing look, riddled with disgust and heated anger. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “Uncle Hank,” I began, “I want to know the truth.”

  There was something about that frown he had given me before this whole thing erupted that made me believe he would speak without fearing my mother’s wrath. Perhaps he felt guilty about my ignorance or maybe even responsible for my exclusion.

  “Zuri, there’s no point. I refuse to let you go. I forbid it.” My mom took my hands in hers. “I have sacrificed and suffered so much for you to have a normal life with normal friends and attend a normal school. Learning about our family’s past will ruin it all.”

  My chest tightened. She wasn’t making it easy for me to ignore this. What was it that was so terrible it would unhinge my entire life? Nothing in the world could tear me away from my family and my future. I had lived eighteen somewhat happy years without our history affecting me and could continue on the same. “Tell me. I want to know.”

  “Hank.” My mom said his name. It was a warning.

  He sighed, yielding. At least, I thought he would. “Well, the simple explanation is that you’re a blackhand—just like Margot and I.”

  “What?”

  My mother slammed her mug down on the table. Black coffee spilled over the white lip and ringed around the table’s surface. “How dare you!”

  He ignored the outburst. “A blackhand. It’s a type of magic-wielder.”

  ‘Magic’ I mouthed the word. I knew full well what magic was, but the idea of it actually existing failed to sink into my head. How was it possible that magic was real and I had never experienced or witnessed it before? And how could my family be magic-wielders without me ever having the slightest clue?

  “Mom, why didn’t you ever tell me you were a blackhand?” The new word felt so foreign on my tongue.

  Hank swallowed hard. “No, she’s—”

  “A flup,” Mom cut him off. “I have no magical abilities.”

  I could hear the blood thumping in my ears. Had my own mother really said those two words? Magical abilities. It couldn’t have meant what I thought it did, not in the traditional sense anyway.

  Uncle Hank’s hands massaged each other despite the leather that covered the skin. “But we have reason to believe you might be like your Aunt Margot and me.”

  “Wha—” I coughed, choking on the sentence that struggled to come out. “What is a blackhand exactly?”

  Uncle Hank began to loosen the gloves on his fingers.

  “Not in this house,” my mom hissed.

  “Oh, are you like a mutant?” I asked. “Did the accident at the factory do something to your hands? Like give you superpowers?”

  But now that I thought about it, I didn’t see how that scenario would have any genetic impact on my mother and me. I had noticed my mom had scars and faint lines on her hands, too, but she had never worked in a factory. Maybe whatever had occurred was more than a simple workplace accident.

  “No,” he answered. “There was never a factory nor an accident.”

  “That was all a cover story,” Margot added.

  “We wear these gloves to hide our markings, tattoos that act as a gateway for essences, err—magic to pass through. In and out, pulling from the world around us and pushing out in our own restructured way.”

  Margot patted Uncle Hank’s back with a soft touch. “On everyone’s nineteenth birthday, they get their hands unlocked.”

  My body felt slack in my seat. There they were. More words about magic and its existence without anyone denying the fact. “And you want me to do this? You want me to get my hands tattooed because you think I can perform magic?”

  Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot nodded.

  “I have magical powers?” It didn’t matter how many different ways it was said, I still struggled to piece it all together. My mind was overtaken with thoughts that split and sprinted in different directions.

  “Yes, but you’ll need some training before you can really dive in. You’ll receive that at Blacksaw University should you choose to attend.”

  “That’s not completely true,” Margot said in a small voice. “The right answer is ‘maybe’.”

  My mom sighed, shaking her head. “You won’t know for sure until you put needle to skin. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have these.” She held out her own hands for all to see. “The scars and faded lines were my marks that I received on my nineteenth lunar birthday. But I was a flup. They are now the remnants of my blatant failure.”

  “But you still were able to get the tattoos removed.” I didn’t see the harm in at least trying if a little lasering would clear it all up.

  She tucked her hands in her lap, hiding the damaged flesh. “And it was an expensive endeavor. They stru
ggled for years to break down the ink. I had to have skin surgically removed by medical professionals.” Her grave blue eyes held mine. “What I have gone through, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Laws have changed. If you enter that world and are found to be a flup, you don’t get to just turn around and walk back out.” She sat up and lifted her chin. “Which is why this conversation is pointless. You’re going to stay here, finish high school, and go to Duke. You’ve already been accepted.”

  “But she’s also been accepted into Blacksaw,” Aunt Margot added.

  “Well, Is Blacksaw a good school?” I felt as though I were betraying my mom by even asking the question, and the injured expression on her face confirmed it.

  Aunt Margot’s eyes lit up. “It’s one of the best universities in the world for hands. Both your uncle and I loved it.”

  “Then how come I’ve never heard about it?”

  “It’s only for hands,” my uncle said. “The undermen are prohibited from attendance.”

  Undermen and hands? “But I didn’t apply. How could I have been accepted?”

  “Where do I even begin?” Hank ran a gloved hand through his hair. “Our family is… special—powerful.”

  “Highborn.” Margot grinned.

  Uncle Hank nodded. “As such, all Ebenmores are granted automatic acceptance to Blacksaw University.”

  “As long as they aren’t flups or snuffed,” my mom snipped. “Going to that university and having magic isn’t worth the risk of finding out you belong to either of those labels. You’ll be putting your life on the line and still have no additional ability or training.”