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Unravelled
Cheryl S. Ntumy


People think nothing ever happens where I live. It’s too quiet, too docile, too peaceful.They don’t know the half of it. I am Conyza Bennett and I am the teen queen of things that go bump in the night…Conyza Bennett is different to other girls her age - she can read minds for a start. But Connie is trying to put the drama of the supernatural world behind her and get on with living a normal life. Until the Cresta Crew arrive in town…Because these boys aren't your average teenagers. For a start they are ridiculously good-looking and Connie can see that underneath their pretty faces something sinister lurks. Connie tries to discover more about the mysterious Cresta Crew, but her powers of telepathy don't work around these boys.And as Connie gets closer to the Cresta Crew she begins to unravel a secret that could threaten to destroy everything she holds precious.Book 2 in the Conyza Bennet series










People think nothing ever happens where I live. It’s too quiet, too docile, too peaceful. They don’t know the half of it. I am Conyza Bennett and I am the teen queen of things that go bump in the night....

Conyza Bennett is different to other girls her age - she can read minds for a start. But Connie is trying to put the drama of the supernatural world behind her and get on with living a normal life. Until the Cresta Crew arrive in town...

Because these boys aren’t your average teenagers. For a start they are ridiculously good-looking and Connie that underneath their pretty faces something sinister lurks. Connie tries to discover more about the mysterious Cresta Crew, but her powers of telepathy don’t work around these boys.

And as Connie gets closer to the Cresta Crew she begins to unravel a secret that could threaten to destroy everything she holds precious.

Conyza Bennett Book 2


Also by Cheryl S Ntumy



Entwined


UNRAVELLED

Cheryl S. Ntumy







Copyright (#ulink_6b9b56ac-96e0-5f80-8eca-215ee87c248b)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright В© Cheryl S. Ntumy 2014

Cheryl S. Ntumy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition В© March 2014 ISBN: 9781472090997

Version date: 2018-10-30


Cheryl S. Ntumy always knew she wanted to write. With two teachers as parents, she grew up surrounded by books. As a child she wrote everything she could think of, from comic books and magazines to short novels and film scripts – some of which are still hiding in a dusty closet. She dreamed of exploring the realms of science fiction, fantasy and the supernatural, but ended up studying textile design instead, and then journalism.

It didn’t take long for her to decide that fiction writing was the only career she was interested in. Her first book, the supernatural novella Crossing, was published in Botswana in 2010, and her first romance novel came a few months later. She has published five romance books to date. Unravelled is the sequel to her first young adult novel, Entwined.

Cheryl is now a full-time freelance writer in Gaborone, Botswana, where she spends her days writing, reading and daydreaming about stories. Her friends and family are still waiting for her to find gainful employment. She’s determined to keep them waiting for the rest of her life.


Acknowledgements

Thanks to Lucy and Emily at Carina for all your help, and especially for the suggestions which greatly improved the book. I must admit I lost the plot for a while there!

Thanks to the Connie look-alikes I’ve spotted over the years, for keeping her story fresh in my mind.

Thanks to the creators and contributors of Wikipedia, which has been so useful I had to name a character after it.

Thanks to everyone who read the first book.

And as always thanks to Aku, for always being my sounding board.


Contents

Cover (#uc2d847b7-a679-5bbe-ba29-055aeb66ac55)

Blurb (#u0479e0d8-f0a6-5b3a-b840-92ada153d69c)

Title Page (#u1bc572c1-c1af-5e1d-baa6-83e395b13c9e)

Copyright (#uf8157ce5-8817-5714-a4f8-4c5eb8be52a4)

Author Bio (#uceb4be70-9a79-5398-b320-743f57183ace)

Acknowledgements (#u1a9ead76-7939-5d48-82a2-4947c020b0e3)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Glossary (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u71dca431-65ec-55ab-ab12-4ad03ac74f4c)

August 2



The pain wakes him. For a moment he thinks he must have dreamed it, imagined the searing knife between his ribs. He sits up in bed and listens. Nothing. No one. But when he moves to lie down again he feels it, a scalpel of fire under the skin, cutting its way through the ribs to the pumping heart beneath.

He grits his teeth to muffle another cry and tumbles to the floor, the duvet in a tangle around his legs. He knows this pain. He’s felt it before. He has grown to accept the sudden twinges, the split-second stab while he sleeps, the dull, pulling ache that lingers in the background, daring him not to notice. It’s his constant companion. His curse.

But this is different. He rolls on the floor and curls into a foetal position as the pain strikes again, as if it’s trying to pry his chest open. Why? Why now? Something is wrong.

His breath comes in hissing gasps through his teeth. He presses his back against the bed, willing the cool wood to soothe the burning in his body, but it makes little difference. He needs to think. Why is the pull so intense? There must be a reason.

His mother would know, but he can’t ask her. The curse has destroyed her already, turned her once agile and curious mind into a whiteboard streaked with meaningless lines of colour.

He closes his eyes tight as another wave hits him. Think. Think! Dread creeps into his heart as he realises cold logic isn’t going to help him now. He can speculate all night, but what he needs is the truth.

Taking a deep breath, he drags himself to his feet and summons his power. His body begins to glow with blue light in the darkness of the room. He waits, allowing the energy to accumulate until his whole body burns with it – and then he lets go. Instantly his power explodes into chaotic fragments, making his skin crackle with static, shooting into his brain until blinding white spots dance before his eyes. Part of the power regresses into the realm of instinct, the dark shadowy place he has not visited in years. It’s easier than he expected; he feels a pang of shame. It’s as if he’s made no progress at all.

It doesn’t take long for the information to come to him, riding the wave of blue light flooding his veins. No wonder the pull has increased. They’re moving.

He panics, and energy shoots out of his hand and into the floor. The stinging stench of burnt synthetic fibres rises from the singed carpet. They’re moving, and they’re coming for him.

He opens his eyes, trying desperately to suck the power back into his control. He stands there, swaying with shock and horror. He has to do something. He has to stop them! He has come so far, worked so hard to keep the curse at bay, and they are about to ruin everything.

Connie! His heart twists with anguish. He can’t let them near her. He has to find a way… Another wave of pain strikes, wrenching an agonised scream from his throat and sending him toppling to the floor. On the way down his elbow slams hard against the large crystal on his bedside table, knocking the gem over. It lies on the floor beside his writhing figure, glowing blue. Through the haze of pain and panic he hears someone banging on the locked bedroom door.

“Rakwena! Rakwena! Open this door! Rakwena, what happened?”

Just before the last flickers of blue light sink back beneath his skin, he senses further information rising from the shadows. They’re not coming. They’re already here.


Chapter One (#u71dca431-65ec-55ab-ab12-4ad03ac74f4c)

People think nothing ever happens in Botswana. It’s too quiet, too docile, too peaceful. Ha. They don’t know the half of it. I know everything that goes on around here, and I’m not talking about gossip. I’m talking about monsters under beds, eerie vibes in the ether, mysterious whispers in the night. I am the teen queen of things that go bump in the night.

Right now I’m hunched down in the front lines, preparing for a supernatural attack. My general is in the trench beside me, rifle at the ready, so to speak. We’re here to solve a mystery of the mystical kind, and both of us are only too aware of all the magical powers lurking in the room.

It seems like an ordinary ramshackle house on the seedier side of Ginger, one of those slapdash brick and cement structures that look like they went up in a matter of hours. It’s cold inside, and there’s very little furniture. A few plastic chairs, a warped wooden table, a small electric stove and a cooler box in the corner. Innocent. Sympathy-inducing. Or so one would think.

In reality, this little house is crawling with malicious intent. Somebody here is hiding something.

My general, otherwise known as my grandfather, speaks first. “When was the last time you saw your son?”

The woman shifts slightly on the floor, tucking her skirt around her slim thighs. “Two days. He went to school in the morning and never came back.” Her voice breaks and she lowers her gaze, presumably to hide her tears.

But I’m getting a funny vibe from this lady. I zero in on her mind. Her demeanour is guarded, but her thoughts aren’t. She has the flimsiest fence of deceit wrapped around her emotions, because she has no idea who she’s dealing with. My grandfather likes to bring me along on missions as his secret weapon. People think I’m just a kid, harmless, coming to watch the elders at work. They’re wrong. I’m no ordinary teenager. I’m a telepath.

I step over the woman’s defences with ease, and her deceptions are so obvious it’s almost funny. She knows exactly where the little boy is. She’s the one hiding him.

“Conyza!”

“Huh?” I jerk awake in the passenger seat, startled by the sound of my grandfather’s voice. “Sorry, Ntatemogolo. Did you say something?”

He takes his gaze off the road just long enough to examine me with those all-seeing eyes of his. “Were you sleeping?”

“No!” I protest indignantly. Of course I was sleeping, and lost in a grainy black and white dream featuring Conyza Bennett, supernatural detective. I was just about to expose that woman and prove to my grandfather how incredibly smart I am, and he had to go and wake me up.

I look at Ntatemogolo, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m awake, really.”

He grunts. He does that a lot. It generally means he thinks I’m talking complete nonsense. I sigh, feeling only slightly abashed. I know it’s impolite to doze off while your eminent grandfather is imparting great wisdom, but I’m exhausted from our three-hour telepathic training session. For the past six months, Ntatemogolo has been brutal. It’s not enough that I can read and plant thoughts in people’s minds. I also have to be able to read the fading energy people leave behind in rooms and on objects. I have to be able to tell at a glance when someone is lying. I have to be able to break any mental barrier and part the murky waters that hide the truth. And I have to learn all this while trying to get through my final year of secondary school. Piece of cake.

Ntatemogolo isn’t your garden-variety grandfather. He’s got a head of greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard with flecks of white. He’s tough, brilliant and completely uninterested in etiquette or political correctness. It’s a miracle that he’s even giving me a lift home today. He never drives me anywhere; he thinks anyone under forty should be able to make daily cross-country treks. It just happens that he’s heading home to Serowe, so I got lucky.

The ancient Toyota Venture bumps along the road, making my teeth rattle, and pulls up in front of my father’s house. It’s an old house, painted a colour that used to be white but is now closer to grey. We have a couple of trees, but no garden, no flowers, no carefully designed yard. Instead there’s lots of bare sand, some overgrown grass, and a few weeds. My best friend Lebz says our yard is unkempt, but I prefer to call it unpretentious.

I step out of the car, glad to have made it home in one piece. I slam the passenger door shut and the entire vehicle trembles. For a second I’m afraid it will collapse, but somehow it holds. Ntatemogolo’s gaze passes over the empty space where Dad’s red Volvo is usually parked. He glances at me for confirmation that Dad is out, and only when I nod does he open the door and climb out of his car.

Eish. You’d think he and my father would have resolved their issues by now. They keep saying that they’re too different to be friends, but that’s not true. They both insist on driving cars that are older than me. They’re both academics, far more concerned with acquiring knowledge than making sure their socks match. And they’re both incapable of accepting that their world view might be wrong. In all fairness, Ntatemogolo’s worldview is far more balanced than Dad’s, but it’s difficult for a man who believes in reason to accept that the world is full of things that science can’t explain.

Ntatemogolo doesn’t venture into the house. He lingers at the gate as if he thinks Dad might have left a pair of bespectacled eyes behind to keep watch. “OK, my girl. Remember what I said, eh?”

I nod, stifling a yawn. Ja, I remember: It is the responsibility of the gifted to never stop learning. It’s his new mantra, drummed into me at the start of every practice session. I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to. “Bye, Ntatemogolo. Give my regards to everyone at home.”

He smiles. “Yes, I will.”

To be honest, I’d rather keep my regards to myself. With my freckled caramel skin, mass of unruly curls and preference for English, I don’t quite fit in with my grandfather’s people, and they never let me forget it. But it doesn’t hurt to be polite. I wave as Ntatemogolo gets back into his death-trap car.

The house is quiet. Auntie Lydia, our house help, is long gone, and Dad must be at his office at UB (aka the University of Botswana), where he teaches Biology. I doubt he’s working on university stuff, though – lately he’s been absorbed in research for the Salinger Biological Institute.

I close the front door behind me and turn on the lights. I don’t mind being home alone. It doesn’t really feel like I’m alone when I’m here, surrounded by Dad’s stuff and things that remind me of my late mother.

My stomach is growling, so I head to the kitchen. Auntie Lydia has taken out yesterday’s leftovers. I pop them in the microwave and reach into my pocket for my phone. I’m tired, but not too tired to talk to Rakwena.



Hey. I’m home. Feel free 2 drop by

Sender: Conyza

Sent: 19:23:45



I’m at the petrol station around the corner. Ten mins

Sender: Lizard

Sent: 19:24:01



Talk about perfect timing. I can’t help smiling. I haven’t seen him all week because he’s been busy registering for his first semester at UB, and my grandfather has been monopolizing my free time with these training sessions. I miss Rakwena. I miss his cocky grin, his freshly ironed clothes, the badass scar that runs down the left side of his face, the black lizard tattoo on his left forearm and the way he always pushes my buttons. Technically he’s my boyfriend. Actually he is my rock-steady magic touch, my hero, my superstar sidekick. Rakwena is too cool for school.

The microwave emits a shrill PING! I retrieve my day-old potato wedges and steak. I wolf the food down, wash the plate and bolt to my room to make myself presentable. I swap my dirty cargoes and T-shirt for pyjama pants and my favourite Snoopy shirt, which is so old it’s stretched to twice its original size. I pull my hair out of the black scrunchie keeping it tame, run my hands through it and shake it out so I look like a seventies disco-diva.

The trick with Rakwena is not to get dolled up. No lip gloss, no subtle mascara, no Wonderbra. I want to look like I couldn’t care less that he’s coming over. It’s not enough to look relaxed and casual; I must look as if going through the trouble of putting on proper clothes and combing my hair never occurred to me. I’m going for a cavalier, don’t-give-a-damn kind of attitude. I wear the pants in this relationship. I can be as scruffy as I want but I expect him to show up looking as fresh as a kiwi and lemongrass smoothie.

I sprint to the living room, rifle through my Rachel McAdams DVD collection and select something at random. The Notebook. I snicker – he hates that one. I put on the DVD, go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of Milo, then settle down on the sofa with my legs curled under me. Just in time, too – I hear his car pull up outside. I’m itching to run to the door and watch him walk up the driveway, all tall, dark and mysterious, but I have to play it cool. I wait an agonising three minutes for him to knock on the door, then wait till he knocks a second time before I get up to let him in.

I sneak a peek at the time on my phone and fling open the door with a mock scowl. “You’re six minutes late.”

I’m tall and skinny, but he’s taller, with the lean, muscular physique of a runner. He offers me an apologetic grin and leans over to plant a half-hearted kiss on my cheek. He seems a little preoccupied. School stress already? “Where’s Dr Bennett?”

“Out.”

“Good.” He steps into the house, closes the door behind him and sweeps me up into a movie-worthy smooch.

Well, so much for playing it cool. I melt into his arms, losing myself in the sheer pleasure of being with him after five long days. Sigh! Rakwena’s energy seeps into my skin, sending delicious tingles through my body. When he touches me, sparks fly. Literally. How many other girls can say that?

“I missed you,” he says, pulling away to look at me. His eyes are bright with earnest emotion, a look so intense that my heart plays a two-second game of hop-scotch in my chest.

“Of course you did.” I think I need to kiss him again. Five days is a long time.

He runs a finger down the side of my face, and out of the corner of my eye I see blue light dancing on his fingertips. I pull him towards me and kiss him. Ah. Much better.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Can I assume you missed me, too?”

“That would be pushing it,” I tell him happily. “Hungry? We have leftover steak.”

He holds up an anonymous white plastic bag. Through it I can see several chocolate bars and three fizzy drinks. “I came prepared. What are you watching? Not The Notebook again!” He rolls his eyes. “Can’t we watch the Discovery Channel?”

This is what happens when all the men in your life are super-smart. “I just spent all afternoon working – I want to give my brain a break.” I reach into the plastic bag for some chocolate and settle down on the sofa. “So. Tell me all about your escapades at UB. What did you register for?”

Rakwena sits next to me and opens his own bar of chocolate. “You don’t really want to know about school. Let’s talk about you.”

“It’s not school, it’s university.” I bite into the chocolate and let it melt in my mouth. Thank God for Rakwena’s sweet-tooth.

He sighs, and I pick up a hint of impatience. “Well, I’m taking all the sciences for first year – Bio, Chemistry, Physics and Maths. I’ll have my hands full.”

“What about work?” His job at RikaElectrics isn’t the most exciting gig in the world, but he enjoys it and the money’s good.

“I’ll still work on weekends and holidays. I have Thursdays free, too. But how have you been?”

I finish off the chocolate and rest my head on his shoulder. “Form Five sucks. I’ve never worked so hard in my life!”

“Aw, poor Connie,” he teases. “Your system must be in shock after all those years of sheer laziness.”

I poke him in the ribs and he jerks out of my reach with a chuckle, then reaches into the plastic bag for one of the drinks. He opens it and downs it all in one go, then goes for the next one, drains it and goes for the third. I shake my head, smiling. Rakwena’s insane appetite is one of the many not-quite-normal things about him. One of the things I admire most about him is the fact that he flies his freak flag high. I’m not quite there yet, but I think his confidence is rubbing off on me a little.

“I know I’m pretty,” he says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you should stare.”

I roll my eyes and shove him. Confidence? I meant conceit. His laughter tapers off, and again I notice that there’s an anxious edge to him today.

“You OK?”

“Sure.” He flashes me a big smile. “What’s new? Any gossip? Meet any new people?”

“Where would I meet new people?” I counter. “I go to the same places all the time.”

His shrug is nonchalant, but that anxiety has crept into his voice. “You know how you attract trouble.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. So, nothing? Business as usual?”

“Business as usual.” I study him through narrowed eyes. “What’s your story? You seem nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” he replies, a little brusquely. “I’m going to university and leaving you alone with all those idiots at Syringa. I’m allowed to be worried.”

Ah. I can only assume that by “idiots” he’s referring to one idiot in particular. Thuli Baleseng was my crush for all of three dazed years before he finally deigned to notice me last year. I was thrilled that my perseverance had paid off, until he lured me into his room during a party and tried to have his way with me. It turned out that the brilliant, somewhat seedy Thuli was only after one thing – my gift. As soon as Rakwena and I became friends, Thuli realised I had to be different from other girls, because Rakwena wasn’t exactly Mr Friendly.

Thuli is a freak hunter, an ungifted obsessed with discovering the magical secrets of the gifted and using them for himself. Whether this is possible is debatable, but it didn’t stop the psycho from trying to get into my pants in the hope that my powers were contagious.

It was Rakwena who found me running madly through that huge house, and took me home. Ever since he has kept a special place for Thuli in his dark dungeon of hatred, and Thuli is too clever to risk life and limb by coming near me again.

“Thuli isn’t a threat anymore,” I assure him.

“Maybe, but who knows? There could be others out there like him, others that just want to manipulate you, and I won’t be able to protect you as easily as before.” He looks at me, his brow creased in concern. “Maybe I should cut down on my classes.”

I gape at him. “Are you crazy? I don’t need a babysitter! I was fine all year while you were working!”

“Yes, but it’s different now.”

“Why?”

He purses his lips and slumps against the cushions.

“You’re overreacting,” I tell him gently. “I’m fine. And Lebz and Wiki are there to keep an eye on me.”

“Right.” His smile is strained. “Just stay out of trouble, OK? Promise me.”

“It’s been really quiet over the last few months; I really doubt – ”

“Promise!”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”

He pulls me close, squeezing me a little tighter than necessary, and I frown against his chest. Usually I’m the one who has premonitions, but suddenly I’m getting the feeling that Rakwena smells trouble.

**

It’s still dark outside. I’m sitting at my desk in my room, freshly showered and dressed for school. I couldn’t sleep after seeing Rakwena. His worries infected me, and I kept having funny dreams about alien sock puppets and evil garage bands. Finally I decided to get up and get some work done. Not schoolwork, though. The other kind.

The File lies open in front of me. It’s an ordinary yellow file, the type a lot of students use to keep their notes in order, but it’s filled with research on the supernatural, myths and folklore and any magical snippets that might come in handy. The File was my friend Wiki’s idea, inspired by the onset of my telepathic powers, and he’s been updating it regularly ever since. Normally it stays with Wiki, but I borrowed it to add some information on telepathy.

On the right-hand page is a rough identikit sketch from the front page of The GC Chronicle. The man in the sketch is thin, in his forties, with a distinguished air about him and a pair of round spectacles perched on a broad nose with flared nostrils. It’s John Kubega, the man we call the Puppetmaster. Last year he turned five schoolgirls into a gang of super-freaks and had them roaming the city of Gaborone, leading me on a merry chase. Rakwena and I managed to break the spell, but the Puppetmaster got away. Well, we broke the spell in four cases, anyway. I’m still not sure where one of the girls, Emily, stands.

I still remember the last time I saw her at the mall. She had a wicked, smug look on her face, as though she knew I knew her secret and didn’t care. It terrified me. She’s just a kid – thirteen or so. Once it became clear that she was still under his control, I made it my mission to save her, for real this time. But her family moved suddenly, and no one has heard from her since. I hate the idea that she might still be working for the Puppetmaster, but the scariest thing is the knowledge that she might not even be doing it under duress. I never got to find out for sure. She could be a puppet…or a willing servant.

I turn my attention back to the sketch. I don’t know how many times I’ve stared at it since the Puppetmaster disappeared. It’s as if I’m expecting to find a clue to his whereabouts hidden in the lines. I bite my lip as I look at the picture. The memory of his eerie house in Kgale Siding still haunts me. The house where he kept Rakwena and me trapped overnight, testing us. The house where Rakwena lost his senses and kissed me as though the world was about to end and salvation was hiding somewhere on my body. The house that vanished before our eyes when morning came…

I shake my head. This isn’t helping. I’m obsessing over this, and the truth is I’m probably never going to find the Puppetmaster. His face was plastered all over town for a few weeks, but more interesting scandals erupted and the story faded. By now he must have a new face, a new name, and a new plan.

So far there are no clues. Well, nothing but the premonition I had back in February, and it’s August now. In the premonition I saw an army of bewitched ungifted far more powerful than the girls we rescued, an army he is building for some unknown purpose. I know he’s out there, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, but I’m just a kid who can read minds. How on earth can I go up against a seasoned sorcerer with a magical army?

I’m startled by a sudden buzzing noise coming from the other room. I exhale; it’s only Dad’s alarm. I hear a muffled groan, a creaking noise and then footsteps.

I turn my attention back to the File. “Where are you?” I whisper to the sketch.

I suppose part of me expects a reply. He’s a sorcerer after all – he could speak to me through an identikit image if he wanted to. But the picture is silent and still, so I turn the page and skim through the notes I’ve been adding over the past few days. They’re just brief points I’ve gleaned from my grandfather, tips for telepaths, interesting little insights and so on. They’re handwritten, but reasonably legible.

I read for a while, making a few changes here and there, and then close the File and turn to the wooden chest at the corner of my desk. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather, a miniature version of the chest he keeps in his house. I pull it towards me and lift the heavy lid to reveal the contents. The small clay jar, bronze bell and beaded anklet came with the box. Beside them is a folded note.

The jar works a little like a supernatural vacuum cleaner; when I’m plagued by negative energy I put my hand over it and it sucks out all the dirt. I’ve only used it twice – both times after particularly trying sessions with Ntatemogolo. The bell makes a wonderful sound and is supposed to clear my head. The anklet is about a century old, and I can’t help worrying that if I put it on it will fall apart.

I take it out of the box and examine the faded design on the chipped and scratched wooden beads. There’s something humbling about holding a piece of history in my hand. Ntatemogolo promised he’d tell me the story of the girl who first wore it, but we’ve been rather busy.

I put the anklet back, close the box and put it back in its place. I glance at my phone and gasp; it’s almost six-thirty. I jump up and shove the File into my school bag; I’m giving it back to Wiki today. Then I head to the kitchen for breakfast.

Dad is standing over the counter, gulping down a cup of coffee. His shirt is slightly rumpled, his brown hair is standing up at the back, his milky skin looks flushed, and behind his glasses his eyes are half-closed.

“Morning, love,” he says with a sigh, dragging himself over to kiss my forehead.

“Hi, Dad. You look terrible.”

He gives me a weak, lopsided grin. “Just tired. I was up most of the night working on a report for Salinger.”

I open the fridge and take out the milk. “What time did you get home?”

“Late. After eleven, I think. Was Rakwena here?”

“Ja; he left around nine.” I make myself a bowl of muesli and eat it standing up, watching him. “Are you almost done with the report? I think you need a break.”

He yawns and puts his empty mug on the counter. “I’m done, but they want me to oversee a big project they’re starting soon. I have to hire research assistants from the university before then. God, I’m knackered.”

I frown at him. “Let me at least make you a proper breakfast, Dad – you can’t survive on coffee.”

He shakes his head and goes to fetch his briefcase from the dining room table. “I have a meeting at eight – got to prepare. See you later, love.”

I frown as he heads out. After breakfast I turn on the radio while I wait for Lebz. Auntie Lydia comes in at quarter to seven, her petite frame buried under bags of sewing material. She runs a tailoring business on the side, but I can’t remember the last time she brought this much work with her. I hurry to open the door for her.

“Wow,” I marvel as she dumps the lot on the dining table. “Are you opening a shop?”

She laughs. “I have a lot of orders this week. Is your father gone?”

I nod. “You just missed him. Any messages?”

“It’s nothing…” Her sigh says otherwise. “He forgot to pay me yesterday.”

I rummage around on the dining table where Dad usually leaves Auntie Lydia’s pay, but there’s no sign of an envelope. “He must have forgotten all about it. He’s been really busy. Should I call and remind him?”

She shakes her head and pats my arm. “I’ll call his office later. Aren’t you going to be late? Where’s Malebogo?”

“I don’t know.” I reach into my pocket for my phone and check the time. “She’s usually here by now. I’m sure she’s on the way.”

Auntie Lydia goes off to clean the kitchen and I stand on the doorstep, watching the road. Finally I see Lebz hurrying towards the house, scarlet braids flying behind her. Students at the Syringa Institute of Excellence aren’t allowed “unnatural” hair styles, but the teachers can’t seem to agree on how to define “unnatural”, so people like Lebz get away with anything.

She lifts the latch on the front gate and pushes it open, then runs up the driveway, leaving the gate wide open behind her as usual. The gate, I tell her silently. She comes to an abrupt stop, turns around and goes back to close the gate. Being a telepath comes in very handy sometimes.

“News!” she squeals, almost knocking me over as she bolts into the house.

Only a boy could get Lebz this excited. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Can we go? We’re late already.”

She dashes into the kitchen to say hello to Lydia, then runs back and grabs my arm. Her nails are blue today, but I bet not a single teacher will notice. “Connie, oh my God! You will not believe Kelly’s new boyfriend.”

Oh, a double whammy – a boy and Kelly, Lebz’s buxom, brainless role model. I drag her towards the road. “Let me guess – his father owns half the country.”

“I have no idea who his father is, but who cares?” She sighs and releases my arm so she can clasp her hands together in rapture. “Connie! He’s so hot. I mean…so, so, so hot. Damn! I have never seen anyone so cute in my whole life. And get this – there are more of them!”

“More boyfriends?” I arch my eyebrows. I thought Kelly was more of a serial monogamist, but I’m always looking for new reasons to dislike her.

Lebz makes an exasperated noise in her throat. “More hot boys! A whole group of them; six, and they are all good-looking. All of them! Do you know how rare that is? A bunch of guys who hang out together and are all the same level of hotness?”

I roll my eyes. “Wow. A biological miracle.”

She slaps my arm impatiently. “Don’t you think this is a little bit weird?”

There’s something about the way she says that last word that grabs my attention. “Strange weird or freaky weird?”

She raises her eyebrows. OK – freaky weird. As in “too strange to be a coincidence; must be supernatural” weird. I ignore the neighbourhood scenery and the other kids making their way to school.

“Come on. What’s freaky about a bunch of cute boys? Maybe they’re related.”

“They are, but still.” She heaves a weary sigh and shakes her head. “Choma, listen to me. There are cute boys, and then there are cute boys. The Cresta Crew are unnaturally hot and charming. All of them. I repeat – all of them.”

I snicker. “What are they, a boy band? Were they discovered at Cresta Lodge or something?”

“Cresta, Johannesburg,” Lebz explains impatiently. “They lived there before coming here, so people started calling them the Cresta Crew.”

I’m not allowed to read the minds of my friends, but I take a quick peek just to see if she really believes there’s something off about these guys. I barely have to scratch the surface to sense her unease, even though it’s mixed up with a good deal of excitement. “OK. I’m listening.”

We’ve reached Syringa, and we make our way to our bench. Wiki, our third musketeer, is already there, going over yesterday’s Business Studies homework.

He glances up at us, round glasses magnifying his eyes. “Hello, ladies. What’s new?”

“Lebz is convinced that Kelly’s latest conquest is a member of a gang of freaks,” I report, slumping onto the bench beside him.

“Ah,” he replies with a nod, and goes right back to his homework.

“So this is the story,” says Lebz, warming to her subject. “These six guys all decided to leave South Africa together. They arrived about a week ago and they’ve been flirting their way across town. Now Spencer – that’s Kelly’s man – is the hottest. He met Kelly at a party and they’ve been inseparable ever since. This morning she emailed me his photo – that’s why I got to your place late – and I nearly died. I’d never actually seen one of them until now. Connie! I’m telling you, my heart stopped.”

“So what are you thinking?” I reach into my bag for my water bottle and take a sip. “They’ve taken some kind of potion that makes them gorgeous?”

She shrugs. “You’re the expert. I just think these guys are too good to be true. And Kelly has dated a lot of incredible guys. She’s not easily impressed, but Spencer has her completely under his spell – not that I blame her.”

“Hmm,” I reply, in my no-nonsense supernatural detective tone. “I’ll look into it.”

“Be careful,” she warns me. “Rumour has it that those guys can make any girl fall in love with them.”

I laugh. Unless they’re duplicates of Rakwena, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. Not that I’m in love with Rakwena. I just mean… Never mind. The point is I’m glad to have a potential mystery on my hands. Time to put all those months of practice to use. With any luck, the Cresta Crew will turn out to be nothing more than a bunch of boys with good genes and even better game. But if they’re not, I’ll find out.

**

“So what do you think?”

I follow Rakwena up the steep cement road that twists from the quarry to the top of Kgale Hill. I’m out of breath, but it’s a vast improvement to how I felt the first time I let Rakwena drag me up the hill. I don’t know how he convinced me to make this hike a Sunday morning ritual, but we hardly ever miss a week.

“I think you should do more walking and less talking,” he replies impatiently.

“Come on, help me out here. Do you think Lebz is being paranoid about these guys?”

“Lebz is being Lebz.” The disdain in his voice is palpable, and a little offensive. I thought he liked Lebz. He stops to open his bag, hands me a bottle of water and takes a swig from his two-litre bottle of barely diluted Oros. “She thinks her garden shed is haunted, remember?”

OK, he has a point. Somehow Lebz sees ghosts where the rest of us see rats. “Maybe you’re right. She can be a bit of a drama queen, especially where Kelly’s concerned.”

I slip into silence as other hikers pass us on their way down. I’m not an exercise fanatic, but I’ll admit that it has its benefits. I’m stronger than I was last year, and have much more stamina when it comes to supernatural mind games. I’m not yet action hero material, but watch this space.

We reach the flat slab of rock near the top where most hikers stop, and Rakwena immediately starts doing push-ups. Show-off. I lie back on the rock and watch him. I still don’t understand why he bothers working out. Rakwena’s metabolism is ridiculous – he burns so much energy that he never gains weight, despite eating enough for ten people. The amount of sugar he consumes in one day would kill anyone else.

I still haven’t figured out why his body works so differently from the rest of us. He’s gifted, like me, but my body is 100% flawed human. His body is perfect. Maybe it has something to do with the blue sparks that pour out of his skin, or the chemical imbalance that requires him to inject himself with medicine every day. So many things about Rakwena are still a mystery to me.

“Should I take my shirt off?” He pauses and looks at me with a cocky grin.

“It’s not that hot.” I raise an eyebrow. “And neither are you.”

“Your lingering gaze says otherwise.” He lowers himself to the ground and lies on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands.

I look at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re the biggest freak of nature I’ve ever met, you know.”

He laughs. “Thank you.”

I inch closer to him and reach out to touch his hand, and my fingers tingle. I can’t explain this thing that happens when we touch – it doesn’t happen with anyone else. It’s as if the power in me calls to the power in him, and he can’t help but respond.

“Aren’t you even a little curious?”

His eyes narrow. “About Kelly’s boyfriend? No, not really.”

“No – about yourself.” I take a wary glance around. The other hikers aren’t close enough to hear us, but I drop my voice to a whisper. “Your gift. Your body.”

Rakwena sighs. “I’ve been living with it all my life; the novelty has worn off.”

“But you’re so…strange,” I persist. “I’ve never heard of a gifted person who is as different as you are. Look at me, look at Ntatemogolo. No weird cravings, no chemical issues, and definitely no blue sparks. I mean, how does your body even produce all that energy without damaging itself?”

Rakwena gets up with an exasperated grunt. “How many times do we have to go over this? I can’t explain these things. They just happen. You’re the one with a biologist for a father – you tell me.”

“I wish I could.” I sit up and study his face. There’s an angry little twitch in his jaw that tells me to drop it, but I’ve never been one to pay attention to subtle signals. “I’m no scientist, but I know enough about the human body to know that yours is different. Like a comic book mutant. Are you sure you’ve never been exposed to – ”

“Gamma radiation?” He rolls his eyes. “You’re like a skipping CD.”

“I can’t help it! You’re so interesting.” I bat my eyelashes at him, hoping the flattery will win him over. I suppose I’d get annoyed if someone kept pointing out my weird traits, but I don’t bring it up because I want to fix him. I just want to understand.

He shakes his head. “Come on – we’ve rested long enough. Wanna go to the top or head back down?”

“Let’s go back.” I stretch my arms and yawn, then get to my feet. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

Rakwena stares at me in mock amazement. “Studying? What, for exams?”

“Yep.”

“Final exams?”

I sigh. I know where this is going. “Yes, Lizard.” I only call him Lizard to annoy him, but it never has the desired effect. I suspect he finds it amusing.

“The exams that are starting in three months?”

I roll my eyes, grab his arm and pull him towards the path. “Yes, Lizzie.”

He laughs. Not his usual chuckle – a proper burst of doubled-over laughter. I’m not impressed. “I thought you had a last-minute cramming policy,” he says, once he’s recovered from his giggling fit.

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

He snorts. “Woman? Wow, your ambition knows no bounds!”

“You’re supposed to be proud of me for changing my ways. Aren’t you the one who’s always saying I should take my school work more seriously? We have one week of school left before the holidays – I want to make it count.”

Rakwena’s arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me close, planting a kiss on the side of my head. “I am proud of you, Connie. I always knew there was a smart, hard working girl underneath all that slothfulness.”

I stick my tongue out at him, but as he releases me and starts the descent, my attention is on the faint tingle on my skin where his lips touched me. I’ve been a reasonably understanding girlfriend for the past few months. I’ve asked questions, I’ve nagged a little, but I haven’t gone overboard in trying to figure out the secrets of Rakwena’s powers. Nevertheless, I can’t stop thinking about it. I love the blue spark. I love the fact that with one touch I can keep him from losing control and he can make me feel invincible, but I want to know why.

“Connie, come on,” he calls, a few steps ahead of me. “Pick up the pace – we need to keep our hearts pumping.”

“Yes, Captain!” I call back with a mock salute.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, his scar facing me. The scar his father gave him the night he died – or pretended to die. We still don’t know for sure.

Apart from the odd eating habits and blue spark, Rakwena is also telekinetic. When his mother left his father and took young Rakwena along, his father hunted them down. A terrible fight ensued, with Rakwena’s father using his own telekinesis against his five-year-old son. It’s unthinkable, but from what I’ve heard, Rakwena’s dad was a monster.

As a child Rakwena’s powers were fearsome and erratic, and when his father struck him he reacted instinctively. The result was an apparently lifeless body lying in front of him – but since his father’s body was taken away and Rakwena never saw him again, there’s no way of being certain he’s dead. He could be out there, waiting for an opportunity to come back and take his revenge.

Rakwena doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s yet another mystery he’s happy to leave unsolved, but I’m not the kind of girl who lets things go. I want answers, and one way or another I’m going to get them.


Chapter Two (#u71dca431-65ec-55ab-ab12-4ad03ac74f4c)

Come Monday morning, Wiki, Lebz and I are draped across our bench, deeply engrossed in separate activities. Wiki’s nose is buried in a book, Lebz is touching up her pink nail polish and I am sitting quietly, watching the other students. Ntatemogolo always says you’ll be surprised what you learn when you keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.

“Oh!” Lebz puts away her nail polish and sits up straight, self-consciously running a hand down her ponytail. “Kelly’s just arrived.”

“Woo hoo,” I declare, in the most uninterested tone I can muster. My gaze travels across the parking lot to where Kelly’s stepfather’s car has just pulled up. She steps out, tossing her long hair, and hoists her designer school bag over her shoulder. Another girl emerges from the backseat, younger but just as pretty and with the same air of privilege. “Hey, there’s Amantle!”

Lebz turns to me. “Woo hoo.”

Whatever. I watch Kelly and Amantle walk across the parking lot. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were sisters. They both have the effortless confidence that comes from knowing you’re better-looking than everyone around you, but since the Puppetmaster business last year Amantle has been taken down a notch or two and is now rather nice. Being possessed by a crazy sorcerer will do that to you.

Amantle’s clique was in serious trouble back then. Me and my friends assumed Amantle was the Puppetmaster’s prize pupil, since she was the leader of the clique. Discovering that it had been Emily all along was a huge shock. Rose, the sweetest member of the group, was the one who let me into her head first so I could break the Puppetmaster’s grip. She has since moved to South Africa, where she’s managed to steer clear of snooty girlfriends and sorcerers.

Lebz leaps up to go and lavish praise on her idol, then changes her mind and sinks back onto the stone bench. “They’re coming over!”

I stare in surprise. I can’t remember the last time Kelly so much as looked in my direction. Despite her friendship with Lebz she goes out of her way to ignore me, as if she thinks she might catch something if she says hello. But here she comes, with a determined look on her face and a grinning Amantle beside her.

“Hi, guys!” says Amantle brightly. “How’s it going?”

Wiki raises his head to offer a weary greeting.

“Hi,” Lebz gushes. “Wow, Kelly, your hair looks so nice today!”

I refrain from rolling my eyes and turn my attention to Amantle. “Hey.” I grin at her. “What’s up?”

Kelly takes over. She reaches into her bag and produces a fistful of little purple envelopes, then hands them to Amantle. “I’m having a little get-together this weekend,” she purrs, in the husky voice that hypnotizes Syringa’s male population.

“That’s so cool.” That’s Lebz, gushing again.

Amantle picks through the envelopes until she finds the ones she’s looking for. She hands one to Lebz.

“It’s at my place,” Kelly continues, with a flash of perfect teeth. “Friday night.”

“I’ll be there,” Lebz promises, as if there was ever any doubt.

Amantle pulls out two more envelopes. She hands one to Wiki and one to me. I look down and see my name typed on it in black ink. I raise my eyebrows at Amantle.

“Connie’s invited?” Lebz blurts out, echoing my surprise.

Kelly opens her mouth to speak, but Amantle beats her to it. “Of course.”

This must be her idea – Kelly doesn’t even know my name. Amantle and I aren’t close, but we share the sort of bond only a supernatural crisis can form.

“Anyway,” says Kelly, eager to get back to the topic at hand, “it’s a China-themed party so you have to dress up.”

Wiki and I exchange surreptitious glances. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too good to resist. I look up at Kelly. “Can I come as a chopstick?”

Her expression is priceless; one side of her face is trying to smile politely while the other side is determined to reveal her disdain. “Um, no. You’re supposed to wear…you know…red and black, martial artsy stuff, Mandarin collars and stuff with dragons. Obviously.”

I can’t read Kelly’s mind – supposedly because my dislike of her has created a psychic barrier – but I don’t need telepathy to know that she thinks I’m insane and probably dangerous. I nod, revelling in her discomfort. Serves her right for throwing a culturally insensitive party. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lebz glaring at me.

“Thanks,” she simpers. “We’ll be there.”

“Cool.” Kelly sashays away and Amantle waves goodbye and follows.

“That was strange,” remarks Wiki. “Connie, are you actually going?”

“Why not?” I turn the invitation over in my hands, amazed that anyone has the time to get things like this professionally printed.

“It’s Kelly’s party,” he reminds me. “You can’t stand her.”

I give him a serene smile. “I’m learning to be more tolerant. Besides, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to meet this Spencer character and his Cresta Crew. I’ll blend into the crowd, talk to a few people, pick up some clues.”

Lebz snorts loudly. “You? Blend into the crowd at a party? You’ll need an extreme makeover for that.” Her eyes light up.

“Forget it,” I tell her firmly. “The last time you dressed me up for a party I almost ended up as the latest name in Thuli’s little black book, remember?”

She falls silent and shrinks into the bench. Yep, she remembers. Who could forget? I try not to think about the agonizing moments I spent in Thuli’s room, but every time I see him I feel a painful stab of panic. He’s doing Form Six at Syringa, and there are only a few more months before he leaves to terrorise some unsuspecting university.

Lebz is still trying to disappear into the bench, and Wiki is biting his lip nervously. Even though the “incident” happened last year, they still tiptoe around it as if they’re afraid any mention of it will send me over the edge. I guess I could have reported it but I knew there was no way I’d win that battle, not against Thuli’s father’s money and influence. Someday, somehow, that freak-hunter will get what he deserves. Right now, though, I have other things on my mind.

“Do you think Kelly would mind if I brought Rakwena?”

“Yes,” my friends chorus, as I knew they would.

I scowl. “Fine. It’s not like he’d want to come to a stupid party anyway – he’s in university now.” I know it’s silly to feel smug about this, but I do. I’m proud of Rakwena. He’s going to wipe the floor with all those fresh-faced UB students, and when he’s a rich and smarmy physicist I’m going to be one of those insufferable gushing girlfriends.

Lebz rolls her eyes as the bell goes. She gets up and pulls me to my feet. “Forget about your wonderful boyfriend and focus on what’s really important.”

“What’s that?” asks Wiki, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.

“What she’s going to wear to the party!”

Wiki and I exchange amused glances and the three of us make our way to class.

***

By Tuesday everyone is talking about Kelly’s party, Kelly’s boyfriend and Kelly’s unexpected approval of that strange girl in Form Five (me). I don’t think I’ve had this many glances cast my way in all my years at Syringa. Suddenly people think they should start paying attention to me because the most popular girl in school has invited me to her party. How ridiculous is that?

“Connie, you’re cool,” says Lebz in wonder as we eat our lunch.

Some girls I’ve never spoken to walk past us and smile. I stare at them, my mouth full of hot dog. “I was always cool,” I remind Lebz, when I’ve swallowed and the groupies are gone.

“Yes, but now you’re super-cool.” She beams. “Everyone wants to know why you’re suddenly part of Kelly’s crew. You’re mysterious and interesting.”

“For now,” I mutter, taking a sip of water. I will admit I have a newfound respect for Kelly. Well, sort of. Anyone who can put up with such nonsense on a daily basis must be made of strong stuff.

To my relief, by the end of the school day I’m no longer “super-cool”. It might have been the way Kelly walked right past me outside the tuck-shop that clued everyone in. As I pass a group of Form Two girls on my way down the corridor, I hear them whispering.

“No, she’s not actually friends with Kelly. She’s just sort of friends with Amantle, and you know Amantle is like a sister to Kelly, so she had to invite her.”

“I heard last year she saved Amantle’s life.”

“I heard she killed that sangoma who was trying to bewitch Amantle’s friends.”

“Didn’t you read the GC Chronicle? The guy ran away to Brazil!”

Looks like my fifteen minutes of fame are up. I make my way to the bench to wait for Lebz and Wiki. Lebz comes running, clutching an armful of magazines.

“I have some ideas for your hair,” she announces breathlessly.

Oh, no. “Didn’t we talk about this? You’re not touching my hair.”

“But –”

“You’re not touching her hair,” Wiki interjects, dropping his books on the bench.

“Thank you.” I shake my stiff halo of curls at Lebz for good measure. She pouts but doesn’t protest.

“Can you ladies trade beauty tips later? We’re supposed to be going over that Maths past paper.” Wiki glances at his watch. He still insists on wearing a quaint, old-school leather-strap watch, even though there’s nothing wrong with the clock on his cell phone.

We organise a few snacks from the tuck-shop and head to an empty classroom to work. Studying is not fun. Anyone who says otherwise is either a liar or related to Wiki. Nevertheless, I’m determined to prove to Rakwena, Dad and myself that English is not the only subject I can do well in. I have low expectations for Maths, but the others look promising. Let’s just say I might not be a C-average student forever.

***

When I get home I find Dad sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world. He’s fully dressed and his briefcase and keys are on the armchair, so he must have headed straight for the couch when he arrived. Poor thing – he must be exhausted, but his neck is twisted at a terrible angle and I know if I don’t do something he’ll wake up aching.

I approach quietly and shake him. “Dad?”

After a few more shakes, he opens his eyes. “Oh…hi, love,” he mumbles. “You’re home.” He closes his eyes again. A second later he springs to life, leaping off the sofa and nearly knocking me over. “You’re home! What time is it?”

I glance at the wall clock. “Just after five.”

“Five?” he croaks in horror. “But…don’t you finish school at quarter to three?”

I frown at him. “I have study sessions and clubs, remember? Are you OK?”

“Right. Yes.” He removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, then puts them back on. “I just didn’t realise it was so late. I have a mountain of work to do.”

“Have you eaten?”

He thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I have, darling. I forgot all about food.”

Poor Dad. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something? Then we can sit down and talk.”

“Talk?” He gulps. “Why? Are you all right?”

“Yes, but you’re not.” I give him a stern look so he knows I’m not going to be dissuaded.

“A shower sounds good,” he mutters, and shuffles off to the bathroom.

I drop my things on a chair at the dining table and head to the kitchen to see what’s what. Sometimes Auntie Lydia cooks or sets things out for me to prepare, but today the countertops are bare. There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, so I whip up a quick pasta and tuna salad and by the time it’s ready Dad is back in the living room, dressed in an old tracksuit.

“Looks good,” he says with a smile, as I deposit a plate in front of him.

“Thanks.” I curl up in the armchair and balance my bowl on my knees. “Feeling better?”

He nods, his mouth full.

“Good. What exactly is this big project you’re working on, anyway?” I take a huge bite and watch him expectantly.

He swallows, then promptly stuffs his mouth again so he doesn’t have to answer.

“Dad?”

He swallows again. “It’s about, uh, indigenous knowledge systems. It’s an investigation of different indigenous plants and their properties, how they’re used traditionally, and so on.”

My fork has almost touched my lips. I lower it back into the bowl and stare at my father. I can read him like a billboard; he’s dying to change the subject. “Do you have any help on this project?”

“I have research assistants. Well, I will, once I find time to look over the applicants. The project won’t begin officially till next year, but there’s so much prep work to do. I’ll be working with people from Salinger, so I’m not entirely on my own.”

“Shouldn’t you be working with the local traditional healers?”

He gets a funny look on his face and decides to finish the last of his pasta before responding. Ah. I see it now; the little piece of information he’s trying to hide from me. If only he knew what an open book he is.

I lean forward. “The Salinger Institute doesn’t expect you to do this alone. They expect you to find a local expert to help. Right?”

He leans into the cushions, his plate empty. “They made…a recommendation. But since I have a bit of time before I’m due to start, I’m considering my options.”

“Your options.”

He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Connie, I know exactly what you’re thinking – ”

“I’m thinking you’re self-sabotaging!” I interrupt, exasperated. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground because you’re too proud to ask for help!”

“I have no trouble asking for help,” he bristles.

“Just not from Ntatemogolo.”

Dad sighs. “The project supervisor at Salinger only spends a few months in Botswana every year – she doesn’t know how things work around here. If you’re somewhat well-known and well-respected, yours is the name that pops into people’s heads, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the best person for the job.”

Eish, sometimes I wonder who’s supposed to be the kid in this house. “Ntatemogolo is the best person for the job, and you know it. That’s why it’s taking you so long to consider your options.” I put my bowl on the coffee table. “He knows all the traditional healers, he knows about local plants and traditional medicine…I can’t believe you!”

“Watch your tone,” he snaps, but he’s only irritated because I’ve caught him out. “Your grandfather is not a biologist, nor is he a traditional doctor, even if he wants to call himself one.”

“Dad!”

“Enough, Connie!”

I can’t believe this. I know my father can be pig-headed when it comes to Ntatemogolo, but this is just ridiculous. “You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, or whatever. You need him, and if the two of you work together you could get so much more done! This project could be great for both of you, and – ”

“Conyza!” Oops. It’s his don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-your-father voice. “I am not discussing this with you.”

“But – ”

“You can analyse me when you have a degree in psychology, and not a moment before!” His jaw is twitching. He’s really angry now. “Go to your room.”

I hesitate. “The dishes – ”

“Just leave the bloody dishes and go to your room!”

I get up in disgust, march over to pick up my school stuff and then storm across the corridor to my room.

“And don’t even think about slamming that – ”

I fling my door shut with a bang, drowning out the rest of his idle threat, then lock it just to piss him off. Ugh! I throw my bag on the floor, tug off my uniform and change into my pyjamas. I was planning to study a little, but I’m too upset to concentrate. Ray Bennett is the most unreasonable man on the planet! Hating my grandfather is one thing, but doing everything on his own because he’s too friggin’ proud to ask Ntatemogolo for help is sheer stupidity.

I throw myself on my bed with a sigh, wishing Rakwena was here. On my bedside table is a large crystal the size of a fist. Right now it’s dull and lifeless. I reach out and pick it up. Rakwena gave it to me for my birthday as a symbol of our crazy connection; he has one exactly like it. I hold it in both hands and close my eyes, trying to reach out to him across the ether. When I open my eyes, the crystal is glowing. I smile. It works every time.

My cell phone rings and I scramble across the bed and snatch it off the rug, where it fell when I was changing. “Hey.”

“I hear your pal Kelly’s throwing a party this weekend.”

I laugh. “When did you start tapping into the grapevine?”

“When I found out you were invited.” Rakwena’s tone is light, but I know he didn’t call just to hear my lovely voice. “Who else is going?”

“If you’re asking about Thuli, I don’t know if he’ll be there.” I’m pretty sure he would kill Thuli if he ever touched me again. It’s a sobering thought.

Rakwena is quiet for a while. “He’s still keeping his distance?”

“Hasn’t come near me all term,” I assure him. “Besides, I doubt he’ll go to the party. He’s not really friends with Kelly.”

“He’ll go.”

I frown into the phone. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s a collector of exotic toys, remember? And Kelly’s new guy and his buddies are the most exotic toys in town.”

His words make bile rise in my throat, but he’s right. Thuli doesn’t just hunt the gifted, he hunts anyone who is remotely out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made friends with the Cresta Crew.

“Connie, please don’t go. You promised you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll be fine. Lebz and Wiki will be there, and I don’t think Thuli’s interested in me anymore.”

There’s a terse silence on the other end. “You promised,” he hisses.

“It’s just a party!” I protest. “And I’m just going to look around, that’s it. I’m not wandering off into people’s bedrooms; I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Connie – ”

The shrill ring of the landline drowns him out. “Ooh – better get that, it could be Lebz. Relax, OK? I’ll be fine.” I hang up, wishing I’d never made that silly promise, and wondering once again why he’s so adamant that I keep it. It’s just a party. What’s the worst that could happen?

***

Dad and I have an unspoken agreement – we’re not going to talk about our fight. We’re civilized, but if he thinks I’m letting it go he doesn’t know me very well.

On Thursday afternoon I head to Bontleng for another session. Ntatemogolo is waiting for me outside with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry – we had a meeting after Peer Counselling.” I lower myself onto the dusty veranda and drop my school bag beside me. “How are you?”

“Fine. How’s Ray?”

My eyes narrow. “He’s OK.”

“He’s coping with his workload?” There’s a nasty glint in his eyes.

I keep my mouth shut, trying to find the most diplomatic way to tackle this. It’s obvious he knows about Dad’s work with the Salinger Institute – they must have called him to find out whether he’d be interested in getting involved. I take a deep breath to diffuse my rising anger. One unreasonable relative I can handle, but two?

“Ah. He’s struggling, isn’t he?” Ntatemogolo chuckles. “He’s a proud man, that Ray Bennett.”

“So are you,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?”

I sigh. “I was just wondering how you know he’s struggling.”

He shakes the ash off the cigarette and takes another long pull. “I ran into Dr Whitman from the Salinger Institute the other day. Nice lady. She mentioned a project your father was working on and seemed surprised that I hadn’t heard from him. You see, she doesn’t know we’re connected.”

A lot of people don’t know, and Dad and Ntatemogolo are happy to keep it that way. I take another deep breath. I’m dying to yell at my grandfather, but he doesn’t take kindly to kids who talk back. “Why didn’t you offer to help?”

He raises a sparse eyebrow at me. “I don’t go offering my services where they’re not wanted, my girl. If he needs my assistance, he knows what to do.”

“But he hates the idea of asking you for anything!”

“Yes, because he’s a fool,” he snaps. “He thinks he knows everything, with his biology! I was already studying the ways of my people when he came into this world, and he thinks he knows better?”

I really don’t feel like hearing this right now. As annoyed as I am with Dad, I’m even more annoyed with Ntatemogolo. You’d think someone with his insight would be less petty. I clear my throat. “Ntatemogolo, maybe you should reach out to him. I’m sure he’d be happy to accept your help. Who knows – this could be a chance for the two of you to put your differences aside and do something great. And maybe this project will give Dad a better understanding of our world.”

He shakes his head. “Your father will never understand. He’s not like Dr Whitman – she’s interested in learning about how other people do things. Your father thinks there is only one way, and he can’t see beyond that.”

“But maybe if you just give him a chance – ”

“I will not work with someone who doesn’t respect me,” he interrupts with a note of finality.

Fine. I’m sick of mediating between the two of them. If my mother had lived, maybe things would have been different. Maybe they would have found a way to get along. Maybe Dad wouldn’t have been so threatened by my relationship with Ntatemogolo. But she’s dead, and I’m not a miracle worker.

I take out my phone and glance pointedly at the time. “I have to be home by seven.”

He nods and drops the cigarette on the floor, grinding it beneath his shoe. “Let’s go inside.”

I pick up my bag and follow him into his sparsely furnished house. Beyond the bare living room is a corridor, and the first room is where Ntatemogolo does his work. We call it the consultation room. The curtains are always drawn and he keeps the light off. I glance at the big chest in the corner as I lower myself onto the reed mat in the middle of the floor. The chest contains all his “tools”, and also the objects we’ve been using to practice. Usually Ntatemogolo likes to cleanse everything after use, but he keeps a few things from his consultations to test me with.

He opens the chest and removes a goatskin bag, which he deposits on the mat in front of me. He sits cross-legged opposite me and opens the bag. I watch him close his eyes and mumble a few words as he holds his hands above the bag, then he falls silent, takes several deep, steady breaths, and then opens his eyes. His energy has shifted now – he’s clear-headed and objective and ready to work.

I take a moment to get into the zone. I don’t have to be particularly calm to read the objects – if the energy around them is strong enough I can pick it up no matter what – but if I’m not careful to distance myself, I end up carrying around other people’s baggage for days. In one of our earlier sessions I held a plastic cup used by a woman who had been killed by her boyfriend. The woman’s family had come to my grandfather because they believed her spirit was haunting their home. I spent the next hour crouched over the toilet bowl, retching. Ntatemogolo has since promised to keep me away from that sort of thing. I want to improve my skills, but I have my limits.

He loosens the drawstring and opens the bag, then reaches in and pulls out a folded piece of paper torn from a book. Even in the dark I can see there’s writing on it. I raise my eyebrows. Paper is difficult. Ceramics, wood, metal and stone are the easiest materials to read, followed by natural fabrics, followed by synthetics and plastic. Paper gives me trouble because I always approach it with my mind instead of my gift.

He hands it to me. “Slowly, Connie. Don’t cheat.”

My first instinct is to unfold it and search for the words that must be on it, because that’s what you do with paper – you write on it, you read it. I have to stop myself, take a breath, and change the way I look at it. It’s not a letter or a page from a book. It’s an object like all the others, like a cup or a piece of cloth. In the semi-dark room the white of the paper looks dull grey. I’m trying to look with my other eyes, but my head keeps getting in the way, telling me there’s nothing to see because the paper is blank.

I drop the paper so my frustration won’t taint it.

“It’s OK,” my grandfather says gently. “Try again.”

I close my eyes as I hold out my hand, so the words on the page won’t distract me. The page is small, just a little larger than my palm. For a moment I feel the usual resistance, but I push it aside and focus on the texture of the paper against my fingers. And then I sense it – anxiety. It starts as a small, nagging twitch in my stomach and then blossoms, spreading through my torso, making my heart race and my muscles knot up. I drop the paper and open my eyes, gasping.

“Well?”

“He’s worried about something.” I reach up to rub my shoulder, which suddenly feels like I’ve been lifting cement blocks. “Very worried. Panicked, tense. He’s been worried for a long time, too – it’s making him sick. His body is…” I pause to find the right words. “Fighting itself.” Now my gift takes a step back and my intellect takes over. “Is he dying?”

Ntatemogolo laughs. “You’ve never done that before,” he says in delight, leaning forward to pick up the small page. “You made a deduction based on what you felt. Usually you just feel and leave the thinking out of it. What made you switch?”

I shrug, still tense. “It just happened. It seemed…I don’t know…necessary. Am I right, though? He has some kind of terminal illness?”

“He does. And yes, he is a very anxious man – he always has been.” He beams at me. “You’re getting very good at picking up gender signals, too.”

I return the smile, feeling rather proud of myself.

He looks at his watch. “That’s enough for today. You did very well, my girl. You finally broke through your paper barrier.”

He’s right – I made progress. I’m pleased, but my sense of achievement is ruined by a nagging concern. “Thank you, Ntatemogolo.” I hesitate before speaking again. “Will you please do something for me?”

“Of course. Unless it has to do with your father.”

Eish. I wish he’d leave the mind-reading to me. I get to my feet with a sigh while he empties the bag in preparation for purification. “Never mind. I’ll see you next week.”

His phone buzzes. I jump at the sound; usually he leaves it in the living room when we’re practising so it doesn’t disturb us. He glances at the message and inhales sharply.

“Bad news?” I ask.

“No – just the opposite.” His teeth are tinged green by the light of the phone. “It might be the news I was hoping for.” He gets up, suddenly in a frightful hurry. “Connie, I have to go out of town for some time.”

“Right now?” I follow him out of the consultation room and linger in the doorway as he rushes into his bedroom.

“Yes.” His voice is muffled. “Something very urgent has come up. I must see to it immediately.”

I shrug. I’m used to his frequent trips. If he’s not called away to help solve a magical mystery, he’s off doing research or investigating some unexplained occurrence. “OK. How long will you be gone?”

“I am not sure.” He emerges from the room clutching a duffel bag. “You’ll be fine?”

I nod. His eyes are shining. It really must be good news. I’m curious now, but I don’t dare ask. There’s a lot he shares with me, but most of the work he does for clients is confidential.

“Good girl. Keep practising, and close the gate properly on your way out. Oh, and one more thing. Remember that birthday gift I gave you?”

I frown. “The chest?”

“The beaded ankle bracelet. The very old one.”

I nod.

“This might be a good time to start wearing it.”

I open my mouth to ask what he means but he shoos me away, eager to prepare for his trip. I leave him to his packing. In the corridor I reach into my pocket for my phone. It’s almost six-thirty. Dad’s probably not home, but Rakwena’s supposed to come over after work and I don’t want to make him wait.

I hurry through the living room, knocking against the small table on my way to the door and upsetting the book lying on it. The book slides half off the table and I lean over to push it back into place. The second I touch it I feel a tingle. Not just any tingle, either. I stare at the book, then pick it up and hold it in both hands. A dull surge of anxiety moves through me, then fades. The tingle is gone but I know I felt it, and I’d know it anywhere. Rakwena was here recently, and it wasn’t a social call.

I take a closer look at the book. It’s an old, red leather-bound volume called A Meeting of Minds. I put it back and consider confronting my grandfather, but I know if he intended to tell me Rakwena was here he would have done it already. I head outside, closing the front door and the gate behind me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had the feeling that Rakwena and Ntatemogolo are keeping something from me. From the start it was clear that Ntatemogolo knew Rakwena and didn’t trust him. I let it go. Ntatemogolo knows most of the gifted in town, as many of them come to him for help with their powers. I assumed Rakwena must have done the same, but now I’m not so sure.

Something was bothering Rakwena and he came to my grandfather for help. Is he planning to clue me in, or is this another mystery I’m supposed to ignore?

***

Rakwena and I lounge on the sofa with my Setswana books, while he tries to help me with my appalling sentence construction. I can’t concentrate. I’m trying not to be pushy and nosy but I can’t help it. I’ve given him ample opportunity to confide in me, and he hasn’t.

“Rakwena.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you go to see my grandfather?”

His gaze remains fixed on the page. “Did he tell you I went to see him?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything, and neither do you.” I lean over to snatch the book from under his nose. “Talk to me. I know you’re worried about something. What is it?”

He leans back in the sofa with a puzzled frown. “I touched something. That’s how you know.” The frown lines smooth out and he looks at me. “The book.”

I look into his eyes, but as usual he’s got his barrier up and there’s no way I’m getting in. “It would be nicer if you had just told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

If he were anyone else I’d be able to see the wheels turning in his head. I’d be able to tell whether he was cooking up a story for me or searching for the right words to frame the truth. But Rakwena never lets his guard down, so I have to take every word he says on faith.

“Why would I be upset?”

He takes a moment to reply. “Your grandfather and I are worried about Thuli. I know you think he’s lost interest, but I don’t.”

Relief flows through me. It’s not some terrible secret after all – it’s just Rakwena looking out for me, as usual. “He’s not going to come near me as long as you’re around,” I remind him. “I can handle Thuli. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

He pulls me closer. “You think you’re some superhero now?”

“Almost.” I kiss the side of his face. “Relax. Thuli is going down one of these days. We don’t have to worry about him.” I hesitate before asking, “So that’s all? I mean…you’re not worried about your…”

“Father?” His jaw tenses. “No news is good news. Hopefully he really is dead.”

I decide not to comment. There’s no love lost between Rakwena and his father and I know better than to press the issue. The one parent I can talk about is his mother. Mmabatho Langa is in a psychiatric facility in South Africa, and Rakwena goes to visit her all the time. She’s the only relative he speaks to; his maternal aunts have practically disowned him and his father’s side of the family disappeared when his father “died”.

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s OK. I’m going to see her next weekend. Can we do some work now?”

“Sure.” I open the book.

***

Friday comes way too quickly. It’s the last day of term so we’re in civvies, which means jeans and sneakers for me. Civvies day at Syringa is like the opening day of Fashion Week – most of the kids use it as an opportunity to flash their favourite brand names at the minority middle-class students. It’s supposed to be intimidating – a girl can only stomach so much Guess before she flees to the toilet in tears to cut the label off her Mr Price shirt.

Fortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in clothes. I’m a fickle teenager. Why pay a fortune for a pair of jeans I won’t even want in a few months? Lebz, on the other hand, is a fashion slave. She turns up in skinny jeans that look as though they’ve been painted on, a flimsy top that barely covers her bra, a leather jacket, heels and a handbag so obviously expensive I can’t even look at it without feeling queasy.

“I thought you were trying not to spend so much money this year,” I admonish her, as she slides onto the bench.

“I didn’t buy it – yoh!” She laughs. “I don’t get that much pocket money. Papa got it for me in Italy. He got shoes for Rita – they’re so beautiful! I’m wearing them to the party tonight.”

Wiki and I exchange glances. Wiki’s folks, like mine, are in the lower income bracket of the Syringa class system. As far as they’re concerned, sending us to the best school in town is enough – if we want to keep up with our classmates, we should get jobs. Lebz’s dad works like a fiend making bucketloads of money, and then spoils his kids rotten to make up for all the time he spends away. It’s a good thing her mother is sensible, or Lebz would have turned out like Kelly.

“Just wait till you guys see Kencer for yourselves,” she goes on.

“Kencer?” Wiki and I chorus.

“Kelly and Spencer,” Lebz explains.

I snicker. “It’s not very flattering.”

“I know it sounds like cancer, but Botho started it and now it’s stuck. So? Are we meeting at my place for the party or what?”

“I’m not coming,” Wiki announces.

“What?” Lebz and I whip around to stare at him in dismay.

“You know how I feel about parties,” he groans. “It’s the end of term! I want to stay home and watch a movie or read…”

“You can’t miss it – Kelly throws the best parties!” says Lebz.

“And what about me?” I pitch in. “Lebz is going to disappear the minute we walk in, and I’ll be all by myself in the jungle! You can’t abandon me!”

“She’s right,” says Lebz, without shame.

Wiki sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my laptop.”

“Good! Mogapi’s busy today, so he can’t give us a ride, but I can ask my mother,” says Lebz.

“Rakwena will drop us off.”

Lebz raises an eyebrow. “He’s gate-crashing?”

I glare at her. “No, but he’s going to drop me off, so we might as well meet at my house around seven and he’ll take us.”

“Hm!” Lebz purses her lips. “Nice to have a mobile boyfriend, isn’t it?”

The sound of the bell saves her from my stinging retort. All through the day Lebz rambles on about the party, her hair, her outfit – but I can’t stop thinking about Thuli. Despite what I said to Rakwena, there’s a little part of me that is afraid.

Auntie Lydia is cooking when I walk into the house later, and the aroma of roasting chicken fills the air.

“I love you,” I gush, as I make my way into the kitchen.

She turns away from the stove to smile at me. “No, you only use me for my cooking skills.”

“Not true!” I give her a half hug and lean over to peer at the pot of rice bubbling away on the stove.

“OK, enough games now. I’m worried about your father.” She peeks at the oven, then turns her full attention to me. “It’s not normal for him to have so much work at the university now – they’ve only just opened.”

“It’s the Salinger project.” I sigh and walk to the fridge for some water. “He’s supposed to be getting help from Ntatemogolo, but you know how it is with them.”

Her eyes widen with understanding. “Can’t you talk to them?”

“I’ve tried.” I slump against the counter.

She frowns thoughtfully. “Keep trying. But for now, come and make some vegetables for the stew. I know you’re going to a party tonight, but you must eat some real food first.”

“Auntie, you don’t want me to fit into my party clothes?”

“Party clothes? You?” She throws an incredulous glance over her shoulder as she lifts the lid of the rice pot.

I laugh. “I do have a few nice things, you know.”

“Yes – the ones I made you,” she teases. “Come, come – my vegetables. There’s the chopping board.”

I smile as I reach for the chopping board and knife, but she’s got me thinking. I really have to find a way to get Dad to agree to work with Ntatemogolo. Now that school is over, I’ll have lots of free time to come up with a plan.


Chapter Three (#u71dca431-65ec-55ab-ab12-4ad03ac74f4c)

I stand in front of my mirror, scowling at my reflection. I hate clothes. I hate parties. At this moment I even hate Lebz, who looks like a million bucks in her black leather pants, ankle boots and silk top. She has a red sash around her braids and a cute handbag shaped like a fan.

I’m wearing black jeans with a ridiculous sequinned dragon clawing its way up the thigh, and a miniscule white shirt that Lebz insisted on bringing. It looks like it shrunk in the washing machine. “No.”

“But it’s so cute!”

“How can it be cute? It’s invisible!” I struggle with the top for a few minutes before finally getting it off, then rummage in my wardrobe and pull out a red The Doors T-shirt with the collar and sleeves cut off. I love this T-shirt – it falls over one shoulder and hangs just below my hips. I have no idea who The Doors are – the T-shirt used to belong to my father before I hijacked it – but I like it anyway.

I pull off the jeans and replace them with a pair of faded black jeans I’ve been wearing forever. I push my feet into hi-top All-Stars, tie a black band around my hair and I’m set.

“You know, that look isn’t as bad as I expected,” Lebz remarks, giving me the once-over.

I roll my eyes at her and grab a jacket. “Where is Wiki? Rakwena will be here in a few minutes and I don’t want to make him drive all the way to Phase 2.”

Lebz gets up and goes to the mirror to check her hair. She’s done some interesting twisty thing with her braids that must have taken ages. “Relax. He’ll be here.”

As if on cue, I hear a car pull up outside. “Finally!” I hurry to the door and pull it open just as Wiki is coming up the driveway. I wave at his father before he drives off.

“I’m sorry I’m late – my dad was in the middle of something.” True to his word, Wiki has his laptop bag on his shoulder.

Rakwena arrives a few minutes later. I lock up the house and pocket my key, send Dad a quick text to let him know when to expect me back, and then we’re off.

“I wish you were coming,” I tell Rakwena, as the car moves through the streets.

“I don’t. Besides, you have two experienced bodyguards,” he points out, looking at Lebz and Wiki in the rear-view mirror.

Somehow this doesn’t exactly reassure me. Wiki, despite his best intentions, is going to be absorbed in his laptop, and once Lebz is swallowed by the crowd I won’t see her for the rest of the night. Hopefully this Spencer guy and his buddies will keep me entertained, otherwise I’m going to be stuck watching anime with Wiki.

Kelly lives in a sprawling estate in Broadhurst. Her stepfather does something to do with medicine – medical supplies, or pharmaceuticals or something – and he’s the only father she’s ever known. Her real father left when she was a baby. She got an upgrade if you ask me – her stepdad treats her like a princess.

Rakwena pulls up outside the house, and Lebz’s door is open before the car has even come to a complete stop.

“Thanks, Lizard!” she chirps, hopping out of the car.

“Yes, thank you.” Wiki heaves a sigh of resignation and glances miserably at the house. “Not to be a bother, but is there any chance of a ride home?”

“Sure,” says Rakwena with a sympathetic grin. “I’ll be coming to get Connie around eleven. I can drop you off, no problem.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Wiki gets out of the car and trails behind Lebz, who has already started dancing her way up the driveway to the beat of some ghastly ragga tune.

“Better get going before I lose my bodyguards.” I turn towards the door.

“Hey.” Rakwena takes my hand. “Be careful.”

“I will.” It occurs to me that he no longer seems as worried as he was the last time we spoke. From trying to convince me not to go to the party at all, he’s switched to being almost nonchalant. My sixth sense is tingling, but the car is idling and Wiki’s waiting for me near the door.

I give Rakwena a quick kiss and climb out of the car. Lebz, of course, is nowhere to be seen. Wiki and I step into Wonderland. It’s loud, and very different from Thuli’s party. There’s no wine, no carefully laid table, and no red carpet. It’s just a huge house crammed to bursting with rowdy kids.

Amantle is standing in the foyer, welcoming the guests. She’s dressed in a slinky minidress and looks about eighteen instead of fourteen. I’ve noticed that after getting rid of the bewitched necklace that the Puppetmaster used to control her, she no longer wears any kind of jewellery. I suppose you can’t be too careful.

Seeing her dressed up like this triggers a flashback of the sort of outfits she and her friends wore when they were under the Puppetmaster’s power, and that reminds me of Emily. I bite my lip. I never told Amantle that Emily was still working for him; once Emily left there seemed no point in freaking the others out. As far as they’re concerned, all five of them are safe and well. I think it’s best they keep thinking that.

Amantle waves us over. “I’m glad you came,” she yells over the music. “You didn’t bring Rakwena?”

“He didn’t get an invite,” I remind her.

“Ja, but I assumed…never mind.” She glances over her shoulder and leans closer to whisper in my ear. “Could you do me a favour? I know it’s a party and you’re here to have fun, but…”

My eyes narrow. Trouble already? I haven’t even been here five minutes! “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, yet. Just keep your eyes open.” She flashes me a bright, slightly plastic smile. “There are a lot of people here, and I don’t know all of them, and I…I don’t want anyone getting in any trouble, if you know what I mean.”

I know exactly what she means. After what happened to Amantle and her friends last year, she’s become a lot more wary of the people she mixes with. I nod and give her manicured hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Thanks.” Her tone is casual, but I can sense her relief. “Have a good time! Just let me know if you need anything.” And she’s off to make nice with some other guests.

Wiki raises his eyebrows at me. “You think there’s something to worry about?”

“I’ll soon find out.” We make our way towards the main room, where all the action is. I’m scanning the faces in the crowd and I’m on high alert, just in case. I don’t expect trouble – at least not the supernatural kind – but you never know.

Wiki and I find ourselves a corner next to a power outlet and he whips out his laptop while I go to find us some drinks. I don’t see any booze on the table, but there are plenty of suspicious-looking liquids in people’s cups. I pour us some lemonade and load a paper plate with chips and biscuits, then head back to our corner.

Wiki already has an episode of the anime Naruto loaded and ready to go. He looks up and takes one paper cup. “Thanks. Picking up any unusual vibrations yet?”

“Besides the bass pumping in my chest? Nope.” I slouch in my chair, sipping my drink and watching the well-dressed (in some cases half-dressed) crowd.

“This is a great episode,” says Wiki, offering me one of his earphones.

I shake my head. “I have to stay focused – I’m here to check out the Cresta Crew, remember?”

He shrugs, puts in the earphones and is officially in his own world. I nibble my chips. I haven’t spotted Kelly yet. Maybe she and her new beau are already holed up in her room. I catch a brief glimpse of Lebz getting down on the dance floor with a few of Kelly’s cronies, then my gaze keeps moving. Some kids from my class, a couple of Form Three boys, Refilwe, one of Amantle’s friends…and then I see him.

Thuli. The fear is so overwhelming that for a second I’m convinced I’m going to suffocate and die, right there in that chair in a dark corner of the living room, and no one will notice. But the feeling is gone as quickly as it came, and I wonder what came over me. I see him occasionally at school, but this feels different. Maybe because it’s a party, like the one at his house. Maybe my body remembers a lot more clearly than I thought.

His long dreadlocks are loose and he’s leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with a guy I don’t recognise. The guy gives a distracted nod and looks up, scanning the crowd. My heart jumps and I sit up straight. He’s one of the Cresta Crew. He must be – he looks like he climbed out of a magazine. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with muscular arms. He has dreadlocks, too, but his make Thuli’s look like tatty bits of rope. They’re thick and beautiful, and even tied up they fall all the way down his back. He looks about twenty, with a neat goatee. Now I know what Lebz was talking about – this guy is seriously good-looking.

Thuli forgotten, I get to my feet to take a closer look. The guy is no longer paying attention to Thuli. He’s caught sight of something far more interesting, and he’s watching it with a slight smile. I follow his gaze. It’s a girl, scantily clad and gyrating against the back of a chair. I find her repulsive, but Mr Rapunzel seems to think she’s the catch of the day.

Then something distracts him and he turns his head. He murmurs something to Thuli, who looks very unimpressed, and then walks away. I push my way through the crowd, keeping Rapunzel in sight. He stops beside another genetically gifted specimen. This one has a neat brush-cut and is the size of the Incredible Hulk, but apart from that they could be brothers. There’s an air of authority about the big one, and something else – an undercurrent of danger. He’s like a tiger in captivity – beautiful, calm, but still lethal behind the thin sheet of glass. They talk in hushed tones and Hulk nods towards a small group of dancers.

I follow his gaze. In the little knot of people I see a few girls and four guys. Two of them are significantly more attractive than the others. They’re both light-skinned, one with a mop of curly hair and the other with cornrows, and they look like twins. I glance from them to the other pair, and once again I notice a resemblance. Two sets of brothers who are related to each other – cousins, maybe? Lebz said there were six of them, so that leaves two. Spencer must be with Kelly, and the other one…I search the room, but there’s no sign of him.

Suddenly a head pops up, blocking my line of sight. “Hi! Wanna dance?”

I zone in on the chubby face and I’m rewarded with a smile. “No, thanks. I’m in the middle of something.”

“Really?” He looks me up and down. “Seems like you’re just wandering around. I’m Tshiamo. You’re in my Business Studies class.”

“Right. Connie.” I hold out my hand, leaning slightly to the right to see past his head.

He ignores my hand. “So, are you friends with Kelly?”

What is it with this boy? Doesn’t he know I’m the girl you’re supposed to avoid? I don’t remember ever speaking to him before, and right now the last thing I need is a distraction.

“Um, no. She’s friends with my friends. Listen, not to be rude, but – ”

“So, you’re dating that Black Lizard guy, right?” He leans towards me, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s he like?”

I stare at him. I haven’t heard anyone call Rakwena by that nickname in a while. He earned it thanks to the lizard tattoo on his arm. It’s funny – I used to call him that, too, before I got to know him. It seems like a lifetime ago. I sigh. Tshiamo seems a little nervous – maybe he’s as socially awkward as I am and doesn’t want to sit in a corner by himself.

“His name is Rakwena,” I tell him. “And he’s cool.”

“But scary, right?”

I have to smile. “No, not really.”

“Huh.” He gives me a funny look, and I’m tempted to take a little sojourn into his thoughts. I can sense his concern. “But he’s…” He licks his lips and lowers his gaze for a second. “He’s nice to you, and everything?”

I look into his eyes. I’m the one he’s worried about! He thinks big, bad Black Lizard is some kind of bully. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Wait till I tell Rakwena about this. “He’s very nice to me,” I assure him.

“Huh,” he says again, and somehow manages to inject a wealth of scepticism into that solitary syllable.

“Connie!”

I jump at the sound of Lebz’s voice. “Oh, it’s you.” I lean over to sniff the cup in her hand and she bats me away.

“What are you, my mother?” She glances at Tshiamo. “What’s up, Tshiamo?”

“Nah, just hanging,” he replies. Of course they know each other. I’m the only wallflower in school.

“Lebz, please don’t go picking up random cups.” I study her for signs of inebriation, but she seems fine.

“I poured it myself,” she assures me. “It’s only cider, and I promise I’m only having two. OK? But listen, any progress?” She shoots a wary glance at Tshiamo.

I nod. “But nothing conclusive.”

“Keep trying.” She takes another gulp of cider. “Yoh, I love this song. See you later!” She totters away on her high heels.

“So, Connie, blah blah blah.”

That’s not really what Tshiamo is saying, but it might as well be for all the attention I’m paying him. I’ve just spotted another too-pretty-to-be-normal boy.

He looks younger than me, and he’s standing by himself in a corner, apparently oblivious of all the come-hither looks he’s getting from the girls nearby. He’s something of a cross between the other four – warm brown skin, long dreadlocks, but not as long as Rapunzel’s. He’s looking down as if deep in thought. He has a sweet, innocent face, and I feel an odd rush of maternal affection. He looks up, right into my eyes, and smiles as if he knew I was watching him all along.

For a second I’m too shocked to react. His smile isn’t suggestive or accusatory, it’s shy and friendly. Without thinking, I smile back, and he immediately starts moving towards me. I look away and my gaze falls on his two buddies, Rapunzel and Hulk. Both are watching me, and neither looks happy.

I turn back to the little one, wondering how this is going to play out. He seems harmless – what’s he going to do? Charm me to death? When I glance back at the glowering faces of Rapunzel and Hulk I feel the unmistakeable sting of possible mortal peril. The energy coming off them is so strong and sudden that it takes me by surprise. Oh, yes, they’re gifted. No doubt about it now. They’re gifted and angry, and that’s a dangerous combination.

Suddenly Tshiamo’s hand closes over my wrist and he starts pulling me in the opposite direction from my gifted quarry.

“What are you doing?” I yank my arm from his grip and glare at him.

“I just thought you might want to dance,” he sputters.

“I already said no.”

“Yes, but…” His gaze keeps flitting away from my face, and his anxiety is mounting. I see sweat breaking out on his forehead, and it’s not from the fancy lighting. “I’m supposed to keep you away from other guys. Especially those guys.”

I gape at him, perplexed. “What are you talking about?” I let my gift slide slowly towards his mind. This is no time to be ethical – something’s got this guy worked up and I want to know what it is.

“Forget it,” he blurts out, backing away. “I made a mistake.” He hurries off before I can lock onto his thoughts, muttering, “Crazy jealous types.”

I’m about to go after him when someone behind me says, “Hi.”

I turn to look into the adorable face of the baby of the Cresta Crew. His eyes are like molten chocolate, sweet, warm and inviting. He’s so irresistibly cute I have to clench my hands into fists to keep myself from pinching his cheeks. It’s ridiculous – he’s baby booties, puppies and kittens all rolled into one. He oozes wholesome innocence. It’s too overwhelming to be natural, so I can only assume it’s supernatural. So far I’m certain that three out of the six members of this group are gifted, and that’s already a rarity. Lebz’s theory might hold water, after all.

The boy turns on a sunshine smile that smashes my innate wariness to bits. “You must be Conyza.”

Fragments of suspicion stir from the wreckage. Sure, he’s sweet, but how does he know my name? “Do I know you?” I venture.

“Not yet. I’m Duma.” He holds out his hand.

Before I can shake it I sense someone behind me. The light-skinned one with the curls has materialised at my side. I jump, startled. “Where did you come from?”

He doesn’t even glance my way. “Duma, didn’t I ask you to get me a drink?”

“In a second,” says the kid, grinning at me. “I was just saying hi to – ”

“Now,” the other boy insists.

I look at him. “Let me guess. You’re the big brother.”

“Cousin, but he acts like he owns me,” Duma grumbles. “He’s Elias, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Elias.”

“Ja, hi.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off Duma. “Drink. Now.”

Duma mutters something incoherent and turns away. “See you later, Conyza.”

“Call me Connie,” I call out.

He turns around and beams, then vanishes into the crowd.

“And what exactly is your – ” But Elias is gone, leaving me baffled and a little annoyed. Why did he have to be so rude? Does he think I was making moves on his cousin, or is he just worried that I’ll figure out he’s gifted? Too late. And how did Duma know my name? Did he ask around because he sensed that I’m gifted, too?

I glance around for Rapunzel and Hulk, but they’ve disappeared as well so I head back to my corner. Wiki pulls out his earphones and gives me an enquiring look.

“This party is turning out to be interesting,” I report, taking my place beside him.

His eyes widen when I tell him what happened. “You think all of them are gifted?”

“I don’t know. At least four. That Elias moved like a cat. Definitely gifted.”

Wiki frowns. “That’s odd. A group of gifted relatives, hanging around together like some kind of…”

“Gang? Pop group? Coven?”

“You tell me.”

I shrug. “Being gifted doesn’t mean they’re trouble. You know what bugs me?” I lean close to him. “I’ve never heard of an entire family of freaks.”

“Doesn’t the power get passed on, like you and your grandfather?”

“Yes, but not always. Rakwena got his gift from his dad, but Ntatemogolo and I have different gifts, and we’re the only gifted in our family. It’s just…weird.”

Wiki frowns at his laptop, radiating concern. “So what happens now?”

“I need to know more about them, and since Duma seems to be more sociable than the rest, I’ll have to try to get him alone.”

“Maybe I should come…”

I pat his knee gently. “He might not talk in front of an ungifted. And you’re in the middle of an episode.” I pick up a biscuit, finish the rest of my drink and get to my feet.

“Good luck. And be careful!”

I wink at him and head back into the thick of the party. I spot Tshiamo near the door, but the minute he sees me he bolts. And I’m supposed to be the weird one. The loud music and densely packed bodies are starting to give me a headache. Number six finally makes an appearance at the far end of the room. Spencer. Lebz didn’t exaggerate – the boy’s a walking dream. In jeans that fit like magic and a T-shirt that shows off a ripped torso, he has a face so pretty it makes me want to cry. Poor Kelly didn’t stand a chance.

Unfortunately, the effect is hampered by the fact that Spencer is drunk, and if the cup in his hand is anything to go by, he’s not done yet. He leans against the wall, looking self-satisfied and ignoring the gaggle of girls giggling nearby. A moment later he’s joined by Kelly, and I’m struck by how good they look together. If they procreate, the world is in big trouble.

It seems they’re eager to get cracking on that; Kelly plasters herself against him and kisses him with abandon. He drops the cup, unconcerned about the amber puddle at his feet, and wraps his arms around her so tight I feel suffocated. They’re not kissing, they’re trying to swallow each other whole.

For a moment all I can do is stare. I’ve seen Kelly play the game of seduction countless times, but I’ve never seen her like this. She’s clinging to Spencer with a desperation that borders on terror, as if they’ll die if they let go. When it comes to boys, Kelly always has the upper hand.

When she and Spencer finally pull apart, I can tell by the dazed expression on her face that the tables have been turned. She’s fallen, hard, and the realisation sends wild tendrils of panic shooting through my head. That look on her face doesn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy, and it’s not because of the antagonism between us. Even I wouldn’t begrudge Kelly the thrill of true love – but this isn’t it. This is something else. Something dangerous. Something wrong.

Spencer keeps his arm possessively around Kelly, and they vanish into the crowd. I try to follow, but I have no idea where they went. Her room, maybe. The thought fills me with dread. I search the room for them, and instead catch a glimpse of Elias’s twin dancing with a girl. They’re pressed so close to each other it’s a miracle they can breathe. Elias isn’t far away; I spot him chatting up a girl near the window. These boys are taking full advantage of their effect on girls. If they were regular boys I’d just be disgusted, but they’re gifted, and that changes everything.

I keep moving, heading towards the door, and stop abruptly when I see Thuli, Hulk and Rapunzel. Thuli is chattering away, but neither Hulk nor Rapunzel seem interested in his monologue. Spencer appears again, emerging from the crowd to stand at Hulk’s side. Kelly’s not with him.

He leans in to whisper in Hulk’s ear, barely able to keep himself from swaying. Beneath the haze of alcohol, he looks upset. Hulk pulls Spencer aside. They have a brief, terse discussion, and then Hulk beckons to Rapunzel and the three of them head for the door. Thuli starts to follow, then seems to change his mind. I, on the other hand, have no qualms about sticking my nose in the Cresta Crew’s business. I’m almost at the door when Lebz appears with Amantle right behind her.

“Connie! There you are – have you seen Kelly?”

As soon as Lebz’s hand touches my arm, my body stiffens. My eyes burn, my pulse races and panic fills my throat, almost choking me. The feeling fades instantly and there are no images to accompany it, but I don’t need a diagram.

Lebz inhales sharply, recognising the symptoms. “What did you see?”

I don’t answer. I push my way back through the crowd, following the thin, disintegrating thread of my premonition. Across the room, through the corridor, past the toilet where a queue has formed, past the staircase, past the kitchen and into another corridor. A door is ajar; I push it open and find myself in what must be the garage. It’s pitch dark.

“Kelly?” I look around, adjusting to the darkness. I can make out the shape of a car, the backdoor wide open, but a quick glance inside reveals nothing but an abandoned pair of high heels. “Kelly!”

Lebz and Amantle take up the call as the three of us comb the garage, but there’s no sign of her. Then I see another door, leading to what looks like a small storeroom. I run towards it.

“Here!” I yell to the others, stopping short of falling over the inert figure on the floor.

Kelly’s legs are in the doorway, her body slumped on the floor. She’s unconscious, but apparently uninjured. Her clothes are rumpled but intact. I kneel down beside her, tapping her cheeks with my palms. “Kelly. Kelly!”

“Oh, God!” gasps Lebz. “What happened?”

“Was it Spencer?” demands Amantle. “Did he…”

“I don’t know. Maybe she just had too much to drink.”

“But how could he leave her like this?” cries Lebz in horror. “All alone in the dark – he could have at least taken her to her room!”

Kelly starts to moan and her eyelids flutter open. “Spencer?”

“Gone,” I tell her, helping her sit up. “Are you OK?”

She rubs her temple and frowns. “I feel…sick.” Her eyes roll back in her head and she sags against the wall.

“OK, we have to get her inside.” I turn to Amantle. “Is there a way we can get to her room without passing the living room?”

Amantle nods and the three of us help Kelly to her feet. She seems completely unable to carry her own weight, and despite what I said I’m sure her condition has nothing to do with alcohol. Amantle leads the way, and Lebz and I carry Kelly between us through the dimly lit corridor and up another flight of steps. Amantle opens the second door on the left and we drag Kelly into the room and deposit her on the bed. She’s passed out again.

“Should we call a doctor?” asks Amantle, chewing on her thumbnail.

I sit on the edge of the bed and feel Kelly’s forehead. She’s not running a temperature and doesn’t appear to have any bruises or wounds, but that doesn’t mean she’s fine. Something supernatural happened to her, but I have no idea what it was or how it’s going to affect her. “I think that’s a good idea, just to be safe.”

Amantle reaches into her handbag for her phone. While she makes the call, Lebz comes to sit beside me.

“You don’t think someone drugged her, do you? I mean, it’s possible – there are a lot of people at this party and no one was really paying attention…”

“Maybe. But you said she was with Spencer all the time.”

Her eyes widen. “You think he…”

I glance at Amantle and lower my voice. “I saw him leaving and he looked upset. It’s not exactly evidence, but I got the feeling something was off. And the premonition…”

Amantle hangs up. “My cousin’s coming; she’s a nurse. Maybe I should get my brother – he’s supposed to be the chaperone, but I think he’s outside.”

“Good idea. I’m going downstairs to see if I can find any of the Cresta Crew.” I glance at Kelly. “Will you guys be OK?”

Lebz nods. I leave the room and scan every face downstairs, but none of the boys are in sight. I enlist Wiki’s help in the search, to no avail. All six of them have vanished. We head outside. I see Tshiamo talking to another boy, and I remember that I never found out what his story was. His back is to me.

“One second,” I tell Wiki, and walk over to Tshiamo. I tap his shoulder.

He turns around and swears colourfully. “Look, I’m sorry, OK? What was I supposed to do? Two hundred bucks just to keep an eye on you is a sweet deal, so I took it.” He fishes in his pocket, pulls out a folded bill and hands it to me. “Tsa. I don’t want any hassles.”

I stare at the money, utterly confused. “Wait – you were paid to keep an eye on me?”

“Hey!” He forces the money into my hand. “I was just trying to help. Take it up with your crazy jealous boyfriend. Or maybe not – he looks like the passion-killing type.” He gives me a significant nod. “My advice? Dump him and get a bodyguard.” He backs away, shaking his head. His friend follows, glancing at me over his shoulder.

I blink. “What the hell was that?”

Wiki clears his throat. “My conclusion is that Rakwena paid Tshiamo two hundred pula to keep you out of trouble.”

“We’ve reached the same conclusion,” I reply through gritted teeth. No wonder Rakwena seemed calmer when he dropped us off – he had a plan. I’m angry and exasperated. I hate it when he goes behind my back!

“I’m sure he was just worried about Thuli,” says Wiki gently.

I shake my head. “When Duma came towards me, Tshiamo tried to take me away. He said he was supposed to keep me away from other guys – especially those guys, meaning the Cresta Crew.”

Wiki falls silent. I storm past him, back into the house. I intend to have a word or two with that boyfriend of mine. By the time we get to Kelly’s room the nurse has arrived and it’s almost eleven. Amantle’s brother looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. I imagine Kelly’s parents won’t be too happy with him.

The nurse emerges from Kelly’s room. “She’s fine,” she declares, and we all heave sighs of relief. “I think she might have had one drink too many, and she just needs to sleep it off. She’s a bit weak, but otherwise all right.”

I pull Lebz aside and leave Amantle and her brother to talk to the nurse alone. “Rakwena will be here soon,” I remind her.

“I’ll get a lift with Botho,” she says.

“OK. Don’t worry – you heard the nurse. She just drank too much.”

Lebz nods, but she’s not convinced, and neither am I. I give her a quick hug, say my goodbyes and head back downstairs. Wiki’s already outside with Rakwena, and I can tell from the look of concern on Rakwena’s face that he’s been filled in.

“How is she?”

“She’ll live to torment me,” I assure him, keeping my annoyance in check. I don’t want to fight in front of Wiki. “The nurse thinks she partied too hard.”

His eyes narrow. “And what do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” I turn to Wiki. “Ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready since I got here,” he quips, and the three of us make our way to Rakwena’s car.

Rakwena doesn’t say much until he’s taken Wiki home and it’s just the two of us. He parks outside my gate and peers into my face. “You’re upset. Is it Thuli? Did he – ”

I pull the crumpled P200 note from my pocket and slap it onto the dashboard. “Money-back guarantee from Tshiamo. By the way, he doesn’t like doing business with crazy, jealous boyfriends.”

Rakwena stares at the money and says nothing.

“Are you going to explain why you felt the need to hire me a bodyguard without my permission?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He takes the money, unfolds it carefully and puts it in the glove compartment. “I was worried Thuli might – ”

“No, you were worried I’d talk to the Cresta Crew. Tshiamo told me.”

I see his jaw tense in the dim light. “Yes. I’m worried about them, too. You said you’d stay out of trouble. You promised, and then you went to a party where you’d be exposed to one freak hunter and six undefined threats, so I took protective measures.”

“You’re not my father!” I sigh. “Honestly, you can’t do stuff like that. And if you were so worried, why didn’t you gate-crash the way you did at Thuli’s party?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “I overreacted. It won’t happen again.” He’s got his cool, calm mask up, and I can’t tell what he’s really feeling.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I assure him. “I’m fine. I’m much more concerned about Kelly. There’s something about that boyfriend of hers. His friends, too.”

“Wiki says you think they’re gifted.”

“Oh, I know they are.” I release the buckle of my seatbelt so I can turn to face him properly. “Spencer’s relationship with Kelly bothers me. It’s so intense. It’s not like her at all. Duma seems like the friendliest of the group. I need to talk to him again.”

“Again?” Rakwena blurts out, eyes wide. “You spoke to one of them?”

I recoil. “Relax, we barely said two sentences to each other. His cousin Elias interrupted. What’s your problem, anyway?”

He has that look on his face, the one he gets when he doesn’t approve of my tactics. “I just don’t want you getting hurt. After the Puppetmaster and Thuli…” He sighs. “Look, maybe Kelly did just drink too much, and Spencer had nothing to do with it.”

“And maybe I’m not really a telepath – I just have an overactive imagination,” I retort, with a tinge of annoyance. “I know what I saw. Those guys are dangerous!”

The mask slides back on and his expression is as inscrutable as ever. “Fine.” He hesitates. “Just don’t go looking for trouble, OK?”

I poke him hard in the ribs and he winces. “Aren’t you the one who wanted me to take an active interest in these things?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Then stop complaining.” I glance towards the house. “I should go make sure Dad hasn’t fallen asleep on the sofa again.”

He leans forward to kiss me. “Can I come by tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it,” I tease, before jumping out of the car.

I wish he’d relax; I’m not the one in trouble. I chain the gate and put on a padlock before hurrying up the driveway. I’m concerned about Kelly. Instead of graduating from bad boys with trust funds to bad boys with powers, she should find someone trustworthy and loyal. But I guess not everyone can be as lucky as me.

***

“Kelly’s fine,” says Lebz with a sigh. She’s sprawled across my bed, while I’m in the chair at my desk. “I went over this morning to check on her.”

I turn away from my game of Spider Solitaire. “What did she say?”

Lebz makes a face. “She said she drank too much.”

“Hmm. Nothing about her boyfriend leaving her passed out in a storeroom?”

She shakes her head, making her ridiculous dangly earrings jingle. “Maybe she asked him to leave because she was embarrassed about being so drunk.”

I snort – Kelly doesn’t get embarrassed, not even when she should.

“Anyway, Spencer was really drunk, too,” adds Lebz.

He did look rather wasted. Maybe that was why his buddies were so unimpressed, and why they got him out of there in such a hurry. I have to admit, it does look like a simple case of overindulgence. Except for one thing. I turn my chair to face Lebz. “If Kelly wasn’t in danger, why did I have that premonition?”

Lebz props herself up on her elbows and looks at me. “Maybe it was because Amantle and I were worried. You know sometimes your premonitions are triggered by other people’s emotions.”

I shake my head. “I sensed that she was in danger. Something’s not adding up.”

“Well, if something happened, Kelly’s not telling.” She sits up. “As long as she’s OK, I’m happy.”

“Get me Spencer’s number.”

Lebz blinks. I raise an eyebrow at her.

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t want to piss Kelly off.”

I roll my eyes. Sometimes my best friend can be supremely naïve. “She doesn’t have to know. Just make some excuse to see her phone, go through her contacts, and get the number. Easy.”

She swallows hard, unease coming off her in waves. As much as she wants to find out whether her beloved Kelly is in danger, she’s not eager to get involved in another supernatural battle. Lebz likes to keep her feet on the ground, in expensive shoes, and far away from things that might give her nightmares.

“It was your idea for me to investigate,” I remind her mercilessly.

“I know,” she mutters. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

During the week, Rakwena and I go to Game City to watch an afternoon movie. We don’t do a lot of normal date stuff like other couples, but I like that about us. I wouldn’t have said that a year ago, when I was doing everything I could to pretend I was normal. That was before I became a telepath, before Rakwena. Now normal is a sad little dream I’ve finally woken up from.

I want to watch a thriller, Rakwena wants to watch a political drama, so we settle on a comedy. It’s not bad – the parts we actually watch, that is. Rakwena tries not to laugh out loud while I sift through the thoughts of the guy sitting two rows in front of us. I know I shouldn’t, but the poor man seems to have a mini heart attack every time the pretty female lead makes an appearance.

When the film is over, Rakwena wraps his arm around my shoulder as we leave the cinema. I push him away self-consciously. I’m not one for public displays of affection. Instead of being offended, he laughs and ruffles my hair. The heel of his palm brushes the top of my ear, and I feel the tingle all the way to my toes.

“Coward,” he whispers.

“And proud of it.”

The retort I expected never comes. Rakwena stiffens beside me. I turn to see the cause of his discomfort. The Cresta Crew are sitting at a table at KFC, all six pairs of eyes trained on us. Honestly, didn’t anyone teach them that staring is bad manners? I wave to ease the tension, but not one of them responds – not even sweet little Duma. That’s when I realise that they can’t even see me. All their attention is on Rakwena. I look up at him. His jaw twitches as he wrenches his gaze away from them.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests, through gritted teeth.

“Wait. This might be my best chance to talk to them.” I start towards the fast food outlet and Rakwena’s hand closes fiercely over my arm like a Venus flytrap over its prey. I wince. “Hey, that hurts.”

“You’re not talking to them,” he hisses, pulling me away. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Hey! Let go!” I try to pull my arm away, but Rakwena is the strongest boy I know. “Rakwena! You’re hurting me!”

He drops my arm instantly. “Sorry. But you’re being so… Please, let’s just go. I’m starving.” His voice turns coaxing. “I’ll make us dinner.”

I stare at him, rubbing my sore forearm. “You know, this Jekyll and Hyde thing you’ve got going on is really starting to get to me. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, I just want to go home.” He keeps his eyes on my face, almost as though he’s afraid to look in the Cresta Crew’s direction.

“It’s not nothing,” I persist. “You paid someone to keep me away from them at the party, and now you’re acting crazy. Why are you so worried about these guys?”

“Because they’re obviously dangerous,” he blurts out.

“Obviously?”

“Yes. And they’re taking too much interest in you. They’re suspicious.” He lets out an exasperated groan. “You promised to stay out of trouble!”

“Ja, well, I’m un-promising. If you’re so concerned, you can wait here.” I start towards the boys again, and again Rakwena grabs me, this time almost pulling my arm out of its socket. “Ow!”

“Connie, please.” His eyes are bright and pleading. “What if they try something?”

“In the middle of a mall full of people?” I snap. “We’re going to talk about this, but right now I’m going over there, and I swear, if you try to stop me, I will scream this whole place down. Got it?”

I stalk off, furious with him. My whole arm is aching. What on earth is the matter with that boy? I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see him standing there glowering at me, but the space where he stood is empty. I catch sight of him walking – no, practically running – away, fists clenched. He’s angry, too. From this distance I can’t tell if he’s giving off blue light, but it’s a good thing he’s getting out of sight before he sparks up.

I take a deep breath and turn back to the Cresta Crew. They’re frozen in their seats, glaring at me, almost daring me to take another step. They’ll soon learn that I don’t scare that easily.

By the time I reach their table their expressions have changed. The twins look incredulous. Spencer looks surly. Duma looks nervous, Rapunzel impressed and Hulk…well, like he wants to smash something. All of them are giving off high energy levels and blocking me as though they were born doing it. I finally have my confirmation – they’re all gifted, and I’m not talking about a little sliver of sixth sense. Whatever their gifts, they’re powerful.

I offer them a bright smile. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Connie. But you already know that. Want to tell me why you’re staring at my boyfriend?”

No one says a word. A few of the others glance at Hulk. I see – there’s a hierarchy at work. Hulk takes a long, languid sip of his Coke.

“Should I pull up a chair, make myself comfortable? We have a lot to discuss.”

He looks at me. His eyes are clear and intelligent…and dangerous. Suddenly I’m all too aware of his size and proximity. Big and close enough to knock my brains out, to be precise. “Afternoon, Conyza.” His voice is like black crushed velvet, soft and thick. Not at all the voice of someone who intends to squash me flat. “It’s good to finally meet you. Duma hasn’t stopped talking about you since the party.”

“Really?” I glance at the kid, and he flashes his adorable grin. “Where did I get the idea that you guys weren’t exactly thrilled to see him talking to me?”

Hulk shrugs. “We keep to ourselves. You understand.”

“Yes, I do.” Curiosity is mounting, but Hulk gives me the impression that his patience has limits, and I’d rather not be there when it runs out. “You know my name. It’s only fair to tell me yours.”

His gaze is steady and unblinking. “You can call me Temper.”

Somehow that doesn’t put me at ease. “Right. Nice to meet you, Temper.” I wait for the others to tell me their names, but they remain silent. No one’s eating, either – it seems I’ve put them off their food.

“There’s something on your mind,” Temper muses.

I look at Spencer. His handsome face is marred by a sullen, brutish scowl, as though he’s had his toys confiscated. I drop my voice to a whisper. “Look, let’s not mince words, OK? I know you’re gifted, and that’s not a problem for me. My problems are your interest in Rakwena, and your boy’s relationship with Kelly.”

Spencer lets out a choked laugh of incredulity. “And who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?” The outburst makes the others flinch.

“Man, chill,” whispers Rapunzel, who is sitting on Spencer’s left.

“No, she has no right to come over here and start throwing her weight around!” His gaze is so venomous I take a step back and hold up my hands to ward him off.

“Hey, I’m just worried about Kelly.”

“You don’t even like Kelly,” he spits out. How the hell does he know that?

“That’s enough.” Temper glares at Spencer.

But it’s too late. I’ve seen enough to make me certain that Spencer is a ticking bomb, and if he stays with Kelly he’s going to decimate her. I turn to Temper. “I don’t know what your story is yet, but I’ll find out. In the meantime, I suggest you keep this guy away from ungifted girls before somebody gets hurt. Is that clear?” I turn back to Spencer, who’s snarling at me. “Stay away from Kelly. I’ve gone up against bigger fish than you, so don’t think your little temper tantrums scare me.”

He leaps to his feet. Suddenly he doesn’t look so handsome anymore. “Back off, bitch!”

Whoa! My jaw drops. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before. What follows happens so smoothly it almost seems rehearsed. Rapunzel and Elias get to their feet in one fluid motion, and march Spencer out of the restaurant. Simultaneously Duma and the remaining twin pack up what’s left of the food, sweeping it into bags so fast their hands seem to blur, then follow the others.

In seconds the table is clear, the curious onlookers from other tables have returned to their conversations and Temper is the only Cresta Crew member left.

“What the hell was that?” I demand. “Spencer clearly has issues and has no business dating anyone, let alone an ungifted!”

“You’ve made your point,” Temper growls. Ah. His patience has reached its limit. He gets to his feet and walks away.

Because I have absolutely no instinct for self-preservation, I follow. “Hey! What happened just now? And you still haven’t told me why you were staring at my boyfriend. You owe me an explanation!”

“I owe you nothing.” He whirls around to face me. He’s so big I have to crane my neck to look into his eyes.

I gulp, and my words vanish. “I…uh…just…Kelly…” I take a deep breath. “Spencer’s dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as me,” he whispers, and turns away, leaving me standing on wobbly legs.

I wait till he’s out of sight before walking to Rakwena’s car. My head is swimming. I don’t know why Spencer erupted the way he did, but there is nothing more dangerous than a gifted without self-control. What happens if he loses his temper with Kelly and hurts her? Hell, even without gifts that boy is scary, and I get the feeling Temper knows this. Why is he allowing Spencer to keep seeing Kelly? He’s clearly the leader of the group – he should stop it.

When I reach the car, I quickly realise I have another problem on my hands. Rakwena is sitting in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel. His head is bowed and blue sparks are crackling on his knuckles. He looks like he’s in pain.

“Rakwena?” I climb into the passenger seat and put my hands over his. “Ow! You’re burning up!”

He raises his head and grimaces. “It’s just a headache. It happens sometimes, when my girlfriend won’t listen to reason.” He shakes off my hands and starts the engine.

I roll my eyes, annoyed. “Are we still having this argument? I’m fine, as you can see. They didn’t kill me. Not for lack of trying,” I add wryly.

“What?” He stares at me in horror.

I reach over to buckle my seatbelt. “I told Spencer to leave Kelly alone and he lost it. Called me a bitch. Can you believe that? Then they all got up and left. Didn’t want to make a scene, I guess. But now I know for sure they’re gifted, and that Spencer is trouble. I have to find out more.”

The car jerks forward. “Damn it, Connie!”

“Sorry, but I’m not dropping this.”

He doesn’t say another word, but his jaw is still twitching and his knuckles still give off the occasional spark. I glance out of the window, and my heart stops. The Cresta Crew are standing in front of a white family minivan, watching us. Even when we’re out of sight, I get the feeling they’re still watching through a different set of eyes. Eyes that see things that I can’t. Eyes that see around corners, through walls…across borders. Eyes that led them here, to us.

It’s a crazy thought, and I don’t know where it came from. Those boys didn’t come here for me or Rakwena – why would they? I try to focus on the road, on keeping an eye on Rakwena’s fading sparks, but thoughts are resilient. Once the seed is planted, it just sits there quietly in the dark and grows.


Chapter Four (#ulink_6b9b56ac-96e0-5f80-8eca-215ee87c248b)

The weekend sneaks up on me. I’m surprised how quickly time has passed. I’ve barely seen my father all week, and my grandfather is still away. I spend Friday afternoon watching Lebz blow her father’s money on make-up and magazines.

“I need help,” I announce.

“Man trouble?” She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes. But not the man you’re thinking of. Dad and Ntatemogolo.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment is palpable. I almost laugh; I’ve deprived her of the joy of giving me relationship advice. “I thought we agreed that a peace treaty is impossible.”

“I don’t need them to make peace.” I pick up a jar of body butter and sniff it. “I just need them to work together on the Salinger project.”

“Isn’t your dad getting a research assistant?” Lebz tosses several bottles of nail polish into her rapidly filling shopping basket.

“Yes, but he’s supposed to work with an expert. He’ll end up getting someone else, and that would be a wasted opportunity. Don’t you see? This is the hand of fate at work – a perfect chance for them to finally learn to work together!”

Lebz looks dubious. “How are you going to get them to do it?”

“That’s where the help comes in,” I sigh.

“Oh, I have an idea!” she cries suddenly. “Pretend you’re going to live with Rakwena if they don’t make peace. Rita got Papa to let her go to Jamaica by threatening to move out. She cried, said he’s never home, and accused him of loving me more.”

I’m not surprised by her big sister’s antics – when people use the term “capable of anything” they mean Rita. “And how does a trip to Jamaica prove that he loves her?”

Lebz shrugs. “You know Rita – she could convince a pastor to rob a bank.”

I shake my head, grateful to be an only child. “Well, I’m not stooping to emotional blackmail. Besides, Dad would never buy it. Me, moving in with a boy?”

Lebz looks at me, her expression somewhat pitying. “You’re right. That’s not convincing at all.” She puts on a thoughtful expression and falls silent for some time.

It’s at times like this, when she’s quiet and I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head, that I find it most difficult not to read her thoughts. I have to make a special effort to distract myself so I don’t break the promise I made to her and Wiki. I’m only allowed to invade their privacy in an emergency. I thought learning to get into people’s heads was hard, but learning to stay out is even harder.

“OK, here’s another idea,” she says finally. “Tell them the truth.”

I stare at her blankly. “The truth?”

“Yes! How much you hate being stuck in the middle. And mention your mother.”

I wince. “Ooh, that’s a low blow.”

“Sometimes you have to be cruel,” she replies firmly. “Do you think your mother would be happy about the way things are? If she were alive, they would be making more of an effort. And that’s not fair. They should be willing to make an effort for you, too.”

Hmm. The girl makes a good point. If Ntatemogolo had been around immediately after my mother died, things might have been different. Now that I’m a teenager they think I can handle their animosity. I can, but I shouldn’t have to.

I give Lebz’s arm an appreciative pat. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“The first session’s free,” she jokes. “Hey, I’m hungry. You want some snacks?”

“Yes, please.”

On the way to the till we pick up some chips and drinks. While standing in line, I notice a gorgeous couple walking past the shop, holding hands and gazing hungrily at each other.

I poke Lebz in the ribs to make her turn. “Kencer!”

Her eyes light up, then narrow. “Those two are joined at the lip.”

I raise my eyebrows. Usually Lebz would dash out to say hello, but it appears Spencer’s presence is enough to put her off. I glance at the couple as they move further away. Kelly looks fabulous in a bright blue maxi dress, but it seems to sag slightly on her frame. “Is it just me or has she lost weight?”

“It’s not just you,” Lebz assures me. “It’s funny – Kelly never diets. She doesn’t have to. She must be lovesick.”

A funny feeling comes over me. I remember how weak Kelly seemed at the party, and now she’s losing weight as well?

“I know what you said about Spencer’s temper, but Kelly seems happy,” Lebz continues.

There’s a sliver of doubt there. I latch onto it. “You don’t trust him, do you?”

She moves closer to the till with a sigh. “I just…I don’t know. Maybe hanging around you has made me paranoid.”




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