Crowned

On the other hand, some things haven’t changed. I glance at the blonde-streaked quiff on Lebz’s head. As long as I’ve known her she’s been a slave to fashion, switching up her look before I even get a chance to get used to the last one. Today she’s wearing a leather skirt and a ridiculous pair of heels, just to walk round the corner from her house to mine. Kelly, on the other hand, is wearing a cute but casual dress with sandals. It seems she’s rubbed off on Lebz and Wiki’s rubbed off on her.

I lean back in my chair. “So! Tell me all the gossip. What’s new at Syringa?”

The Syringa Institute of Excellence is the best secondary school on the planet. I left at the end of Form Five last year, while most of my peers continued to Form Six, but in my heart I’ll always be a Syringa kid.

“Well, two students pulled a Henry Marshall,” says Wiki.

I frown, trying to make sense of that statement. Henry Marshall, a well-known CEO, vanished under suspicious circumstances a few weeks ago. A security guard found his car in the Airport Junction Mall parking lot. The key was in the ignition and Marshall’s phone and briefcase were in the boot. There were also three bags of groceries on the backseat. So far the police have no leads.

I stare at Wiki in confusion. “What on earth does that mean? They disappeared?”

He shakes his head. “They left their lockers open with all their belongings inside. That’s what people call it – a Henry Marshall.”

“It’s become a thing now,” adds Kelly in disgust. “People leave their lockers open or their bags lying around to bait thieves, and then they watch from a distance to see what happens and film it all on their cameras.”

“Then they post it on YouTube,” says Lebz, whipping out her phone to show me. “It’s not just Syringa. People from other schools have done it, too. It’s really catching on.”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “You must be joking.”

“Unfortunately not.” Lebz fiddles with the phone. “The internet is so slow!”

“I think it’s a network problem,” says Kelly. “The last few days my phone’s been acting up, too. Even messages don’t always go through.”

“Ja, my phone, too.” I frown. “I wonder what that’s all about.”

“It’s about poor service,” says Wiki. “Have you forgotten where we live?”

Lebz gives up on her phone, tossing it back into her bag. “The whole Henry Marshall thing freaks me out. It’s like he teleported or something.”

“I’d say he was kidnapped.” Wiki absent-mindedly strokes Kelly’s hair. “Someone grabbed him while he was getting into the car, and there was no time to lock up. A shopping mall is a busy place – they didn’t want to be spotted.”

“My father is friends with the Marshalls,” says Kelly.

“And they haven’t received a ransom call or a letter,” I murmur, as the same words leave her lips. I look up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me.

“You’ve been doing that a lot,” Lebz points out.

She doesn’t know the half of it. Now that my gift has gone Blu-ray on me I find myself predicting all sorts of random things, from people’s words to news headlines. In the past it would take a premonition for me to be able to do that. Now the words just tumble out of my mouth – I don’t even know where they come from. Normally I’d go straight to my grandfather with something like this, but this is one mystery I’d like to solve on my own.

“Sorry. Occupational hazard.” I clear my throat and glance at Kelly, but apart from a thoughtful frown she seems unfazed.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the group. We still haven’t figured out how to handle supernatural matters in Kelly’s presence. Although she knows I have premonitions and has probably guessed that I’m a telepath, she doesn’t know about the Puppetmaster. While we don’t discuss sensitive issues in front of her, we take it for granted that she knows she’s not living in humdrum ungifted reality any more.

Last year she dated Spencer, a drifter from Rakwena’s cell. Drifters absorb psychic energy from ungifted people. In moderation it’s harmless, but in excess… Spencer’s powers were out of control, and he left Kelly drained and disoriented. She doesn’t know the details, but she’s a smart girl. She’s aware that Spencer and his family are different; she just doesn’t know how different.

I clear my throat. “Guys, have some more food, please.”

My suggestion seems to break the ice. We chat about safer topics for a while: school, music and movies, but there’s an undercurrent of anxiety that won’t go away. Eventually Kelly gets to her feet, sensing that we want to be alone. Despite her relationship with Wiki she seems to understand that she’s not really one of us. Lebz, Wiki and I have known each other all our lives.

“I’m gonna fix my make-up,” she declares, then bites her lip sheepishly, because we can all see that her make-up is flawless.

The second the toilet door clicks shut Wiki’s eyes narrow. “Your gift is getting stronger, isn’t it?”

I sigh. “Yes. It’s probably a normal growth spurt. I’m sure it happens to all gifted.”

“Is that what your grandfather says?”

I turn to look into Lebz’s eyes and watch them widen.

“You haven’t told him?”

“He’s been through a lot! Remember? He came back to find that the Puppetmaster had taken over his life, then they got into a battle and he could have been hurt. He needs time to recuperate.”

Lebz and Wiki exchange dubious glances. They know Ntatemogolo has been through far worse than a little rumble with the Puppetmaster. I’m not keeping my growth spurt from him for his sake, but for my own. I’m afraid he’ll tell me something’s wrong. I’ve had a month without major drama, and I’m not quite ready for the holiday to end.

“You have to tell him,” says Wiki. “After everything that’s happened you can’t afford to take these things lightly.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“When?” asks Lebz.

Geez, I should have kept my mouth shut. I understand why they’re worried. Last year the Puppetmaster shape shifted into my grandfather, fooling all of us, while my real grandfather was out of town. If the Puppetmaster could convince me that he was my grandfather for months, it’s logical to assume he can dupe me any time he likes. Logical, but wrong. If he hadn’t fogged my brain with a magic ring I’d have figured out the truth a lot sooner. I’m not as gullible as everyone thinks.

“I’ll tell him the next time I see him, OK? Now let’s talk about Henry Marshall.” I tell them about the dreams I had the day he vanished. “So far I haven’t found a way to link the disappearance to anything supernatural, but there could be a connection.”

“Why would gifted be involved?” asks Lebz. “They like to keep a low profile.”

“I hope they aren’t involved. I think we all agree that gifted criminals are the worst.”

My friends cringe. The downside of being friends with someone like me is that when trouble comes, it’s usually of the terrifying, can’t-call-the-cops-or-tell-the-parents variety. There are eerie occurrences, dangerous chases and sinister sightings. Maybe a superhuman soldier or two. Definitely a lot of complex cover stories.

“Speaking of criminals…” Lebz looks at me, her eyes uncertain.

“The Puppetmaster?” I shake my head. “Nothing yet.”

“What about Rakwena?”

“No.” It hurts to say it. I don’t know why he’s taking so long to make contact, but the more time passes the more I think I might never see him again.

Wiki gives me a significant look. “Don’t you think it’s time you sent him an email? You said he would be inducted into the clan in March. It’s April.”

“The induction is only the beginning,” I explain. “He has to get settled, get used to everyone…”

“Stop,” Wiki interjects. “You’re just worried he’ll come running back here to protect you and ruin all the progress he’s made with his cell.”

He’s right. I know what happens when a drifter cell is incomplete. The drifters get aggressive, temperamental and unpredictable. Now that Rakwena has finally found his place, it would be wrong to tear him away. I’m afraid his brothers would fall apart again. I’m afraid he’d fall apart, too.

There’s something else I’m afraid of, and it’s such a selfish fear that I’d never admit it to my friends. I try to brush it away, but it keeps slithering back into my head. I’m afraid that even if I tell Rakwena how scared I am, he won’t come back. I know he cares about me, but I’m afraid if it comes down to it the bond he shares with his brothers will trump the bond he shares with me. He’s home, and I’m not sure one measly telepath is enough to bring him back.

“Connie?” Lebz peers at me. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” I put on my best smile. “What do you guys want to do today? Movie?”

Kelly remains out of earshot. She must have put on twelve coats of lipstick by now. Lebz has that look on her face that tells me she wants to say something I’m not going to appreciate, and Wiki has that look that tells me he’s going to intervene before she puts her foot in her mouth.

“Let’s go out, maybe get some ice cream or something,” he suggests, just as Lebz opens her mouth to speak.

There’s something wonderful about knowing people so well that you can almost predict their every move – without having to read their minds. “Great idea. You go get Kelly, and I’ll get my bag.” I leap to my feet, relieved by the change of topic, and head to my room.

The crystal on my desk is dim. Whatever Rakwena’s doing, he’s not thinking of me. I feel a painful pang in my chest. No – I’m not going to pine. I’m going to go out with my friends and enjoy myself. I grab my bag, put on a pair of sneakers and try not to wince at the sight of my sun-starved legs in the mirror. Today I’m not a telepath hung up on a half-drifter who won’t call. I’m just a regular girl. Almost.

* * *

I get off work two hours early on Monday. At first I plan to go straight home; my curfew is still seven p.m., though I’m eighteen and should be allowed to come home at a sensible hour like the other grown-ups.

When I reach the bus rank I change my mind and take a combi to Bontleng to see my grandfather. Ntatemogolo isn’t great at responding to phone calls and messages. My approach is to drop in unannounced and hope for the best. Today it seems I’m just in time; he’s stepping out of his beat-up Toyota Venture when I walk up his street.

He looks at me in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“They let us go early.” I follow him through the small gate and up to the front door.

He grunts. He doesn’t think much of my job. He unlocks the door and we step into his house. As always we head straight for the consultation room, the small, dark room where Ntatemogolo does all his unorthodox work. My heart sinks as we sit on the reed mat in the middle of the floor. I pick up an air of disappointment – he has bad news.

“I’m afraid I have bad news, my girl.”

Yep, I know what this is about. During his most recent extended trip he found a girl drifter up north in D’Kar. She’s first generation – her parents were not drifters. Unfortunately they both died years ago, so we only have her word and her grandmother’s that they were ordinary, ungifted people.

As things stand no one has a solid theory about how drifters came to be. Physically they’re like gifted humans, except they’re super-attractive, super-smart and produce a finite amount of psychic energy, far less than other people. They need to conquer – to absorb energy from others – in order to survive.

Because they exhibit traits similar to both the incubus of gifted lore and the still alive and kicking thokolosi, some people believe they’re a hybrid of the two. The drifters themselves reject that theory, but have nothing to substitute it with. Not yet, anyway.

Ntatemogolo thinks that drifters, far from being magical creatures, are humans that evolved to address a specific problem – excess negative psychic energy. His research indicates that the earliest drifters were discovered in or near places reeling from trauma that damaged the communal psyche. He believes drifters were born to fix this imbalance by absorbing the excess energy so the traumatised communities could function properly again.

To prove it, he had to find at least one first-generation drifter. He found Maria. His search kept him away long enough for the Puppetmaster to swoop in and steal his identity. During Ntatemogolo’s first meeting with Maria she wouldn’t reveal much. He told her he’d like to come back and planned to bring me along. She agreed, but now whenever he calls it’s “not a good time”.

“Maria still refuses to see us?”

Ntatemogolo nods. He sits cross-legged on the mat across from me and pulls out a cigarette pack and his trusty lighter.

I don’t understand why this girl is going back on her word. Doesn’t she understand how important this is? Drifters are considered dangerous by the few who know they exist. The clans keep to themselves because the danger goes both ways. Conquests are an exercise in balance – if a drifter loses control he can hurt both the person he’s conquering and himself. But if Ntatemogolo’s right and drifters are meant to help communities rather than hurt them, all of that will change. If the drifters are cautious they can live peacefully among ungifted without ever being found out.

Maria’s community has mixed feelings about her. They fear her because unlike other drifters she stands out – blue eyes, dark skin – but they also have no problem making use of her abilities. Of course, they don’t realise she has abilities. All they know is that she has “a way with people”. When she’s around there’s less conflict.

Maria’s different in another way; she’s attached to her non-drifter community. Ntatemogolo thinks this is because she’s first-generation. She was born to help those people, so it’s natural for her to love them. This bond weakens with time and is eventually eclipsed by the bond between members of a cell. For ordinary drifters leaving places is easy. For her it’s not.

I take a deep breath. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe she doesn’t want to meet another stranger. What if you tell her you’ll go alone?”

“It has nothing to do with you,” my grandfather assures me. “She doesn’t trust me. We have no choice but to wait until she is willing to co-operate.”

“That could take for ever!”

He shrugs. “In the meantime I will pursue other avenues.”

“There are other avenues?”

“There might be another first-generation drifter on the continent. But you didn’t come here to discuss the drifters, did you?”

“No, I came to discuss Henry Marshall. I think his kidnapper could be gifted.”

Ntatemogolo frowns in the dim light. “I don’t know Marshall well, but I have reason to believe he is gifted.”

Now that’s an interesting twist to the tale. Marshall doesn’t fit the profile at all. He’s a prominent member of the community with a high-profile job. It’s difficult to hide a gift; for someone in the public eye it’s almost impossible.

“Are you sure, Ntatemogolo?”

“As sure as I can be without confirmation.”

“Then why didn’t he protect himself? Whatever his gift, it should have allowed him to sense danger coming, or defend himself from it.”

He puts out the cigarette in the ashtray at the edge of the mat. “You are assuming it was a kidnapping. There is a chance he fled for some reason.”

“I don’t think so.” Something is bugging me. It’s an odd nagging feeling, like I’m missing something important. My thoughts roll back to the dreams I had and the wrenching pain I felt. I don’t think what happened to Marshall was a random incident. I think it’s part of something bigger.

I hesitate before speaking. “I had two strange dreams the day he disappeared.”

Ntatemogolo looks at me sharply. “What kind of dreams?”

“The one I told you about before, the recurring one with the rock, and another in the same setting. There was a girl with green eyes. She said the gifted are dying. Then there was this red thing, like a sword or a laser or something, and it cut me open, and the pain was…” I swallow hard, my pulse racing at the memory. “When I woke up I was sick. I had this terrible feeling, like something bad was about to happen.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he snaps, leaning forward.

“I tried calling you the next day – you didn’t answer, and when I checked the news all I found was the Marshall thing, so… I don’t know. It’s like I know something, but I don’t know what I know.” I hesitate, feeling foolish. I wish I could speak with more conviction but all I have is a hunch, not even a premonition.

“Go on, my girl. Tell me what you are thinking.”

I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. “Well, you say Marshall is gifted, and the girl in my dream said the gifted are dying, and that night he disappeared, and there was the other dream with the rock…” I stop and take a breath. “Maybe I’m supposed to prevent more gifted from disappearing.”

“Ah,” Ntatemogolo murmurs, and I know what he’s going to say next. “Don’t place that burden on your shoulders, my girl. It is not your job to save the world.”

He’s said this before. My premonitions come when they want – before an event, during it or long after it’s happened. I have premonitions of some things but not of others. A lot of the time they alert me to things over which I have no control. I used to get so frustrated. What’s the point of seeing something if you can’t do anything about it?

But that’s the nature of gifts. I’m not going to see every threat before it happens, throw on a spandex suit and run off to save somebody. Still, sometimes I get the feeling I’m meant to be useful to the world in a bigger way than I’ve been. Is that arrogant? I don’t know. All I know is that I feel like crap when someone gets hurt and I couldn’t stop it.

“I don’t want to save the world,” I tell my grandfather. “Just Henry Marshall.”

He’s quiet for some time. Usually he’s the hardest person to read, but today I know exactly how he feels. He’s worried about me. He’s been worried since he got back. He thinks the time I spent with the Puppetmaster has had a detrimental effect on me. The last thing I want to do is add fuel to that fire, so I decide to keep my growing powers to myself a little longer. It’s ironic that I don’t see the question coming.

“Connie, have you noticed anything strange about your gift of late?”

For a second I’m too stunned to respond. How did he know?

“Some of my clients tell me they are having trouble controlling their gifts,” he continues. “They seem to be stronger than usual. I thought my gift was unaffected, but now I can feel a slight surge in power. Do you feel it as well?”

I have to make a conscious effort to keep the relief from showing all over my face. It’s not just me. Thank God. “Yes,” I breathe, and the word is a weight off my chest. “My gift has been more sensitive lately.”

He strokes his beard. “I haven’t heard news of any significant supernatural event, but something is going on. It might also explain why you are having these vivid dreams. Describe the first one to me again.”

I oblige. I remember every detail, down to the scent of wet soil on that misty field.

“Could the object pushing the rock into the ground have been a staff?”

I frown. “Like the kind wizards carry in stories? I don’t know. It seemed heavy. Dark and rounded.”

“The head of a staff?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Why? Would it make a difference?”

“Oh, yes. There are rituals that involve placing markers at specific points. Quartzite is often used for such purposes. You can’t touch the markers or they will become tainted, so a sorcerer will use a purified staff to fix the markers in place. It is possible your dream is a premonition of such a ritual. But it is also possible the dream is a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what? Is it saying something is buried that I need to uncover?”

“I wish I had the answers. I will do what I can to learn more.” He reaches for another cigarette, then changes his mind. “It has been a long time since our last training session.”

I look at him in surprise. Was that a note of indignation?

“I suppose you are too busy, or perhaps you no longer need my help.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. When the Puppetmaster impersonated my grandfather we worked hard on my gift and I grew tremendously, more than in all the months I trained with my real grandfather. Ntatemogolo is jealous of that fact, though he won’t admit it. The Puppetmaster pushed me in ways my grandfather never would. Ntatemogolo’s technique is more tough fitness trainer than Zen master with a big stick. He may not have led me to build a full-time psychic barrier or unlock a magically sealed box with my mind, but I wouldn’t be anywhere without his guidance.

“I’m always going to need your help,” I tell him gently. “We can start right now.”

He’s trying not to smile. “I want you to show me your new trick.”

“Opening boxes with my gift? I’ve only done it once.”

Ntatemogolo gets up and walks to the chest in the corner where he keeps his tools. He returns carrying a small hardcover book.

“That’s not fair!” I grumble. “You know how difficult it is for me to read paper.”

He gives me a smug smile and places the book on the mat between us. “What was the Puppetmaster teaching you if you still have trouble with paper?”

I grit my teeth. This is the thanks I get for reassuring him that he’s still my number one mentor? Well! “What do you want me to do?”

“I have written some notes in the book.”

I pick up the book and open it. The pages are blank. “Invisible ink?”

He laughs. It’s clear he’s been planning this game for some time and intends to relish every moment. “I concealed them. You must find a way around my security system.”

I take a deep breath. “All right. Prepare to be amazed.”

“I am not amazed,” he remarks a while later, after my eleventh attempt.

I push the book away in frustration. I thought it would be easier than usual, with my growth spurt and all, but it wasn’t. I could sense the concealments but couldn’t find a way to undo them. Training your gift is like training your body – the first session after a break feels like you’re back at square one. Right now my brain wants to burst out of my skull.

Ntatemogolo chuckles. “OK, enough for today. You see, my girl, I may not be a powerful sorcerer, but I am still a master.”

I nod, too tired to argue. “You’re the man, Ntatemogolo.”

He’s in too good a mood to object to my colloquialism. He walks me out and stands on the veranda, chortling. When I turn around halfway down the street, he’s still grinning at me. My head is pounding, but I can’t help smiling. It’s good to have him back, even if he is the most annoying old man on the planet.

I’m less concerned about the changes in my gift now that I know I’m not the only one it’s happened to. I know it’s selfish, but an inexplicable change throughout the gifted world is easier to accept than an inexplicable change in me. I’m still no closer to figuring things out, though. What is causing these changes? Is it linked to Marshall’s disappearance?

If my dreams are accurate, there’s something sinister afoot. Something that could kill the gifted. I can’t for the life of me imagine what that could be.

* * *

My job at the production company has one major drawback – my boss’s cousin. I can think of a whole list of adjectives to describe Thuli Baleseng. Sleazy, sneaky, creepy, crazy, ghastly, haughty. That’s enough reason to dislike him, but he’s also a freak hunter. Freak hunters are, fortunately, an endangered species. They devote their time to trying to uncover the secrets of the gifted so they can exploit them.

Our relationship is complicated, and by that I mean I can’t stand the guy. I had a huge, stupid crush on Thuli for years, but he didn’t know I existed until Rakwena and I became friends. He deduced that Rakwena, so obviously gifted it’s a miracle no one else caught on, would only befriend another gifted. After that he wouldn’t leave me alone.