Unravelled

“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

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.”