Crowned (12 page)

“Wiki’s notes on the alien invasion,” she says, handing it to me.

I take the File with a grin. “Alien invasion? I thought you said it was climate change.”

“I was wrong.” She lowers herself onto the edge of my bed, kicks off her shoes and examines her pedicured feet. She looks up at me and nods once, with certainty. “It’s aliens. Read the notes and you’ll see what I mean.”

I sit beside her and open the File. Wiki is the most organised guy in the world. Not only has he typed up the few pages of handwritten notes I’ve contributed over the years, but he’s divided all the information into sections: Telepathy & Mind Control, Gifted Lore (sub-classified by continent), Supernatural Beings, Types of Gifts, Spells & Rituals, Modern Mysteries, The Science of Supernature and Miscellaneous.

I flip to Modern Mysteries. As always, Wiki’s research is thorough. He has detailed notes on every place that has experienced the energy surge. After reading them, a few things become clear. One: the surge began at the same time in all ten locations – the day I had those two dreams, the day Marshall was taken. Two: all the locations report the same kind of minor interference with cell phone signals, internet service, power and radio transmissions, with two exceptions – Gaborone and Durban. Here we’ve had the air traffic control problems that caused several flights to be delayed. Durban has experienced several long blackouts. Three: This is definitely
not
a military exercise.

“Turn the page,” says Lebz.

I give her a curious glance, then turn to the next page. There it is – that wrenching feeling that tells me something is terribly wrong, the feeling I had after the second dream. On the page is a black-and-white printout of a map of the world. Wiki has marked the ten locations on it in red, and linked them with a dotted line. The line forms a spiral, starting in Botswana, spreading to South Africa and then curling out across the continent before crossing the Indian Ocean and arcing back over South America.

“See what I mean?” Lebz leans in. “Aliens. Maybe that’s where they planted their pods.”

Someone’s been watching too many movies. “I don’t think these are alien pods.”

“Then what are they?”

I have no answer. I remove the page with the map, scan it in the living room and save it on a flash drive, then put the page back and give the File to Lebz.

“It can’t be supernatural,” she says, as I walk her out. “What kind of magic spreads across the whole world?”

Again I have no answer, but the sense of foreboding hasn’t left me. I spend the rest of the evening flipping through news channels, trying to find out if anything new has been reported. Nothing catches my attention until the news briefs on BTV. Marshall is home.

The landline rings immediately – it’s Lebz. “I just saw it,” I tell her. “What do you know? The news didn’t say much.”

“I’m chatting to Kelly now – she says her parents spent the whole afternoon at Marshall’s house. He just woke up on the street in front of his house, with no clue what happened or how he got there.”

I feel a sudden chill. “You mean he doesn’t remember?”

“Not a thing.”

“Not even going missing?”

“The last thing he remembers is unlocking his car and putting the groceries in the back. Then – BAM. Blackout.”

Hmm. Head trauma or supernatural trauma? Hard to tell, but I intend to find out. “Otherwise he’s OK?”

“He’s fine. The doctor said he’s in perfect health. Weird, huh?”

“Tell me about it.” We chat a bit more, then I hang up.

Marshall is back in one piece, as promised. The Puppetmaster must have wiped Marshall’s memory to cover his tracks – assuming the man who came back is in fact Henry Marshall. I think he is. Somehow I don’t think the Puppetmaster has time to go around impersonating people any longer.

I’m still no closer to finding out what he’s after, but I do know one thing for sure. The energy surge is connected to the kidnappings. It can’t be a coincidence that they started on the same day. The Puppetmaster is up to something major. It seems Botswana’s grown too small for him. Maybe he’s finally found a way to take over the world, ten countries at a time.

Chapter Five

I arrive at work early on Wednesday and check my email before my boss comes in. Nothing from Rakwena, surprise, surprise, but there is a message from my grandfather. I’m shocked – he’s never sent me an email before.

I will be home at the end of the week. I have attached a letter for the drifter councils. Forward it to Rakwena. Keep your barrier up. Something has changed in you and until we know what it is you must be extra careful. Trust nothing he tells you.

The “he” in question can only be the Puppetmaster. I forward the attachment to Rakwena with a brief note. My grandfather’s email makes me uneasy. I’m not sick any more – the medicine worked wonders – but I still don’t feel like myself. My body seems unfamiliar, as though it might turn on me at any moment. I sign out of my account and lean back in the chair, thinking.

The door opens. It’s Thuli. He looks sullen today, his usual smile replaced by a scowl.

“Where the hell is Bakang?”

Someone’s in a mood. “Not here yet. What’s wrong with you?”

He glares at me. “I have work to do.” He starts to close the door, but I’m on my feet and after him like a shot.

“What’s the hurry?” I step into the corridor and follow him as he practically runs to his office. “Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“You told me to leave you alone,” he reminds me, and slams the door in my face.

Ouch. His behaviour confirms my suspicions that Jafta is the Puppetmaster’s third victim. Thuli must have panicked when he found out he was missing. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone knowing about his connection to Jafta. He might even be worried that whoever took Jafta will come after him, as well.

I’ve just turned away from Thuli’s office when the door opens. Before I know what’s happening he grabs my arm, pulls me inside, and closes the door.

“What did you do?” he hisses. He’s so close I’m suffocating in his cloud of cologne.

“Me?” I laugh. “You think I’m responsible for your tattoo artist going missing?”

“No one else knows about the tattoo.” His grip on my arm tightens. I see his thoughts race, come to a screeching halt and change direction. “It was him,” he whispers.

“Who?”

He clams up. It takes me only a fraction of a second to decide what to do next. My gift boldly goes where no gift has gone before, inching past the edge of his thoughts and coming to…a barrier. So much for my pioneering spirit. Someone
has
been here before. The barrier is rudimentary and certainly not strong enough to keep me out, but formed with an admirable degree of skill for an ungifted. Thuli’s been training.

“You
are
good,” he marvels in a whisper.

Please. I could have broken through that barrier while wrestling a giant in Lithuania and breaking into a safe in Japan. His eyes narrow as he attempts to fortify the barrier, but he’s too slow for me. I’m in before he can rally his defences. The image in his head is only visible for a moment; he throws other thoughts over it, hoping to disguise it. I’ve seen enough, though. A man. Tall, with glasses. Always the glasses!

I would laugh if I weren’t so annoyed. He loves that distinguished professor look, and it’s that trace of vanity that weakens his illusions. He could have been a short, chubby man, a different race, a woman. But he can’t help himself. No matter which mask he has on, he’s always some incarnation of John Kubega. The Puppetmaster.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of him sooner, considering the fact that everything seems to be linked to him one way or another. I guess I thought he had better judgement. Emily is a kid, but at least she’s loyal. The only person Thuli is loyal to is Thuli.

Why would the Puppetmaster give a freak hunter the time of day? He’s made it clear that he has almost no regard for the ungifted, and he can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust Thuli as a servant. Yet Thuli is standing here with a magic tattoo made by a guy in the Puppetmaster’s clutches, and his thoughts tell me he’s met the Puppetmaster before.

A memory comes up before he can stifle it, and it’s soaked in strong emotions. Humiliation. Rage. I see now. Thuli met the Puppetmaster, realised he was gifted and tried to convince him to give him a gift. The Puppetmaster rejected him, so Thuli, furious and desperate, sought out someone less picky. Jafta. And now he realises that the man who rejected him has the man who gave him the tattoo.

“He’s going to take it from me, isn’t he?” He shakes me. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know!” I try to pull my arm away, but he’s too strong. “Let me go! I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

His eyes narrow. He releases me and I rub my arm.

“You’re insane,” I tell him. “Just like John. Where’d you meet him, anyway? No, let me guess – a party.”

He clears his throat and takes a step backwards, embarrassed by his outburst. “Yes. At Amantle’s house. Two years ago.”

Ah, yes – the party where the Puppetmaster ingratiated himself with Amantle, then only thirteen, and proceeded to worm his way into her head and the heads of her friends. At the time I thought Amantle was his favourite. It never occurred to me that Emily was the one he trusted most. My stomach twists. I wonder what Amantle’s parents would do if they knew that the “rogue
sangoma
” who bewitched their daughter (or got her hooked on drugs, depending on which story they believe) is right under their noses.

“I knew he was different. When that incident happened with Amantle and her friends, I knew it wasn’t drugs like everyone was saying. You were involved, and that meant gifts.” Thuli raises his eyes to mine. “I hunted him down. He moves around a lot, but when the other kid went missing – that girl, what’s her name…”

“Emily,” I supply.

“Right. I knew it was him. I found his house in Gaborone North,” he says, his smugness back in full force. Idiot. The Puppetmaster isn’t found unless he means to be.

“And you asked him to give you a gift,” I continue.

Thuli’s jaw tenses. “He laughed at me. But I got it anyway.”

“Clever boy,” I sneer.

He scowls. “He came to see me a few weeks ago. He said he had changed his mind and was willing to help me, but I didn’t need him any more.” His eyes narrow. “He also told me to leave you alone. Why is it that the most interesting people I meet are obsessed with you? You’re not the sort of girl anyone would describe as extraordinary.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

He smirks, but I detect a trace of bitterness. “He wouldn’t tell me why he cares so much, and I wasn’t stupid enough to ask twice. He’s quite the dictator, your John.”

“He’s not
my
John.”

“Please,” Thuli sneers. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, just like Rakwena. How do you do it? Come on, I’ve been open with you. Tell me.”

I can hear the changing inflections in his voice now, as though he poured melted butter down his throat and the words that come up are slick and greasy.

“It’s only a matter of time before you remember the connection between us.” He looks into my eyes and I sense him trying to draw me in.

“The only connection we have is that we exist on this planet at the same time. Unfortunately.”

“Come on. You liked me once.” He leans towards me again. Like most ungifted, he has no clue what he’s dealing with. This is just a game to him, a step on the ladder.

“This new trick of yours comes at a price,” I tell him. “It might take a while for reality to set in, but it’ll happen.”

His smile fades. “There’s no price I’m not willing to pay.”

I look into his eyes. This is new territory for him, an area in which he’s the ignorant one, and he hates it. “Why do you want to be gifted? You have so much already.”

His expression grows disdainful. “What do I have? Money? Anyone can make money. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being mediocre.”

Mediocre? Is he serious? “You couldn’t be mediocre if you tried! You have the kind of opportunities most people only dream of! What will it take to satisfy you?”

He licks his lips, and a determined look comes into his eyes. “More.”

Damn. This boy is broken on a level I can’t wrap my head around, and for a fraction of a second I feel sorry for him. Then I see his head inching towards mine, and sanity takes over. “Hey!” I step back.

He moves closer. Now I’m pissed off. My hands form fists at my sides. I ram my gift into his head and scream as loud as my thoughts will allow.
BACK OFF!

He jumps back, stumbles and almost trips. He shakes his head once, then stares at me in wonder. His lips curl into a smile. “Do that again.”

Oh, help! Why do I keep attracting these head cases? I turn to the door again, and this time his grip is twice as strong as before. I was trying to be the bigger person and not allow myself to be baited, but to hell with that. I hit him hard, a barrage of fear-based thoughts striking at once. They don’t have to be concrete, structured thoughts – just a jumble of phrases designed to incite panic.
IthurtsamibleedingwhatsgoingonwhatsthatnoiseicantseenopleasestoppleaseSTOP!

They overlap in his head, too quick for him to consciously assess them, but powerful enough to evoke a physical response. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare. He reaches up to rub his suddenly pounding temples. The smile is gone, replaced by confusion. I keep up the flood of words, screaming in his head until he doubles over and starts to moan.

“Stop,” he whispers.

I release his mind and he collapses in a heap on the floor, trembling, and that’s when the guilt sets in.
Eish
. Why couldn’t he just keep his hands to himself? I lean over and push his head back so he’s looking up at me. His eyes are unfocused and he’s panting.

“Don’t play your silly games with me, OK? I can hurt you. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” His voice is weak, but there’s no mistaking the trace of sarcasm. I guess I didn’t do as much damage as I thought.

Satisfied that I haven’t hurt him, I get away from him as quickly as I can, hoping the guilt will fade in proportion to the increased distance between us. What I did feels wrong. I wouldn’t have felt bad for punching him and breaking his nose. That would have felt good. That would have felt like self-defence. Using my gift against him feels like cheating. He may have a magic tattoo but he’s still ungifted.