Crowned (20 page)

For now Ntatemogolo wants me to stay out of the line of fire while he does some more digging. The secret to the puzzle box continues to elude me and there’s still no word from Rakwena and the drifter council. I don’t know what’s taking so long. As for the Puppetmaster, all my attempts to reach him have failed. It’s as though he’s disappeared along with his victims.

On the plus side, Thuli is keeping his distance now, scared off by Jafta’s experience, and Dad is starting to settle into this new normal. He no longer flinches when I use supernatural terms. That’s real progress.

On Friday after work I collapse onto my bed and close my eyes. The plan is to doze for half an hour, then get up to make some supper before Dad gets home. So much for that idea.

Evening, Conyza.

My eyes spring open.
Where have you been?
Wait – was that relief?

It’s good to know that you’ve missed me.

I haven’t missed you. I’ve been trying to reach you so I can find out what the hell you’re doing! I know about the Loosening.

There’s a long silence.
Do you know when I first realised how special you were?

Stop changing the –

The moment I saw you in your mother’s womb. Already your gift was stirring. Remarkable, isn’t it? I touched your mother’s belly and felt your power. Your purpose.

I stiffen.
You’re lying. She would never have let some stranger touch her!

She wasn’t happy about it. She tried to get away from me, but I was persistent
.

I sit up, my stomach heaving.
You’re lying!

Your father must remember – he was there. If he’d had a little more backbone he might have punched me.

Shut up!

Why so angry, my dear? You know it’s true.

He leaves me with that image hanging over me – him touching my mother’s pregnant belly, sinking his hooks into me before I had even developed enough to be aware of him.

I get out of bed and run to the kitchen. My room feels too charged, too full of things that link me to him. He’s been stalking me for over eighteen years and he’s never going to leave me alone.

Of course he won’t leave me alone; he needs me. I’m the Definitive. Ugh! No. That idea is madness. I need to focus on finding him and his warehouse. I need to… My head explodes with sudden thoughts and images, memories of blinking lights and rocks being pushed into the earth. My body feels hot, like I’m standing naked in the sun. It’s not a premonition. It feels more like an attack, like someone’s pumping my brain full of data too quickly for it to be interpreted. What’s happening to me? What has he done?

I slide to the cold kitchen floor, gritting my teeth against the pain, blinking furiously. There’s something beyond the images. I inhale deeply. The room is filled with the scent of damp earth. It moves up my nostrils and into my head, covering my thoughts with wet soil. I can taste it on my tongue. Everything fades: the memories, the lights, leaving only that earthy scent. I lean against the cupboards, waiting for my head to stop ringing.

What did you do, John?

He doesn’t answer, but I know it was him. That heady mix of images had his stamp all over it. He was trying to manipulate me somehow, to force my hand. And something – or someone – intervened.

I freeze as a thought strikes me. Is there another telepath involved in this? No, not a telepath. Something bigger. Bigger than me and the Puppetmaster. Even bigger than Connie Who Knows. I sit there for a moment, letting my mind tiptoe towards the unexplored places I’ve been too afraid to enter. Maybe the Ultima isn’t a myth. Maybe she’s real, and she’s here…in me. A wave of panic washes over me. One invader I can handle, but two is asking too much.

I get to my feet, rush to the living room and turn on the radio to drown out the thoughts in my head. Yes, that’s better. This is
my
head,
my
territory, and I’m sick and tired of trespassers. I take a few breaths, look through the fridge and cupboard and get ready to cook. I focus all my attention on the meal and the music, leaving no piece of awareness behind to be hijacked by stray thoughts.

Dad arrives while the sauce is simmering on the stove and I’m putting the finishing touches on a salad. He turns down the radio and stands in the kitchen doorway.

“You can’t be my daughter,” he declares. “My daughter doesn’t make spaghetti bolognese. My daughter makes fish and chips.”

My smile falters. I know it’s a joke, but the words strike a chord. Maybe I’m not the daughter he knows any more. I’m the daughter who misses the Puppetmaster when he’s gone, who tries to see things from his perspective. I’m the daughter who listens to Connie Who Knows, believes in ancient myths and gets phone calls from reporters.

“Smells wonderful.” He sniffs the air appreciatively. “Is it my birthday?”

“Can’t a girl indulge her inner domestic goddess?”

He laughs. “You don’t have an inner domestic goddess.”

I scowl at him. Dinner is good, if I do say so myself, but now that I no longer have the preparations or loud music to distract me, my thoughts rebel and go running back to dangerous waters.

“Dad, can I ask you something?”

He nods, slurping up a string of spaghetti.

“Do you remember a stranger touching Mama’s belly when she was pregnant?”

He stops chewing to stare at me, perplexed by the question.

“At a party, probably,” I prod. There’s a flash of recall on his face. I slip into his head, rifling through the images. “In South Africa?”

He frowns. “Yes, Joburg. Your mother had been invited as the representative for her NGO. It was a big thing – lots of MPs and the like. Very glitzy do. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t like her travelling alone while she was pregnant.”

Dad’s head is a jumble of fragmented memories: Mama in her blue maternity evening dress, laughing people holding wine glasses, a buffet table.

“There was this man,” he goes on, a flash of annoyance tainting his voice. “Some upstart businessman who couldn’t keep his eyes off Rebecca. I went to get her some juice and when I came back he was fawning over her! She looked desperately uncomfortable, but even when I came over he wouldn’t go away.”

Bingo. The image is hazy, but the man is tall and slender, wearing the glasses he can’t seem to part with. I see him lean forward to shake Dad’s hand. My parents try to move away but he follows, and contrives to place a hand on Mama’s belly before Dad sweeps her away.

A fraction of a second of contact. I withdraw from Dad’s head, my heart sinking. As far as I know my gift first appeared when I was a toddler. Nevertheless, the potential was there, and that’s what the Puppetmaster sensed when he touched my mother. When he touched
me
.

“What’s this about?” asks Dad. “Did your grandfather mention it? Rebecca was so upset afterwards, she insisted on calling to tell him.”

“Ja.” I nod, putting on a casual smile. No sense in making him worry. “Ntatemogolo mentioned it. I just thought it was odd.”

“I wanted to hit the bastard. Honestly, going around touching another man’s wife!”

My hand is shaking. I put it down beside my plate, willing it to stop. I knew the Puppetmaster was monitoring our family. Why am I surprised at the lengths he’ll go to? Suddenly I hear the sound of the gate. I lean back to peer through the window. All I can see from here is the front bumper of a car, but it’s not Ntatemogolo’s Venture.

“Are you expecting someone?” I ask Dad.

“No.”

I frown and get slowly to my feet, grateful for the distraction. Who could it be? There’s a loud knock on the door as I make my way towards it.

“I’m coming,” I mutter, and pull the door open.

“Hey.” Rakwena’s lips curl into that gorgeous, infuriating, obnoxious smile, and I realise it’s been far too long since the last time I saw it.

My heart threatens to explode into a mushroom cloud of joy. I fling myself into his arms. This time there’s no need for a crystal conduit. His energy hits me the second we touch, flooding my body with that unique blend of calm and confidence, and all my fears float away.

Chapter Eight

I can’t believe he’s here. Even as Dad and I watch him demolish the remainder of the spaghetti and drain four glasses of Sprite, I have to keep pressing my palms into my thighs to make sure I’m not dreaming. He’s more handsome than ever and his clothes look more expensive, as though someone else has been shopping for him, but otherwise he’s the same. I thought being a full-time drifter would change his appetite, but apparently not.

“Long trip, huh?” Dad remarks, watching in amusement as Rakwena shovels the food into his mouth.

Rakwena swallows and looks up sheepishly. “We just got in a couple of hours ago and I haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.”

“Sure, sure.” Dad smiles at me across the table. “Well, it’s good to see you.”

Rakwena nods, his mouth full. Dad gets up and carries his own plate to the kitchen, then retreats to his room to give us some privacy. I sit there, gazing at Rakwena.

“That was good,” he sighs, pushing the empty plate away. “Got any snacks?”

I get up and lead him to the kitchen, then hand over an unopened box of chocolate biscuits. He tears the packaging and pops a biscuit into his mouth.

I stare at him. “What are you doing here? You never got back to me about the council; I assumed you must be busy.”

“Oh, the council.” He swallows. “They’re here. Everyone’s here.”

“What do you mean, everyone?”

“The council, Serame – that’s our matriarch – my cell, and some of the others. The council want to meet your grandfather to discuss this Maria girl, and we tagged along. Everyone’s pretty excited. They had their suspicions because her parents weren’t known to the clan, but you know how the policy works – the drifter must come to the clan, not the other way around. Anyway, if your grandfather is right…”

“I know.” I glance out the window, searching for a sign of his brothers. “So where’s your cell?”

“At the house. They’re all having dinner together – all the drifters who came – but I had to see you. I went straight home to get the car and say hello to Rre Sechaba, then came here.” He puts the biscuits on the counter and studies me. “You’ve grown.”

“Really? I don’t feel taller.”

“Not in height. You used to look like a kid. You don’t any more.”

My cheeks burn. I’m glad he noticed.

“We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yep.”

“But first things first. Are we still broken up?”

There goes my heart, banging madly against my ribcage. Calm down, Connie. I swallow before replying. “Technically we didn’t break up. We were on a break.”

He steps closer to me. “Are we still on a break?”

No. Yes. No. I look into his eyes. There’s a blue dot where his pupils should be, burning brightly. I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it, too. He wants to kiss me. Please, please kiss me! Wait, no. There’s no serum now; he’s officially a drifter. He can’t conquer me because I’m gifted, but he can conquer others. Suddenly I don’t think I want him to kiss me, after all. Who knows where those lips have been?

I take a wary step backwards. I don’t want to ask. He probably wouldn’t even think of it as a betrayal. Just my luck. Of all the guys in the world I pick one who can get away with using his biological make-up as an excuse to mess around.

“Connie? Talk to me.”

“I think…well, I mean…” I clear my throat, feeling flustered and confused, then grab the first lifeline that crosses my mind. “What does Temper say? He’s the boss, right?”

The light in Rakwena’s eyes fades. He drops his gaze. “Drifter rules are straightforward – long-term relationships are discouraged, and dating a non-drifter is basically taboo.”

I swallow. “Is there a punishment?”

He nods. “My father went through it after he married my mother. Spencer, too, after Kelly. No one will tell me what it is, which means it must be pretty serious.” He raises his eyes to mine again. “But I’m only half-drifter, and you’re gifted. We can’t hurt each other. The rules shouldn’t apply to us!”

I manage a small smile. How many star-crossed lovers have felt that they were the exception? Didn’t most of them end up dead? As frustrating as the drifter rules on dating are, they make sense. Even if Rakwena manages to stay away from other girls for a while, how long can that last? What happens when we’re older, when I want a wedding and kids and he’s not allowed to have them? I’m not going to live with his brothers, and I can’t ask him to leave them. One day he’ll have to choose.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers.

My heart races again, and then a little voice wonders: does he want only me, or me plus a string of meaningless conquests? I bite my lip and avoid his gaze. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I don’t trust his nature. When he left he was mine. Now he’s theirs, and I don’t know how much he’s changed.

“What’s wrong?” He forces a laugh. “Did some handsome telepath come along and sweep you off your feet?”

“Don’t be stupid,” I murmur. “There’s no one else. It’s just more complicated now. You’re bound by rules that say what we want doesn’t matter.”

“We can fight the rules.”

“You just got into the clan. It’s too soon to start trying to get kicked out.”

“But–”

“We have other things to talk about right now. Bigger things,” I add quickly, before he can argue.

He picks up the biscuit box and we walk back to the living room. We sit side by side on the sofa. His proximity makes my pulse race, but I can’t stop wondering how many conquests he’s had. Maybe none, yet. He wasn’t allowed contact with the world until the induction…but it’s been a whole month since then. A lot can happen in a month. If there’s one thing I know about his brothers, it’s their love for parties and clubs and the giggly, scantily clad girls they meet there.

“So,” he begins, stalling my unpleasant train of thought. “Puppetmaster.”