Crowned (4 page)

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.

I’m sitting at a desk in a corner of the office when he appears. I don’t see him at first. I’m too busy flipping through copies of the latest production schedule, filling in sections where the printer ink was too faint. I
sense
him, though. My gift shifts in his direction long before my eyes, so by the time I finally spot him I’ve been holding my breath for an agonising few seconds.

My panic fades and rational thought kicks in. I don’t know why he affects me this way. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that almost two years ago he lured me to his room and pinned me to the bed. I escaped unscathed, but the memory haunts me.

I frown. He’s different. Not physically – he has the same long dreadlocks tied back with a dark blue ribbon. He still wears expensive shirts that hang off his bony shoulders. His sleepy, sinister eyes are still a little red from smoking too many cigarettes and other things, and he still has that arrogant smirk.

But his energy has changed. I can’t explain it, but my gift can feel it. A sudden heaviness in his aura. A new glowing strength, like stainless steel. I can almost taste the shiny tang of it. He starts to move, taking long strides in my direction. I try to push him away with the force of my glare, but Thuli’s never been one to take a hint. He comes to a stop beside me.

“Connie!” His smile is too smug to be believed. “You’re here!”

“I work here. What’s your excuse?”

He laughs and slips into the chair beside me. “How have you been?”

I inch away from him. “Great, until about five seconds ago.”

“Come on,” he purrs. “I’d really like us to be friends again.”

Again? The boy is unbelievable. “Go away.”

“You don’t mean that.” He reaches out to touch my hair and I recoil. His hand drops to the desk. “Maybe my new position will give us a chance to get reacquainted.”

“What new position?” My hands ball into fists on top of the desk. Please don’t tell me he’s going to be working here.

“I’m going to be working here.”

My stomach drops. Really?
Really?

Oblivious of my agony he continues, “I’ll be dealing with the marketing side of things, but we’ll be in the same building. Isn’t that great?”

Oh, sure. It’s fan-friggin’-tastic. He’s supposed to be working for his dad’s company, learning the ropes so he can take over and become another corporate shark. The only reason he took a job here instead is so he can torture me on a daily basis – I know this for a fact. Thuli has no interest in working in entertainment; he thinks it’s beneath him. I tear my eyes from his face, unnerved by his unblinking gaze, and lower them to his arms, which rest casually on top of the desk. My breath catches in my throat.

He was waiting for me to notice. Exultation comes off him in waves. Honestly, this boy should try harder to hide his emotions. He slides his arms across the scarred surface of the desk until they’re almost touching mine. I drop my hands into my lap.

“You like it?” He raises his sleeve so I can see the full picture.

“It” is a tattoo. Brand new, the lines still slightly raised. At first I thought it was a lizard crawling up his arm in a pale imitation of the tattoo that gave Rakwena his nickname, Black Lizard. On closer inspection I see that it’s a snake, fangs bared for attack. It’s smaller than Rakwena’s, yet far more menacing. It has wicked yellow eyes and almost throbs against his skin, as though it wants to leap off his arm and sink its fangs into my flesh. Something about it makes my stomach lurch.

I raise my gaze to his self-satisfied face. “I hope you know it isn’t going to wash off when you come to your senses.”

He smiles. “I should hope not. What do you think?”

“I think it’s creepy and ridiculous. Suits you perfectly.”

He laughs. Like the Puppetmaster, he seems completely unconcerned by my low opinion of him. I should hook them up; they’d be BFFs in minutes.

I turn back to my work. “Leave me alone, Thuli.”

“Only if you agree to be friends.”

“I’d rather be friends with flesh-eating bacteria.”

“You made friends with Kelly.”

“Kelly’s not a sociopath.”

The door opens and Portia, the receptionist, pops her head into the room. “Thuli, Bernard’s looking for you.”

“In a minute.” He barely glances at her.

“He said you should come right now. He wants to–”

Thuli turns to face her. “I’m talking to Connie. Give us some privacy, would you?”

His manner doesn’t surprise me in the least, but Portia’s reaction does. Something moves over her face. Her frown melts and her lips curl in a sappy smile. Suddenly the brisk receptionist has been replaced by a besotted schoolgirl.

“Of course,” she simpers. “I’m so sorry. Take your time.” The door closes, and in the ensuing silence I hear the click of her heels moving away from the door.

I stare at Thuli. “What was that?”

He cocks his head to one side and looks at me. “I have a way with women.”

“Since when?”

“Not so long ago, I had a way with you,” he purrs. There’s an odd quality to his voice, as though there’s something in his throat. “It could be like that again.”

Ugh. He can’t seriously think I’d ever be attracted to him again. The fact that I was stupid enough to like him once will haunt me for the rest of my days. “You’re disgusting,” I tell him, since he can’t read my subtle signals.

“You’ll change your mind.” His voice holds the ring of certainty. Why should he be certain? What is he up to?

I reach towards his mind, then remember who he is and retreat. I can’t take that route with him. That’s exactly what he wants – proof of my gift.

“I’ll see you around.” He slides out of the chair and exits with a cheery wave.

Self-satisfied idiot. Thuli’s always been sure of himself, and with good reason. He’s fiercely intelligent, ambitious and comes from the kind of wealth that would make even the nicest kid a little snooty.

I remember what it felt like to lie on my back on his bed with all his weight pressing down on me. You’d think someone so lanky would be light and weak, but he wasn’t. I had to fight hard to get him off me. He’s stronger and smarter than me, but I’m a telepath, and if he gives me a reason I will come at him with everything I’ve got.

I shake my head and try to focus on my work. It’s not easy. I keep thinking of the way Portia’s behaviour changed. It was bizarre. It was almost as if – something distracts me, disrupting my train of thought. I sense a presence in the air, and then I feel a familiar prickle at the base of my neck and a thin, cold essence creeping into my skull. My hand stiffens. My telepathic phone is ringing, and the Puppetmaster is on the other end.

For a moment I toy with the notion of ignoring him, but that would be pointless. It’s not as though he’s knocking and waiting to be admitted; he’s already in the periphery of my thoughts.

Hello, Conyza.

His psychic voice hasn’t changed. Because of the anklet he can no longer come to me in disguise, and for some reason I expected his voice to change as well.
Your timing is terrible
,
Johnny. Can I call you Johnny?

You can call me whatever you like, my dear, though John would be more appropriate. Certainly less of a mouthful than Puppetmaster.

I grit my teeth – he’s mocking me.
Where have you been? Brainwashing people?

Not quite. There were things that kept me occupied, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. You seem well, Princess. I’m glad.

I wish I could say the same.
When do we meet? That is why you’re making contact, right?

Of course. Tomorrow afternoon. Block 8. I’ll give you directions.

I clench my jaw.
Rather short notice. I have to work tomorrow.

You’re a smart girl. Find a way around that.

Hey, I’m trying to make an honest living – something you wouldn’t understand.

He’s not insulted, but I sense that he’s growing impatient.
Tomorrow. Don’t be late.

I feel him withdraw from my head. I wince; it doesn’t hurt, but it’s like having someone prod my brain. I shake my head, trying to regain my equilibrium. I can’t help thinking of the concern I saw when I slipped past my grandfather’s barrier. Could he be right? Has the Puppetmaster affected me in some way? I push the disturbing thought away and get back to work.

On my way home I stop at Lebz’s house to tell her the news.

“Tomorrow!” she gasps, leaping off her bed to grab my arm. Her nails bite into my wrist. “But that’s so soon! Tell him it’s a bad time.”

“You know the terms of the agreement. He picks the time and place.”

She swallows. “Well, now you definitely have to email Rakwena. We don’t know what will happen at the meeting, but we know the plan involves both of you. He needs to be prepared.”

This time there’s nothing I can say in protest. I nod.

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“Of course. He’s not going to throw me in a dungeon.”

“That’s not what I mean. Promise me
you
will come back. Not someone else in your skin.”